Chapter 10: Calm in the Cold
The room was dim.
Not dark, not light. Just dim.
As if the walls themselves had given up on defining day or night.
Chris sat on the bed, not moving. His eyes — dry, red, tired — stared at the white wall.
"This room..."
"No. This accursed room."
He whispered it to no one. Not out of drama. Just habit.
The Eye floated beside him. Silent. Watching.
He didn't shoo it away. Didn't speak to it.
Just sat, arms limp, back hunched slightly — like a man that forgot how to hold up his own frame.
He knew something was off with them. Months ago.
He saw the signs.
But he didn't ask. He chose not to.
"Maybe I didn't want to know."
He clenched his fist. Nails biting flesh.
"Maybe it's easier to pretend than to hear the answer."
He exhaled. No tears. Not even a sniffle.
Just... cold.
Chris had always been like this.
Even back in his past life.
There was a time when his pet cat — a warm, lovely little thing with gray stripes — had been mauled in front of him by a stray dog.
He remembered standing there, frozen. The scream of the cat, the blood, the silence afterward.
And he remembered... nothing.
No tears. No breakdown.
Just a cold, analytical emptiness.
"I should be crying," he remembered thinking.
"I loved that cat."
But the tears never came.
The grief was a concept. A logical acknowledgement of loss.
But not a storm. Not a wave. Just... cold.
A soft knock echoed.
Then the door slid open.
No permission asked. No clearance requested.
Just an unfamiliar silhouette — tall, graceful, and calm.
They stepped in quietly, wearing a long coat with a collar lined in ethereal silver, a symbol glowing faintly on their chest.
Their eyes were a strange mix — not warm, not cold, but present. Entirely, wholly present.
Chris didn't look up. "Who are you?"
"Someone who's a bit late," the person said gently.
"But someone who's here now."
Chris didn't respond.
The stranger stepped further in, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaving space between them.
"You're not broken, you know."
Chris raised an eyebrow, still staring at the wall. "Didn't ask."
"You feel sadness. But it doesn't express the way people expect. That's not a flaw."
"That's just you."
Silence.
Chris turned slightly. "So what are you then? A shrink? A spy? Another handler?"
"I'm an Amender."
"The hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Someone who fixes things. Not with tools. Not with magic. With presence."
Chris scoffed. "Presence doesn't bring the dead back."
"No. But it can keep the living from breaking."
That silenced him for a moment.
The Eye pulsed faintly, then dimmed.
"You're syncing with a Primordial," the Amender said quietly. "The coldness? That's part of it."
"You mean I'm losing my humanity?"
"No." The Amender shook their head. "I mean you're becoming something... more. And more doesn't always mean warmer."
They looked directly at him now.
"The Eye... it amplifies the strongest parts of you. Your logic. Your detachment. Your understanding of systems. But it doesn't kill your emotions."
"It just makes them... quieter."
Chris looked down.
"So what now?" he muttered. "They're gone. I'm stuck. I can't even feel like I should."
"Now?" The Amender stood. "Now, you live. Cold or warm, broken or not, you move."
They turned toward the door.
"And when you're ready..."
"Come find me. Because the Eye isn't just watching you."
"It's waiting for you to choose."
Chris blinked.
But before he could speak, the door slid shut.
And he was alone again.
Only this time...
The silence felt a little less heavy.
[Sync Level: 29% → 32%]
[Desire Detected: Clarity]
[Path Branching...]