"No," Piers lied.
He remembered the awakening perfectly. The confusion. The goddess's words. The realization he'd failed again.
But saying that would create complications.
Xylia nodded slowly. "Do you remember your dreams? Nightmares?"
"No."
"Do you ever feel... sad? Angry? Happy?"
Dangerous territory.
"Sometimes," he said.
Technically true. At 48% corruption, "sometimes" meant faint echoes that vanished before he could process them.
Xylia's expression brightened. "What makes you happy, sweetheart?"
Nothing.
The answer formed instantly. Cold and certain.
But he couldn't say that.
"Books," he offered.
Normal three-year-olds liked stories.
"Books!" Xylia seized on it like a lifeline. "Yes! You do pay attention when your father reads! What kind? Adventures? Magic? Animals?"
"Any."
The hope deflated in her voice.
She'd wanted specifics. Preferences. Evidence of personality.
He had none.
"What about Styx?" Different approach. "Do you... do you love your sister?"
The question hung in the air.
Piers examined it from multiple angles.
Love. Attachment. Protectiveness. Desire for another's wellbeing.
Did he experience that toward Styx?
No.
He experienced awareness of her existence. Mild interest in her behavior. Distant observation that they were related.
But love?
"I don't know," he said finally.
Most honest answer possible.
It hurt Xylia more than "no" would have.
"You don't know," she whispered.
Silence stretched.
Then Xylia pulled him into a fierce hug. Desperate. Arms pinning his sides.
"I love you," she said into his hair. Voice thick. "I love you so much, Piers. You're my son. My precious boy. And I don't know what's wrong, but I will fix it. Do you understand me? I will find a way."
Piers felt the pressure of her arms.
Felt the dampness of tears in his hair.
Felt the trembling in her shoulders.
All physical sensations.
He felt nothing else.
"Okay," he said.
She needed a response.
Xylia held him for a long time. When she released him, her eyes were red but dry.
"We're going to town tomorrow," she said, voice steadier now. "To Jenora. There's a healer there. She'll help."
Piers doubted that.
What healer could cure a goddess's curse?
But he nodded.
"Get some sleep, sweetheart."
She kissed his forehead. Tonight, she tucked him into Styx's bed downstairs—the little girl was already curled up on the other side. Then Xylia quietly left, heading back upstairs to her room.
Piers listened to muffled voices from above.
"He doesn't feel anything, Rigas. Our son doesn't feel anything!"
"Hey, hey... calm down. Maybe he's just—"
"Just what? Quiet? Thoughtful? He watched corrupted beasts attack our home and didn't even blink! That's not normal!"
"I know, I know..." A pause. "The healer tomorrow. She's dealt with strange cases before—"
"What if she can't help him? What if—" Xylia's voice cracked.
"We'll figure it out. I promise. We're not giving up on him."
Their voices faded to worried murmurs.
Piers looked at his hands.
Small. Three years old. Supposedly innocent.
Should he feel guilty about making them worry?
He didn't.
[VOID CORRUPTION LEVEL: 47% → STABLE]
[WARNING: APPROACHING EMPATHY THRESHOLD]
[EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT LEVELS:]
XYLIA (MOTHER): 5%
RIGAS (FATHER): 4%
STYX (SISTER): 6%
RINO (ORIGINAL SISTER): 31% [DEGRADING]
He dismissed the notification.
They'd go to town tomorrow. Xylia would try to "fix" him.
It wouldn't work. Tomorrow would be exactly like today.
He closed his eyes.
For just a moment, a face flickered in his memory.
Brown hair. Bright smile. Small hands holding his.
Rino.
The name echoed like a ghost.
Then it was gone.
Piers fell asleep feeling nothing at all.
Beside him, Styx lay awake, staring at the ceiling
She'd heard Mama crying.
Heard the worried voices.
Something was wrong with Piers. Really wrong.
But Styx was six years old.
And six-year-olds didn't give up on their brothers.
"I'm gonna make you happy," she whispered to the darkness. "I don't know how yet, but I'm gonna do it. You'll see."
She scooted closer and wrapped her small arms around her brother, holding him tight
Made a silent promise to a him who couldn't feel promises.
Tomorrow, she'd try harder and find something that would make him feel SOMETHING.
Even if she had to try a hundred or thousand things.
She'd make her brother smile.
No matter what.