Elio was five when he first played with his grandfather.
It was a warm afternoon, and Elio was playing alone in their backyard, running barefoot across the lawn, pretending to be a hero in a dungeon, with his wooden sword slashing through imaginary monsters.
Demons.
"Elio," a voice called behind him. His grandpa was standing under the old ash tree, smiling at him.
"You want to play?" his grandfather asked.
"Yes!"
And so they did.
His grandpa had not changed a bit since the day he played with him: white-haired, kind-eyed, always wearing those brown trousers...
Elio never questioned it. Because for him, his grandfather was there. He liked it when his grandfather would run his wrinkled hands through his hair, chuckle at his every whim, and tell old stories about knights in the dungeons, ghosts, and demons.
But there was one thing his grandfather never did.
He never spoke about tomorrow.
"Elio," his grandpa would say to him every time they parted ways, voice as gentle as the wind, "Do not forget us; you're our only hope."
Elio was too young to understand what his grandpa meant at that time. So, instead of asking, he nodded and continued playing.
Those words from his grandfather gradually slipped away like the wind in the trees as years passed.
Three years later, Elio turned eight, and his sister Annette was five. One morning, the siblings were playing in the backyard. Annette was busy playing with her dolls and tea cups while Elio played alone near the bushes. Elio noticed that his grandpa wasn't moving on the wooden bench near the ash tree where he usually spotted. The older man stared at them with a gentle smile in the background, but something was off.
"Grandpa! Come play with us!" Elio called out, waving to his grandfather.
However, his grandfather smiled but did not move.
Curious, Elio turned to Annette. "Do you want to play with Grandpa, too?"
Annette frowned. "Who?"
Elio pointed at the bench. "That's Grandpa over there. Can't you see him?"
Annette's expression turned confused, then slightly worried. "Elio, there's no one there."
Elio got confused about what was happening at that moment. His sister Annette cannot see what he can see. But his grandfather sat at the wooden bench, still smiling, his face calm as ever.
"But-" Elio started.
"Elio, stop being weird!" Annette scared of what his brother could see that she could not, huffed and ran off out of fear.
Elio stared at his grandfather, confused about why Annette couldn't see him. Slowly, he backed away from where he stood and ran inside the house.
His mind was racing with questions.
During dinner, Elio was hesitant to share what happened in the backyard. Before he spoke to his parents, he kept staring at them with fear and anxiousness, then he said, "Why is Grandpa...not here with us?"
His mother's gaze quickly shifted to his son with a hint of concern. At the same time, his father expressed his disappointment by placing his fork on the plate beside him, staring sharply at Elio. "How many times we've told you before? Your grandfather passed away before you were even born."
"But..." Elio wanted to explain; at least, he tried to. But his father's gaze was so intimidating that the words he was supposed to say were cut. "Enough with those stories, Elio. Are you supposed to spend your time pretending your grandfather is here? Please don't make me say it twice or mention this nonsense! Or else..."
Elio was shot in silent the moment his father raised his voice and warned him. On the other hand, his mother immediately touched Elio's arm, trying her best to comfort the child.
"It would be better if you stay here inside and play with your sister. Do you understand, sweetheart?"
Elio wanted to protest, to tell them that he was telling the truth, that he could see him, felt him, that he wasn't just a dream or an imagination.
After that night, Elio stopped mentioning his grandfather.
-----
At first, he ignored his grandfather's presence. Whenever he saw him standing by the tree or sitting by the bench, he would look away, forcing himself to believe that he was just a fraction of his imagination.
Then, something changed.
He began seeing others, like how he saw, heard, and touched his grandfather. They were dead, but they were all confirmed to him.
Elio slowly realized that his world was different, that his world was splitting apart. The living and the dead walked side by side, and here he was, unable to distinguish one from another. He became so fearful, unable to talk, to trust his own eyes. What if someone he spoke to wasn't there?
His parents noticed his behavior change. He became quiet and withdrawn. He stopped playing outside. Stopped being sociable. He cannot sleep without the lights on, as if he were being torn into pieces by the images and fears of those who weren't there.
That's the time when his parents made a very crucial decision...
And then--
There was silence.
-----
Elio woke up drenched in his sweat. His body felt like it was burning, his head pounding like a drum inside his skull. He was confused, staring at the ceiling, trying to grasp the remnants of a dream already slipping away.
In his dream, there was an older man—he cannot remember his relationship with him. Still, he can recall his wrinkled hands ruffling his hair and the baritone laughter echoing in his ears. Then there were also his parents, but he couldn't see their faces. Then, another blurred character in his memory is a man with strikingly bloody red eyes. Still, he could not remember entirely who he was.
Then, after that...nothing.
He groaned, turning his head to the side of his bed. His room felt so suffocating that he could not breathe. His fever was too high, his body too weak, and the pain...
Oh, god!
It was painful. He could not explain the pain; it was wrecking!
He needed help.
But who? His parents? Annette?
No.
His fingers trembled as he pushed the blankets off him. Every movement was a struggle like he was wading through deep water. And the pain? It was all over his body. It was so painful he wanted to cry.
He can almost feel that cancer is slowly eating up his entire body.
So...painful...I can't...
Elio couldn't tolerate the pain anymore, so he grabbed the bottle of painkiller and opened its cap with shaking hands. His vision blurred as he poured a few into his palm—maybe many, but he couldn't care. All he wanted was for the pain to disappear.
His throat was dry, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He swallowed the pills without water, feeling them scrape against his throat as they went down.
But the pain didn't subside.
Not immediately.
Elio clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he rocked forward, forehead pressing against his knees. His entire body was screaming in pain.
"Please...make it stop..."
He had lived with pain for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to be without it. But tonight—tonight was unbearable...
He needed help.
But who would he call?
His breath hitched as another wave of pain tore through him. His body jerked forward, his vision darkening at the edges.
No.
He had to move.
Elio forced himself to leave his bed, nearly collapsing the moment he did. His limbs felt like they weren't his own, but he pushed forward, stumbling toward his jacket. The room spun as he slipped it on, his fingers fumbling with the zipper before he gave up.
One step.
Then another.
The hallway seemed longer than usual. The door handle was ice-cold beneath his palm as he pushed it open.
The cold air outside should have relieved him, but it only made him shiver violently. His body felt like it was burning and freezing all at once.
"Hospital...I need to go to the hospital..."
His mind whispered it repeatedly, but his feet took him in a different direction.
He walked without thinking. Through streets, he barely recognized past flickering streetlights and silent buildings. His vision swam, the world around him warping into something familiar...
And then—
He was there, standing in front of the funeral shop at Shallowmoore.
It was too late when he finally realized. His lips parted to ask himself why, but the shop door creaked open before he could.
A figure stood there, his eyes widening in shock.
"Elio?"
It was Kenny. His breath hitched the moment he saw Elio's painful state.
Elio swayed, his body finally giving up on him. The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was a voice—anxious and distant.
"Quick! Call Grimm!"
Elio's world blurred into a fevered haze as exhaustion pulled him under. He was vaguely aware of his arms catching him before he hit the ground, Kenny's frantic voice breaking through the ringing in his ears.
"Elio? Hey—stay with me!"
He wanted to respond, to say something, but the effort was too much. His body felt like it was melting, consumed by an unbearable heat that made breathing a chore.
Then, there was another presence.
Cool. Steady. Unshaken.
"Bring him inside, now!"
The voice was unmistakable.
It was Grimm.
Even in the depths of his fevered delirium, Elio recognized him.
"Grimm..."
Elio felt the strong arms lifting him. He could hear the voices, the murmurs, but none were audible enough for him to understand. Then, he felt the cold, damp cloth pressed against his forehead, soothing yet fleeting, as though the fever still fought to reclaim him.
"His fever's too high."
"We need to cool him down before it gets worse."
Hands—gentle yet firm—adjusted the blankets around him. Aside from the smell of old candles, there were sharp scents of herbs, and something faintly medicinal lingered in the air.
Time slipped away in fragments: heat and cold, pain and relief, voices and silence. The fever refused to break, dragging him between brief moments of awareness and the pull of unconsciousness.
Then, finally—stillness.
When Elio's eyes flutter open, the dim glow of a lantern casts long shadows against the walls. His body still ached, but the fire raging beneath his skin had dulled into a simmering warmth.
And beside him was Grimm.
Waiting.
"Elio..."
His name left Grimm's lips softer than he had ever heard. A sigh? A plea? He couldn't tell. But even amid delirium, Elio could tell that Grimm didn't have his usual unreadable expression.
That moment, it was something else...
Fear. Worried.
Then a single touch from Grimm's hand made His eyelids feel heavy again, exhaustion tugging him back into sleep.
That touch was so cold, yet very comforting.
And just before the darkness claimed him once more, he heard Grimm's voice, quiet and steady.
"I'm glad you made it."