Chapter 401 Fragile Lives Left Alone in the Dark

Hermit’s eyes filled with tears, and he leaned closer, his voice firm but gentle.

 “No one’s going to hurt you, Kaka. I won’t let them. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Hermit’s heart ached, and he reached out to gently cup Kaka’s face, careful not to touch the worst of his injuries.

 “Kaka, look at me. Please. It’s me. It’s Hermit. You remember me, don’t you?”

For a long moment, Kaka didn’t respond. His eyes remained distant, clouded with pain and fear. But then, slowly, something shifted. His gaze flickered to Hermit’s face, and for the first time, there was a flicker of recognition. His lips moved again, and this time, his voice was a little clearer, though still weak and trembling.

“H... Hermit? My son...? Is... is it really you?”

Hermit’s breath caught in his throat, and he nodded quickly, a tear slipping down his cheek.

 “Yes, Kaka. It’s me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kaka’s lips twitched, as if he were trying to smile, but the effort was too much. His eyes drifted shut again, but his breathing was steadier now, and some of the fear had left his expression. His voice was faint, almost inaudible, but Hermit heard every word.

“Thank you... Hermit... I thought... I thought I will never see you again...”

Hermit’s tears spilled over, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against Kaka’s.

 “You’re not alone, Kaka. You’ll never be alone again. I promise.”

Kaka’s voice, though weak, carried a desperate urgency that cut through the quiet of the shed. His swollen eyes locked onto Hermit’s, pleading and insistent, as he struggled to sit up. Hermit gently pressed him back down, his own heart racing at the sudden shift in Kaka’s tone.

“Kaka, don’t move! You’re badly hurt. Just tell me what’s wrong?”

Kaka’s breath came in shallow gasps, but he forced the words out, each one laced with pain and urgency. 

“Hermit... listen, dear boy. The breeding farm... it was attacked. Not long ago. I think... I think everyone’s dead. But the hatchery... the hatchery! You must see if it’s alright. The hatchlings... they were about to hatch. But I was punished... tortured... thrown into the pit. Then the horrors started. I heard the screams, the shouts... flesh being crushed, ripped apart... it was horrible. But none of that matters now. You must go... check on the hatchlings. The hatchery is in the cave, hidden behind big crates. Small doors. You must save them. They’re fragile, and no one is looking after them now. Please, Hermit... you must.”

Hermit's heart clenched at the thought of the tiny, fragile lives left alone in the dark, vulnerable and helpless. He looked down at Kaka, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the makeshift bed.

“No time, Hermit. No time for questions. The hatchlings... they’ll die without care. They need warmth, food... someone to protect them. You’re the only one who can do this. Please... you must go. Now.”

Hermit nodded, his resolve hardening. 

 “I’ll go, Kaka. I’ll check on the hatchlings. I’ll save them. I promise.”

“Thank you... Hermit. You’ve always been... a good boy. Be careful... please.”

Hermit stood, his small frame trembling. He turned to Suzuka, his voice weak. 

“Master, I have to go. I have to save them. Please, look after Kaka.”

 “Yeah, sure, not like I got anything better to do. But just so you know, you’re going alone. I’m not come with you as always. If there’s trouble, you are on your own. And if there are hatchlings to save, well, you better move quickly.”

Hermit grabbed a small torch and a few scraps of cloth to use as makeshift blankets for the hatchlings. With a deep breath, he turned and stepped out of the shed, the torch casting flickering shadows on the walls as he stepped into the cold, dark night.

 The biting wind of the snowstorm whipped against his face as he clutched the torch tightly in his hand. The flame flickered and danced, struggling against the howling gusts, but Hermit shielded it with his body, determined not to let it go out. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he hurried toward the cave, his heart pounding with fear and hope. Kaka’s words echoed in his mind, urging him forward.

 "The hatchlings... you must save them."

The entrance to the cave was partially buried under snow, but Hermit dug frantically with his free hand, his fingers numb from the cold. Finally, he uncovered the wooden crates Kaka had described. With a grunt of effort, he pushed them aside, revealing a small, hidden door. The moment he opened it, a wave of hot, fetid air hit him, carrying the unmistakable stench of feces and damp earth. Hermit gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve, but a flicker of relief sparked in his chest. The heat and the smell were good signs—it meant the hatchlings hadn’t frozen to death.

They were pitifully small, no bigger than newborn mice, their fragile bodies covered in thin, translucent skin that shimmered in the light. Their tiny limbs twitched as they chirped and clicked in fear, their large, glassy eyes reflecting the torchlight as they stared at Hermit. They were clearly terrified, unsure whether he was a friend or a threat. One of the hatchlings let out a high-pitched squeal, and the others joined in, their tiny voices creating a chorus of frightened chirps and screeches.

Hermit’s heart ached as he looked at them, memories of his own hatching days flooding his mind. He had been just like them once—tiny, helpless, and utterly dependent on others for survival. The thought of these fragile creatures being left alone in the cold, dark cave filled him with a fierce sorrow. He crouched down, setting the torch carefully on the ground, and began to speak to them in a soft, childlike voice, hoping to ease their fear.

“Hey there, little ones. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

The hatchlings stopped chirping for a moment, their tiny heads tilting as they listened to his voice. One of them, bolder than the rest, took a hesitant step forward, its tiny claws clicking against the stone floor. Hermit held out his hand, palm up, and the hatchling sniffed at it cautiously before letting out a soft, curious chirp.

“That’s it. See? I’m a friend. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

The other hatchlings began to inch closer, their fear slowly giving way to curiosity. Hermit reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of potato he had found in the crates. He tore off a tiny piece and held it out to the boldest hatchling, who sniffed at it before nibbling tentatively. The moment it tasted the food, the hatchling let out an excited chirp and devoured the rest, its tiny tail wagging furiously.

The other hatchlings, emboldened by their sibling’s enthusiasm, crowded around Hermit, their tiny voices rising in a chorus of hungry chirps. Hermit laughed softly, tears welling up in his eyes as he fed them, piece by piece. 

“You’re all so hungry, aren’t you? Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

The hatchlings chirped softly in his arms, their tiny bodies trembling with cold and fear. He knew he had to get them warm and safe as soon as possible. Spotting an empty crate lined with dry hay in the corner of the cave, he hurried over to it, his breath visible in the frigid air.

Gently, he began placing the hatchlings into the crate, one by one, making sure each one was nestled comfortably in the soft hay. Their tiny claws gripped at the strands as they chirped and clicked, their large, glassy eyes staring up at him with a mixture of curiosity and trust. Hermit’s heart swelled with affection as he worked, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the weight of responsibility he felt for these fragile lives.

“There you go, little ones,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing.

 “Nice and cozy. You’ll be warm soon, I promise.”

Once all the hatchlings were settled, Hermit grabbed a few scraps of cloth he had brought with him and draped them over the tiny creatures, tucking the edges carefully around them to keep out the cold. Then, he piled more hay on top, creating a thick, insulating layer to trap their body heat. The hatchlings burrowed into the warmth, their chirps growing quieter as they began to relax.

Satisfied that they were as comfortable as he could make them, Hermit lifted the crate carefully, cradling it against his chest. The hatchlings shifted slightly, but they remained calm, their tiny bodies warm and secure under the layers of cloth and hay. Hermit took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey back to the shed. The snowstorm still raged outside, the wind howling like a wild beast, but he couldn’t afford to wait. The hatchlings needed warmth, food, and safety—things he couldn’t provide in the cold, dark cave.

With the crate held tightly in his arms, Hermit stepped out into the storm. The wind bit at his face, and the snow stung his eyes, but he pressed on, his small frame hunched protectively over the crate. The torch he had brought earlier had long since burned out, leaving him to navigate by memory and the faint glow of the moon through the thick clouds. His feet slipped on the icy ground, but he kept his balance, his determination driving him forward.

By the time he reached the shed, his arms ached, and his fingers were numb from the cold. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, stumbling inside and quickly shutting it behind him to keep out the freezing wind. The warmth of the fire hit him like a wave, and he let out a shuddering breath of relief.