My arm had already healed.

  I raised the left arm that had once been fractured, bruised, and twisted.

  Flexed my fingers.

  Rotated my shoulder.

  No discomfort at all.

  Back there on that wasteland, I had clearly heard the sound of multiple bones snapping—

  But now, it felt like nothing more than a dream.

  When I woke up, everything was fine.

  After we returned home, Nox still carefully checked every part of my arm.

  His touch was gentle. Almost too light.

  He murmured,

  “I’ve had a lot of surgical experience too, actually.

  I’m not as fast as Luma with her nanotech reconstructions, but I’m good enough to stabilize you, stop bleeding, stitch things up...”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “But Luma was the one who fixed me, wasn’t she?”

  “…I panicked,” he confessed, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

  “You bet your life on it. I was seriously—freaking out.”

  From the kitchen, Luma chuckled.

  She peeked her head around the counter, carrying drinks.

  “I’ve never seen you that nervous before,” she teased.

  “Usually when people challenge you, it’s all,

  ‘Oh? Is that the extent of your obsession?’”

  Nox cleared his throat, clearly flustered.

  “Don’t act like you’re any better.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  You usually sit far away, dead silent, judging the whole thing coldly.

  This time you sprinted over faster than I did.”

  They glanced at each other—

  And both broke into the same quiet, helpless smile.

  I looked at them.

  And my heart… ached in the best way.

  Back in my room, I hung my jacket over the chair, and suddenly remembered something.

  I turned around and asked,

  “Hey…

  Back when I was a kid—in that alley—you told me why you took me in.

  But I didn’t understand it at the time.

  Can you tell me now?”

  Luma sat on the edge of the sofa, thoughtful for a moment.

  Then she slowly said,

  “At first… we were drawn by your will to live.”

  “You, back then,” Nox added,

  “were covered in wounds. Starving, trembling—

  but still moving, still searching for something to eat.”

  “You had no language. No culture.

  No defense mechanisms whatsoever…

  But you clung to life so fiercely.”

  He lowered his gaze, as if still seeing the shadows of a small figure digging through garbage in a dark alleyway.

  “But your condition was already bad,” he went on.

  “If we hadn’t intervened, you wouldn’t have lasted long.

  I suggested we adopt you—

  to witness your life.”

  “…But I refused,” Luma said quietly.

  I froze.

  “She kept saying it was too much trouble,” Nox said with a soft laugh.

  “‘One more person is annoying,’ ‘extra burden’—that kind of thing.

  But she couldn’t look away from you.”

  “I nudged her just a little more,

  and she pretended to reluctantly agree.”

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  “So you were both soft-hearted from the start.”

  “Maybe,” Luma said, nodding gently.

  Then she looked at me, her gaze a mix of memory and confirmation.

  “You bit Nox back then, didn’t you?”

  Nox raised that same hand.

  The skin was clean—not even a faint scar.

  He looked at it, voice soft.

  “You really bit down hard.”

  He looked back at me, his eyes calm and quiet.

  “The moment you bit me—

  was beautiful.

  That struggle to survive, that refusal to let go—

  the way you looked at us like all you wanted was to escape…”

  “It was beautiful.”

  He was silent for a while.

  “…But now—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence.

  He and Luma both went quiet.

  The only sound left was the wind rustling the trees outside.

  After a long pause, Nox finally said,

  “Tonight, I’d still like to… tell you a story.”

  I blinked.

  “Another one?”

  He nodded.

  But in his eyes—there was something deeper. Something he couldn’t put into words.

  I frowned slightly.

  “Why do you always tell me these important things…

  through actions or stories?

  Why not just tell me directly?”

  This time, it was Luma who answered.

  She looked at me—

  softly, but with a fragile honesty I’d never seen from her before.

  “Because we…

  we don’t know how to teach you.”

  “What we carry is too old, too chaotic, too dangerous.

  We don’t know how humans are supposed to understand it.”

  “We’re used to telling stories—

  because this is our first time… trying to raise someone.”

  I was speechless.

  Their first time… trying to raise someone.

  And I—was the first person they were raising with all their heart.

  My story had begun in darkness.

  But it had brought me here.

  And they—had descended from far above,

  to live this life alongside me.

  I knew…

  Tonight’s story wouldn’t be easy to hear.

  But I would listen.

  Very, very carefully.