Kevin lingered in the doorway, the quiet tension in the air almost tangible as Christie's voice rang out with that familiar, teasing challenge. "Okay, fine. I'll be there. Just wait up." Her playful warning danced in her eyes, sparkling with mischief, daring him not to keep his word. He grinned—there was a lightness in her that always pulled him back from the weight of their long lives together.
Fifteen minutes later, Kevin stood framed in the doorway of their home, the worn wooden floor beneath his boots grounding him. His broad shoulders squared naturally, muscles taut beneath the casual fabric of his shirt hinting at years spent working the land and training under the harsh sun. The fine lines around his dark eyes told stories of battle, hardship, and laughter—a life fully lived. His messy black hair, tousled by a breeze slipping through the open door, gave him a rugged, approachable look that put people at ease.
His gaze immediately found Christie descending the staircase. Time seemed to slow, each detail sharpening—the way her emerald eyes glimmered with amusement, the soft fall of her carefully tousled hair, and the gentle sway of her simple yet elegant dress, a perfect balance of grace and practicality. She was the heart of this home, the sun to his sky, and just looking at her made his pulse quicken. His breath caught in his throat, desire washing over him even across the room.
As she moved with the fluid grace of someone born to command attention, Kevin's gaze lingered. His hands clenched slightly at his sides, the fire beneath his surface burning bright. "Why did fate bring me such a woman?" he thought, a bittersweet chuckle escaping him. Her playful mock lament deepened his affection. She understood him—his bravado, his flaws, and the vulnerable man beneath.
In a rare moment of honesty, he admitted to himself—and to her—how unworthy he felt. "How does a lowly man like me deserve a goddess with your grace, intelligence, and beauty?" he mused inwardly, melancholy weaving with admiration. When he spoke aloud, his words tumbled out like a whispered prayer. Her teasing suggestion for one last moment of intimacy brought a spark to her eyes and a quick shift from softness to the commanding presence that made their bond unbreakable.
Thirty minutes later, the couple stood side by side on the sprawling bunishi farmland. Kevin's gaze swept over the strange crops—half pineapple, half potato, bathed in a dirty purple hue—pride and responsibility swelling in him. "Why don't we split up, Christie? We can cover more ground and find whatever's troubling these crops faster."
Her gentle refusal tugged at him. Her desire to share this moment, to work together, stirred a soft warmth in his chest. Kevin's teasing tone hinted at the intimacy they had just shared, a bond so strong that even after centuries together, desire still flickered between them.
When Christie called him a shameless, naughty man, Kevin laughed softly and pulled her close. His embrace was firm but gentle, a promise that despite his flaws, he was hers—always. His words, humble yet sincere, revealed the depth of his feelings and the trust he placed in her, even amidst her playful complaints. Her blush warmed him, and the love between them soothed his weary soul.
Their playful banter ended abruptly as Kevin noticed the first signs of damage on the farmland—the broken stems and crushed leaves of the bunishi crops he had tended with care. A knot of protectiveness twisted in his gut, each trampled plant an insult to everything they had built.
Kevin's gaze turned steel toward the boy. This wasn't a brat tossing childish jabs; this was someone either ignorant of the weight of words or daring to challenge the legacy he and Christie had fought for. The faint hum of the air conditioner faded beneath his heartbeat.
A century—one hundred years of sweat, sacrifice, and silent wars—condensed into this sanctuary. And now this kid called it a prison.
His jaw tightened, stung by misunderstanding. Kevin wasn't one for grand speeches—actions mattered more than words—but sometimes, words were all he had.
The boy's innocence grated on him, naïve confusion about time and life clashing with his world-weary heart. Yet beneath that, Kevin sensed something fragile—a spark of something lost, maybe even hope.
When Rick faltered and stared at the shimmering metal Kevin had conjured, Kevin felt a flicker of pride. This magic—his magic—was more than showmanship. It was precision, control, a silent promise: he could forge strength from nothing.
Still, the weight of the years pressed on Kevin's shoulders. Protecting this place, this fragile hope for the future, had cost him everything. And now here was this child, a question mark in a century-old equation, forcing him to confront what it meant to be both guardian and judge.
He exhaled slowly, voice low but sharp.
"Listen, kid. This place… it's not for the faint-hearted. It's a dead zone for children, a crucible where only the strong survive. If you want to live here, you better learn what that means."
His eyes softened briefly, then the steel returned.
"But first—where do you come from? And what rights do you think you have? Out here, the rules aren't what you imagine."
He waited, ready to cut through lies, hoping—against hope—that this boy might be different.
---
Then his gaze fell on the source of the chaos: an unconscious youth with silver-blue hair, lying amid the trampled crops like a fallen star. Kevin's breath hitched. The boy's beauty was otherworldly, almost unnatural—too perfect to be just a child, yet unmistakably young. Soft baby fat on his cheeks, the absence of scars or calluses, marked him as no hardened warrior. Kevin's internal monologue balanced awe and relief—the average size of the boy grounding him amidst swirling thoughts, sparing the world from a potential warlord of overwhelming presence.
Christie's silence unsettled him. He sensed unspoken tension, a possibility she was mesmerized by the boy—something Kevin's stomach instinctively rejected. When her voice finally broke, trembling and uncertain, his heart clenched. The woman he had loved for nearly two centuries might be slipping away to someone he barely understood—and someone he instinctively feared.
Desperation sharpened his tone. "Stop right there, Christie. I won't let you do this." Calm steel underlay the storm in his eyes—a man confronting the unraveling of everything he held dear.
Her distant, resolute reply cut through him like a blade. Why not? she asked softly, believing this was their best chance. Her eyes searched his for understanding. Kevin blinked, stunned by the gulf that had opened.
Inwardly, he screamed at the injustice, at fate's cruelty. His love, his dreams, his loyalty—all torn apart by a boy neither of them fully understood. He clenched his fists, forcing out words heavy with frustration and raw honesty. "If you won't think of me, think of yourself… the pain of reliving love with someone else… the weight of society's judgment…" His voice faltered, vulnerability breaking through his tough exterior.
Christie's confusion and sharp dismissal felt like salt in an open wound. Yet Kevin held his ground, thinking of grim realities: capture, erasure, slavery—the lesser evil, sending the boy to Bruno, was born of survival.
Her tears only strengthened his resolve. Kevin's voice softened, a whisper of unyielding loyalty and love. "Anything for you, always," he said, stepping closer, grounding himself in the one constant in his shifting world.
Finally, as Christie looked up with gratitude shining through her tears, Kevin felt a fragile hope flicker. The world was harsh, unkind—but their bond, tested by centuries, held strong. For now, that was enough.