Unmade Chapter 23: Chapter 23: cooking(1)

Read chapter 23 of Unmade by churro on NovelPedia.

Vale sat beneath the five black suns, their dim, overlapping light painting his pale skin in shades of red and silver. Before him, the small white creature had begun to stand on shaky legs, its movements uncertain but determined. Each step it took sent faint ripples through the surface of the bloody sea, and the reflection of the suns fractured around it like shards of glass. The three familiar creatures, the great white tiger, the sleek black lizard, and the crimson centipede, had already gathered nearby. They watched in quiet fascination, their forms still and regal, as if instinctively recognizing the importance of what they were witnessing. Every so often, one of them made a small movement, a flick of a tail, a low chitter, a soft growl, that seemed to urge the newborn forward. Vale could feel the faint pulse of the creature's emotion: curiosity, patience, something close to pride. Through the resonance link, he could sense the newborn’s feelings as clearly as his own heartbeat. The creature was happy, clumsy and confused, but happy. Yet beneath that joy was a deep, wordless longing, the soft ache of something missing. It knew instinctively that none of those around it, not the tiger, not the chained man, not even Vale himself, were its true parent. Vale tilted his head, a faint melancholy in his eyes. “Strange little thing,” he murmured. “You already know what loss feels like?” Still, the creature’s liveliness returned quickly. When Vale reached out a cautious finger, its small pale head darted forward and bit him, though gently, with tiny, incomplete teeth. Startled, Vale blinked, then laughed aloud, the sound breaking the heavy quiet of the sea. “You sure are playful, aren’t you?” From where he sat, the chained man gave no reply, but beneath the black mask, a faint smile curved unseen. His voice didn’t betray it, but the warmth in the air did, a quiet pride, the sort a teacher feels when a student takes joy in something fragile. Vale gently turned the little creature over with his finger, letting it rest in the hollow of his palm. The newborn twitched and kicked, then finally went still, accepting his touch. Vale rubbed its small belly carefully, watching it wriggle with delight. “A name, huh?” Vale mused aloud, remembering the chained man’s earlier words. He kept his gaze averted from the creature’s eyes, mindful of the warning not to stare too long. He thought for a while, his mind wandering through names like drifting embers in a dying fire. Finally, he spoke again, softly: “How about… Ember?” The creature froze for a moment, then chirped, a sharp, curious sound. Through the link, Vale felt a rush of warmth, recognition, approval and happiness. He smiled, at the emotion that bloomed inside him. “Ember it is, then,” he said. From his makeshift seat, a pile of old books, the chained man tilted his head slightly. His voice, calm and deep as ever, broke the stillness. “Why Ember?” Vale lifted his gaze toward him, still smiling faintly. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Its eyes were that color when I first saw them. It just… felt right.” There was no symbolism, no deeper meaning, just instinct. The man regarded him for a few silent moments before returning his gaze to the creature. “Keep it close to you,” he said finally, his tone carrying an odd softness. “It needs to get used to you… and your scent.” Vale blinked at the choice of words, then nodded slowly. “I see,” he murmured. He extended his hand, palm open. The little creature blinked its golden-orange eyes, then, after a brief pause, began to climb his arm. Its tiny claws pricked faintly against his pale skin as it made its way upward before settling at last upon his shoulder. Once there, it gave a small sound, half sigh, half chirp, and curled up. Within seconds, its breathing slowed; it had fallen asleep. It was still a hatchling, after all. Even celestial beasts had their limits. Vale smiled gently, careful not to move too quickly and disturb it. “Sleep well, Ember,