Chereads / Beastbound: The Flesh of Power / Chapter 6 - Between Life and Awakening

Chapter 6 - Between Life and Awakening

I remember glimpses of something—flashes of light streaking past me, too fast to catch, like colorful streaks in my vision. It was as if the world around me was moving in a blur, and I was standing still, suspended in time. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a soft bed, the smell of herbs and antiseptic filling the air. The walls were made of weathered stone, old yet sturdy, and the faint, rhythmic creak of a wooden beam echoed softly overhead. The infirmary was a humble place—small, like an old cottage, but with wide windows that let the sunlight pour in, filling the space with warmth. The air was fresh, flowing through the open windows, and the wooden floors creaked gently beneath the weight of passing footsteps.

I blinked a few times, trying to focus. My shoulder was bandaged, but the pain throbbed relentlessly, like a constant reminder that I hadn't woken up to any new reality. With shaky hands, I reached for the stone tablet resting beside the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. The device felt cool against my fingertips, its weight a heavy presence in my palms. It had been a long-standing tradition in the village to check one's status upon awakening, and it had always been a simple process—until now.

I focused on the screen, willing the symbols to shift, to show me something new. Please, just this once...

But there was nothing. The numbers stayed the same. The screen flickered, but it confirmed what I already knew.

No awakening.

The pain, the fear, the fight… Was it enough?

The weight of it all crashed down on me. I'd fought for my life, bled for it, yet still, nothing had changed. Nothing was different. I wasn't special. I wasn't one of them.

A soft knock at the door pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. Leo stepped in first, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me. His face was worn, but his gaze softened when he saw I was awake. "Raze," he said gently, stepping closer. "How are you feeling?"

I didn't answer at first, my mind still reeling from the disappointment. But his presence, familiar and comforting, made the silence bearable. Leo shifted uncomfortably, as if he were searching for the right words. "Did it… Did it happen? The awakening, I mean. You were fighting so hard—"

I could hear the hope in his voice, the same hope that had carried me through the battle. I didn't want to disappoint him, but the truth hung heavy in my chest. I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "No, Leo. I didn't awaken." My voice cracked on the last word, the pain of the moment finally breaking through.

Leo's expression faltered, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure of what to say. Then, the door opened wider, and Anya stepped inside, holding a small bundle of flowers in her hands. Her eyes brightened when she saw me awake, but they quickly dimmed as she caught the atmosphere in the room.

"Raze..." Her voice softened with concern, her gaze shifting between Leo and me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, though I didn't feel okay at all. "Just… tired." I couldn't bring myself to say more, to tell her how empty I felt. She approached the bed, placing the flowers gently on the table beside me. Their vibrant colors seemed so out of place in the heaviness of the moment.

Leo sat down next to me, glancing at the tablet I had just discarded, then back at me. "You sure you're alright? I saw you fight like your life depended on it." His voice was steady, but I could hear the edge of worry.

Anya sat at the foot of my bed, her fingers lightly brushing the flowers. "You gave everything, Raze," she said quietly, as if trying to reassure me, but I could hear the sadness in her voice. "Sometimes it doesn't happen when you expect it." Leo must have told her...

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe... I wasn't meant to awaken. Maybe I was never meant to be like them.

As the silence stretched on, my heart ached with the weight of unspoken words. And as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I realized that maybe this—this uncertainty, this pain—was the only thing I had left to hold onto.