Page 62 of Palingenesis

Should have rotted in that gorge.

Why did I have to bitch out and call for him? I could have figured it out. Crawled my way back if I had to or died there on the river bank where it was quiet and pretty. And why the hell did the angel leave me with him? Some savior that was, with his glowing wings and campfire scent.

His response shakes the bed I’m on and I roll my eyes.

“Get. Out.”

He only shifts closer, touching me in a feather-light way that has me moving just my eyes to look at him. He’s blurred, the hard edges of him fuzzy from more than just my bad vision, pieces of himself expanding, extending and leaving trails of smoke connecting between us.

Days ago—or maybe months?—I would have cowered in fear and questioned everything I’ve ever known as the smoke thickens around him.

Now? There’s no mistaking that this is real. His touch is tangible. The presence of him is palpable.

I could touch him back if I wanted, and remember it tomorrow.

This is what he was after all along.

Me.

My attention.

Acceptance.

“Why pick me?” I find myself asking in quiet signs and a thick swallow. “Why me?”

Red eyes jump to mine, the tendrils of his smoke dancing across my skin in soft pokes, and he answers in every way. “You are mine.”

Maybe it’s some sick sense of validation or delusion, a testament to the trauma and blood loss I’ve been exposed to in the last however long, but I… My mind is soothed by his answer.

It’s innocent.

Fucked up word to describe a legend of the mountains, I get it. Though Ilios has never been malicious or had ill intentions. Not toward me, at least.

I don’t think.

It’s never been about control for power.

Instead, it’s protection.

He cares.

This is how he knows to do it.

Has anyone bothered to teach him any different? Or have they just been too afraid to get close to him?

Gods, I hate that I’m attempting to understand him.

My chest fills with something close to short-lived gratitude when I feel my leg twist and a howl of pain rips from my throat.

“You were distracted enough to reset it. Apologies.”

“Oh, fuuuck you!”

Labored breath scratches my dried throat and Ilios looms over me.

“That is also on the list of desires.”

“What? No.” He backs a hair away. “How are you gonna get my ankles above my head if my leg is broken?” I sputter and shake my head when his eyes light up. “No.”