Loyalty

The owner placed her hand over her mouth, trying not to sob as she began to imagine her father recovering from this curse that had plagued him for so long.

Her husband gripped the box tightly.

Keeping himself positioned behind them, gestured with his hand that they were allowed to use the eye, no need to hesitate.

Sensing that there were multiple presences in the room, one that he didn't recognize, the old man stirred slightly and his head twitched. Just opening his eyes a little bit, he was able to see his daughter, his son-in-law, and a stranger behind them.

Getting down on her knees, the woman grabbed the old man's hand and placed it on her cheek as tears trickled. "Papa," she whispered.

She sounded like a kid again.

It felt like she was the little girl who would sneak into her father's room in the middle of the night because she was scared of the thunder.

The old man's lips parted, but no words came out. Just a faint breath and his lips slightly twitched upwards as if trying to smile.

With each passing day, the red and orange lines that haunted his body crept further towards his eyes, and eventually, he would become blind. Then after going blind, it would reach his brain and he would fall into a coma before finally — dying.

He was already satisfied with his life. Just the fact that his daughter loved him this dearly, his son-in-law treated him like his real father, and he had a lovely granddaughter who was going to make him proud someday, he was content.

He didn't fear death.

After all, he's been fighting off death for more than two decades. They said with the Dragon Fever, he wouldn't survive more than a year. 

Look at him.

Look at me!

He did the impossible and remained alive far beyond all the experts' estimations.

'Hey, baby girl. Why are you crying? No need to cry. Daddy's fine. I'm still going strong.'

He wanted to say these words as he looked at his daughter through the small gap he was able to open his eyelids.

Bell's gaze didn't leave the dying man. He could see that despite the state that he was in, the fire in his chest was still burning. 

'He's a real warrior. Even in the face of death, he fights.'

He couldn't help but nod as a sign of respect.

The husband walked over to his father-in-law and joined his wife. Down on his knees, he said in a quivering voice, "Father… we did it. We… we have a dragon's eye. W-We can save you!'

The old man's eyes opened wider than ever. His pupils quivered and his wrinkled twitched.

'How?!'

Only a faint grunt left his mouth despite screaming in his mind.

'If you did something terrible for this, then I don't want it! My life is no more important than either of yours! What about your daughter?!'

The owner could sense what her father was thinking and she reassured him.

"Don't worry Father. We… we didn't steal it or harm anyone for it. You see that young man behind us? He… he is our savior. He gave us this dragon eye in exchange for nothing. That's right. You heard me right Father. He wants nothing in return," she said in a tone as if she were trying to convince her father that there was no catch.

The old man was in the same boat as the couple. He didn't believe it.

He glared at Bell, confused, worried, and in awe.

Was he staring at the devil or was he staring at a saint?

After a few more brief seconds of hesitation, the husband finally opened the box, and immediately, just like before, the room became heavy from the pressure the eye was emitting.

The room grew quiet, like a classroom full of students taking their exams.

The husband picked up the eyeball with shaking hands. If it wasn't for his wife, who held his other hand to give him support, he might've dropped it. 

The crimson glow of the eye bathed the room in an eerie pulsing light. It didn't flicker like flames — it throbbed. It was a living heartbeat echoing through time.

After researching for so long on how to cure Dragon Fever, the couple knew exactly what they had to do with the eye. The husband placed the eye on the old man's chest and allowed it to rest near where his heart was.

The old man had no strength to protest. Even though he feared that Bell was going to eventually ask for a payment that they wouldn't be able to handle, he had no voice to argue.

His body trembled, unsure whether in fear or disbelief.

Pressing two fingers on opposite poles of the eye, the husband held it for three seconds and the eye stopped pulsating and instead, began to emit a constant glow.

Then, he started to rotate the eye clockwise in small circles over the chest — three times only.

The moment it began to hum, he pulled his hands away.

He helped his wife up to her feet and the two of them stepped back. There was no need to interfere now. They just had to let the eye do the rest.

The glow grew in brightness, then it began to pulsate again. It pulsated faster, stronger, LOUDER.

And then—

Silence.

The old man convulsed once.

His back arched slightly.

Then, as if time were reversed, the markings across his body began to recede.

First the jaw, then the neck, then the chest, and lastly, the arms.

Vein by vein, the markings of the Dragon Fever melted away into nothingness like snowflakes under a warm morning sun.

The eye rested between his ribcages dimmed, then cracked, and then it turned into fine ash, scattering like dust across his chest.

The couple stared nervously.

Bell watched with intrigue. The novel failed to properly express just how cool the process was. Seeing it with his own eyes felt a bit surreal.

Then the old man inhaled — deeply.

It was a breath not pulled from his lungs but from his soul.

He opened his eyes wide and… sat up.

No groan. No stagger. No pain.

He just moved.

It was as though those twenty years of decay, those decades of fighting back against death that was around the corner, all of it had been peeled away and burned out of him.

"...I'm… I'm healed."

His voice was hoarse but full.

The owner had her hands over her mouth, her eyes containing more water than the ocean. Her husband was not much better either.

Once the old man reached out both hands, the two people frozen in place were set free and they rushed him. 

All three of them fell.

Collapsed onto the bed, arms wrapping around him from either side, a family — crumpled, weeping, laughing through tears that they had no control over.

Sobbing into the old man's shoulder, the owner trembled with every breath.

"Papa… Papa… I thought I was going to lose you. I thought I was going to lose you!"

Cupping the back of her head, he kissed her hair. No matter how old she got, she was still his little girl. "I know, baby girl. I know," he said with a watery glisten in his eyes.

She clung to him tighter as if she was afraid she was going to lose him to the damn curse again. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, her tears wetting his gown.

The son-in-law leaned in from the other side, pressing his forehead against the chest. Shoulder heaving with quiet strangled breaths, he muttered, "You're all that we had left. My parents have already passed. Mother-in-law also left and… and you were all that was left. We were losing you every day. I — I wasn't… it's my fault. I wasn't strong enough—"

"You were," the old man interrupted his son-in-law gently. "You both were. You took care of me at my weakest and gave me years I never should've had. I held on because of you two and your daughter."

They all cried together, not like broken people… but like a dam finally released after holding back an ocean. There were no more words for a while, only the sound of three heartbeats aligning, finding each other again in the silence.

Finally, the old man stood up. Looking at his hands, his chest, his legs, all of it wasn't a dream.

He moved his gaze to Bell, who had observed the three of them without a single change of expression. Although he wasn't particularly moved by the familial scene, he let them have their moment, keeping his mouth shut and his presence faint.

Moving his legs forward, the old man was still in shock that he had the strength to function again.

Then, once he reached Bell, who was leaning against the doorframe, he fell to his knees before the boy.

"Father?"

"Papa?"

His forehead pressed to the floor, arms stretched before him.

The couple gasped.

"F-Father—!"

"No," the old man said, shaking off his son's arm that had grabbed his elbow. His voice trembling, he continued, "Let me."

Lifting his head, he looked up at Bell with eyes glassy with tears and fire.

"You've… you've given me time. Not just a second life, but time. Time to play with my granddaughter. Time to cook with my son. Time to laugh and eat with my daughter. To share meals with my family again, rather than lie on that bed like a corpse every day. I can walk outside again without pain in my bones. You've given me a second chance, and I… I offer you my life and loyalty in return."

"...Father."

"Papa…"

The couple muttered but didn't stop him. What he was doing wasn't much different from what they had done a couple of minutes ago. They understood why he was doing it.

"That's not necessary," Bell said, raising a hand. "I didn't do it for your loyalty."

"But you'll have it nonetheless," the old man said, pounding a fist against his chest. "I swear on the Black Hawk's creed, this life of mine no longer belongs to me. It is yours. You say you want nothing, but I must give it."

'To repay the debt… and to make it harder for you to demand too much from the rest of my family.'

The old man still believed that there was a catch. He hoped that by swearing loyalty to Bell, he would pay off a little bit of the debt and when it was time for Bell to redeem his payment, it would ease the price a little bit.

This was his way of protecting his children and grandchild.

Bell looked at the couple who had their eyes wide open and were also about to drop down to their knees.

He gestured for them not to follow his example.

"Do you insist that I accept your loyalty?" Bell asked. "You can take it back. I really don't want anything from you or your family."

"I've already sworn on my creed. There's no taking it back," the old man stated.

"...Then fine. I'll accept yours. Just yours. As for your daughter and son, I will not accept theirs. It'll only be a burden," he sighed.

"Thank you," the old man said as he bowed his head three times to his new master.

His voice steadier now, he asked Bell, "May I have your name, Master?"

"It's Bell Agnus."

* * *

A soft ding echoed as the restaurant's front door opened.

Sarakit, after receiving the secret message from her mother, had run away, returning only an hour later. She paused as she stepped inside, blinking at the empty room.

Where were her parents?

There were no signs of anyone in the building.

The sign still said "OPEN" and yet… neither the owner nor the chef was here to tend to potential customers. The chairs were still neatly tucked in, so there didn't seem to be a scuffle, but under no circumstances would her parents ever leave the restaurant like this without at least locking the door.

Something happened. Something had to have happened. Why else would her mother have warned her?

"...Mama?" she called out, her voice barely reaching past the walls. "Papa?"

No answer.

Fear quickly crept in. Dropping her backpack that she took with her when she ran away, she quicking dashed towards the stairs, her heart pounding a thousand times a second.

Something was wrong!

Bolting up the stairs, two steps at a time, halfway up to the second floor, she slowed down.

Laughter?

She blinked, confused.

With a frown, she slowly walked along the hallway.

Who was laughing?

It wasn't her parents.

There was another voice. A deeper one that sounded raspy like scraping gravel.

She could hear her parents' voices. They sounded okay. No — they sounded more than okay. They sounded happier than she's ever heard them before. 

Curious now, she sped her pace without running. Closer she got to the bedroom at the end of the hallway, the louder the laughter got. Joyful. Honest. Warm. 

And then, she opened the door.

She froze.

First, her eyes locked on a figure that was standing beside the bed.

'Bell Agnus?' It was a fellow student who attended the same academy as her. Not just any student either. A very famous one, the son of a duke.

He was dressed as finely as his noble last name would entail. Which was strange. Bell never acted in a manner befitting of the Agnus last name. He associated with the commoners and treated all equally.

Now that same Bell was — standing beside her grandfather's bed?

Then she saw—

Her grandfather.