During your rare moments of clarity, the man at your bedside was your only company. He smoothed your hair with a gentle hand, moving it down to take your smaller hand in his. He held a storybook in his other hand.

"Would you like me to read you another story, young one?" he whispered, his voice as tender as a father's. "Or would you prefer something to eat?"

Judging by the barely unpacked bags and suitcases at the door, Luocha had just returned home from another voyage, and immediately began to fuss over you. As expected. Not even the cries of the Aeons could stop him from finding a cure.