Chapter 404 Trying to Fight the Creeping Pull of Sleep

Hermit knelt down slowly, as if lowering them into the crate too fast would shatter them. He settled each hatchling down, adjusting their curled little bodies so they wouldn’t be resting on their bruises, making sure their tiny heads were supported. Some whimpered faintly in their sleep, their tiny fingers twitching toward him even after he let go.

His chest tightened.

They didn’t want to be alone.

With infinite patience, Hermit took a few tattered pieces of cloth and tucked them in.

He carefully draped a soft scrap over one hatchling’s fragile frame, his fingers smoothing it down so it wouldn’t slip off in the night. Another let out a soft whimper, so he gently nudged them closer to their siblings, ensuring they were all nestled together, sharing warmth.

“There you go,” he whispered, stroking a trembling little forehead with his thumb.

“Warm and safe now… snug as a bug... no more cold… no more hunger for tonight.”

One of the hatchlings let out a tiny, satisfied sigh, shifting slightly, burrowing into the fabric like a newborn seeking the comfort of a mother’s embrace.

He stayed crouched by the crate a little longer, just watching. Making sure their breathing was steady, making sure none of them woke in distress. One of the smallest ones had its mouth slightly open, a faint, wheezing breath escaping as it slept. Hermit hesitated, then ever so gently cupped the back of its tiny head, rubbing slow, soothing circles with his thumb.

“You’re alright, little one, I won’t leave you.”

At last, when he was sure they were deep in sleep, he pulled back—but not too far. He curled up just beside the crate, his back against the wall, keeping them within arm’s reach. In case they woke up scared. In case they needed him. His hand rested on the side of the crate, fingers brushing against the wood.

“Sleep well. Tomorrow… Tomorrow will be better.”

Hermit sat hunched beside the wooden crate, his tired eyes gazing down at the hatchlings nestled safely within. They were so small, so fragile, bundled together in their ragged bedding, their breathing slow and steady.

A warmth swelled in his chest.

He leaned in just a little, lowering his voice to a whisper, his breath barely a breeze against the hatchlings.

"Don’t worry, little ones. I’m here now. No one will hurt you. No one will take you away."

These little ones, they had suffered too much already. Their bellies, still round and tight from finally being filled, had once been hollow, empty, gnawing at them from the inside out. Their small limbs, bruised and scraped from their frantic struggle to eat, now rested limply beneath the thin, patched-up blanket he had draped over them.

Then, with a deep breath, he bent forward and pressed a delicate, feather-light kiss onto one hatchling’s forehead.

Then another.

And another.

Each tiny kiss, a whisper of warmth against their thin, delicate skin.

"One for comfort. One for warmth. One for love. One to chase away the nightmares."

A hatchling let out a tiny sigh, its frail fingers twitching in its sleep, and Hermit’s heart squeezed as he moved to the next, pressing another tender kiss against their damp, tiny brow.

“Sleep safe, little one,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a hush, filled with a love so raw it ached.

Another kiss.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Another.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

And then another.

His lips brushed against each of them in turn, a silent vow sealed in each gentle touch. His heart hurt with how fragile they were—how small, how helpless. But that was fine. Because he would be strong for them.

When he was done, he pulled back, blinking rapidly as warmth stung his eyes. He sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his arm before shaking his head. This wasn’t a moment for sadness. This was a moment for love.

His fingers traced the edge of the crate, as if the simple touch alone could create an invisible barrier against the dangers of the world. His ears flicked, listening to the sounds beyond the room, his instincts still wired for danger, but for once there was nothing only the snowstorm raging outside.

"I’ll stay up, I promise. I’ll keep watch. If anything happens, I’ll be right here. No harm will come to you. Not while I’m here…"

The weight of the day pressed down on him, his shoulders sagging as fatigue gnawed at his body. He blinked slowly, then shook his head, trying to fight the creeping pull of sleep.

He couldn’t rest now. The hatchlings needed him. He had to stay awake.

But the warmth of the fire, the rhythmic rise and fall of the tiny chests inside the crate, and the deep, bone-deep weariness settling into his limbs betrayed him. His body wavered. His head dipped forward slightly.

"No... no, I need to stay awake."

His eyes drooped. His body slumped.

"Maybe... just a moment."

The warmth surrounding him became heavier, lulling him in, and before he knew it—

—he was out.

His small frame sagged forward, his chin resting against his chest, ears twitching slightly as he let out the softest, most pitiful little snore. His arms folded over his lap, his whole body curled inward like a child drifting into peaceful slumber.

Despite his best intentions to stay awake, sleep had claimed him.

The tiny hatchlings stirred at the sound of his breathing, one of them shifting slightly, their fragile hands curling into the rags beneath them. For the first time in their short, hungry, fearful lives, they weren’t alone.

Suzuka's eyes flicking toward the small wooden crate where the hatchlings lay. Her golden gaze landing on Hermit.

He was curled up beside the crate, his small, frail form barely taking up any space, his arms hugged tightly around himself as he snored softly, ears twitching even in sleep. The room was quiet at last. No more nagging. No more whining. No more Hermit. Just blissful, uninterrupted silence.

Suzuka exhaled deeply, her muscles finally loosening as she leaned back against the wall. The only sound now was the wind howling beyond the wooden walls, the roar of the snowstorm outside like a distant beast prowling through the darkness. The cold tried to creep in, slithering through cracks and gaps, but the sturdy fireplace in the corner held it at bay, the flames flickering lazily, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

Her golden eyes fluttered, growing heavier with each passing second.

Her grip on her sword relaxed as her body slumped slightly, her head tilting to the side until it rested against the wall. The worn leather of her scabbard was warm beneath her fingertips, the familiar weight of her weapon across her lap a small comfort.

Snow battered against the wooden shutters, wind screeching as if trying to claw its way inside. But inside these walls, the world was still. Warm. Safe.

Suzuka had dozed off as well, her head leaning against the wall, her sword resting across her lap.

But in the darkness, a predator stirred.

A rat, its fur greasy and matted, its eyes gleaming with a feral hunger, slipped through a crack in the shed’s wall. Its stomach twisted with hunger, but it didn’t rush. No, it had time. It had choices.

Its nose wriggled as it followed the scent to the crate.

Inside, the hatchlings slept in a fragile bundle, their tiny bodies twitching in their dreams, their small bellies rising and falling. It sniffed the air, its nose twitching as it caught the scent of the hatchlings—warm, defenseless, and vulnerable. The rat’s claws scraped against the wooden floor as it crept closer, its movements silent.

The nest, so carefully crafted by Hermit, offered no protection against the intruder. The rat pushed its way through the layers of cloth and hay, its sharp claws tearing through the soft bedding. 

The rat’s yellowed teeth gleamed as its lips pulled back. A slow, deliberate grin. It did not pounce. It did not kill. It wanted to play.

With a sudden, vicious bite, it clamped its teeth onto one hatchling’s frail tail.

A shrill, tiny squeal shattered the silence.

The hatchling jerked awake, writhing in agony, its tiny limbs flailing as the rat sank its teeth deeper, gnawing. The hatchlings, sensing danger, began to chirp in alarm, their tiny voices high-pitched and frantic. But their cries were too weak to wake Hermit.

The others, squeaking in terror, tried to squirm away, but the wooden crate trapped them. The rat released its hold for just a moment, watching its prey tremble and twitch, gasping. And then it did it again.

It clawed at their soft underbellies, leaving deep, stinging scratches that burned and bled. It nipped at their fragile skin, pulling, tearing, never fully biting them—just hurting them enough to make them scream.

One hatchling, the smallest of the group, didn’t stand a chance. The rat’s claws slashed across its face, leaving deep, bleeding gashes. The tiny creature let out a shrill, piercing scream, its tiny hands clutching at its ruined face as it stumbled backward, blood streaming down its fragile skin.

The next hatchling tried to crawl away, its tiny claws scrabbling against the crate, but the rat was faster. It pounced, its claws raking across the hatchling’s back, tearing through its thin skin. The hatchling let out a guttural cry, its body convulsing as it collapsed, its back a mess of blood and torn flesh.

Another hatchling, its tiny tail twitching in fear, tried to flee, but the rat’s jaws snapped shut around it. The rat chomped down, its teeth sinking into the hatchling’s tail, and with a violent thrash, it whipped the tiny creature against its siblings. The hatchling’s tail snapped with a sickening crunch, and it was launched across the nest, slamming face-first into the hard wood of the crate. It lay there, dazed and whimpering, its tiny body trembling with pain, face crushed.