Noctis slumped against the jagged cave wall, too weak to stand. His body felt hollowed out, a fragile shell echoing with the weight of loss and awe. He'd sacrificed 99% of his core—years of hardened power, survival's cruel forge—for this newborn kin. Now the world loomed too vast, too uncertain, like staring into an abyss that stared back with golden eyes. What have I made? What have I become? His mind reeled, numb from the drain, adrift in a sea of doubt.
The cave's silence stretched taut, trembling in the fading luminous glow. Dust motes danced in the air, catching the last crimson flickers from the ancient sigils. At the basin's heart stood the boy—newborn kin, more beast than child, his form a delicate illusion of humanity. Barefoot and small, no taller than a ten-year-old, he stared at Noctis with wide golden eyes that gleamed like molten stars. Those eyes held no recognition, only raw curiosity laced with something feral, ancient.
The kin-boy's skin shimmered at the edges, dark tendrils curling like smoke, betraying his shadowy essence. He moved unsteadily, first on all fours, then wobbling upright. A low snarl rumbled from his throat—not anger, but wonder, guttural and primal. Crawling closer, he tilted his head at every flicker: the drip of water from a stalactite, the rustle of Noctis's cloak, the faint echo of his own ragged breaths. He spread his slender hands wide, mimicking the cave's shadows, fingers splaying as if grasping at invisible threads.
Noctis watched, wary and exhausted, his pulse a weak flutter in his veins. The boy's mimicry was eerie—copying a twitch of Noctis's fingers, then his shallow breaths. Guttural sounds bubbled from the kin's lips: half-formed growls, frustrated whines. He opened his mouth, tongue flicking, trying to shape words that wouldn't come. Golden eyes narrowed in irritation, a flicker of wild power surging beneath his fragile form—something vast, barely leashed, like a storm trapped in a child's frame.
Then, abruptly, the boy lunged forward. Slender arms wrapped around Noctis's waist in a clumsy, fierce embrace. It was raw, unpracticed—nails digging slightly into his ribs, small body pressing with desperate warmth. The world held its breath. Noctis froze, every instinct screaming danger, yet an unfamiliar heat pierced his numbness. Gentle. Unsettling. Like sunlight cracking through eternal night.
The Echoframe hummed to life, its glow vivid in his blurred vision, voice soft as a forgotten lullaby resonating in his skull.
"5% of your emotions have been restored."
Tears welled unbidden, hot and stinging—undesired, but achingly true. Noctis's arms trembled as he returned the hug, pulling the kin closer. The boy curled tighter, emitting a low animal whimper that vibrated through them both. Memories flooded back in fragments: a childhood hearth's glow, the ache of a mother's hand in his hair, the brutal sting of loss that had armored him for years. Color seeped into his world—the texture of hope, the sharp joy of being needed. For the first time in endless shadowed battles, Noctis felt not just alive, but human—flawed, fragile, whole.
As the embrace softened, the kin-boy pulled back, golden eyes searching Noctis's face. Noctis let a sliver of hope take root. This bond... it could grow. It has to.
Settling into the Unknown
Noctis shifted to sit cross-legged on the cold stone, the kin-boy plopping beside him with a contented huff. He poked at stray pebbles, rolling them with intense focus, marveling as they clattered and spun. Swirling remnants of celestial light drew his gaze upward; he reached for them, fingers passing through like mist, eliciting a frustrated snarl. Noctis watched, adrift. Every past fight—clawing through monster hordes, unraveling cursed riddles—felt simpler than this. How do you teach shadows to be human? What do I even know of raising anything but ghosts?
Frustration coiled in his gut, sharp as a blade. He activated the Echoframe with a mental pulse, thoughts spilling out raw: "Request: Guidance for raising kin. Current experience: Zero. Help me not screw this up."
Silence hung for a heartbeat. Then, text flickered to life in his vision—bright, almost playful, a stark contrast to the system's usual austerity.
"Noctis—New Protocol Engaged: Caretaker's Companion."
"Analysis: Kin is in development stage Alpha. Core stats: Intelligence (Low), Language (None), Social Skills (Instinctual), Physical Form (Unstable). All require guidance, patience, and consistent interaction. Warning: Neglect risks feral regression."
"Recommended Actions:"
Initiate simple mimicry games: Wave hello, clap hands, smile wide. Repeat daily.
Encourage safe exploration: Supervised play in low-threat zones. Reward curiosity with touch or food.
Use clear, repeated gestures and words: Name objects. "Rock." "Light." Pair with actions.
Grant gentle physical affection: Hugs reinforce bond. Positive feedback accelerates growth.
Monitor changes: Track mood swings, new abilities, system stats. Report anomalies.
Unlockable Feature: 'Bond Link'—Share limited memories or sensations (Consent Required). Unlocks at 10% progress.
Noctis exhaled a shaky laugh—half relief, half terror twisting in his chest. He glanced at the kin-boy, now clutching a pebble like a sacred relic, golden eyes narrowed in mock seriousness. "Well, guess we start with the basics, huh?" Noctis murmured, offering a lopsided smile, weary but genuine.
The kin-boy blinked slowly, head cocking. After a long moment, his lips twitched upward—an odd, awkward mimicry, all teeth and sincerity. Noctis's heart thudded with unfamiliar pride. The system chimed softly:
"Bond Link: Progress +0.5%. Emotional feedback stable. Continue interaction for accelerated results."
Cycles of Growth and Survival
The cave's dim cycles blurred into weeks—days marked by faint light shifts filtering from cracks above, nights by the kin-boy's restless whines. Progress stuttered like a flame in wind: one dawn, he'd copy Noctis's wave with eager flaps; the next, he'd snarl and retreat into shadows, form flickering unstable. Victories piled small—a first clumsy clap, a hesitant "Noct..." mangled from endless repetition. Setbacks stung deeper: accidental scratches during excited grabs, nights where feral growls echoed his inner voids.
Survival trumped routine. Food grew scarce; Noctis's diminished core left him sluggish, hunts a desperate grind. He'd fashion a sling from torn cloak strips, hoisting the kin-boy onto his back. "Quiet now," he'd whisper, finger to lips, creeping toward cave-mouth prey—scuttling cave crabs, blind rats. Sometimes the boy obeyed, golden eyes wide and still. Others, he'd bark sharply or giggle at a rustle, shattering silence. Prey fled; hunger gnawed. Desperate, Noctis pressed dried meat scraps to the boy's lips. "Shh. Eat. Quiet eats." Hunger taught faster than words—the snarls softened to watchful silence over time.
One dusk, as they huddled by a meager fire of glowing fungi, the kin-boy traced Noctis's scars with tentative fingers. Pain flared, but Noctis held still. "Hunt," the boy rasped—his first clear word, gravelly and proud. Noctis grinned through exhaustion. The bond pulsed warmer, a thread weaving their fractured souls tighter.
Yet doubt lingered in quiet hours. Can shadows become light? Can I? For now, amid the cave's eternal hush, they persisted—one clumsy step, one shared breath at a time.