Soulbound Destiny

Chapter 15: Heartless Abandonment

Gene sank into a deep, unrelenting unconsciousness. He felt as if he were drifting in an endless sea of cold and excruciating pain, each breath a battle, each heartbeat a hammer pounding against his skull.

Faintly, through the haze of fever and delirium, he thought he heard the sharp cry of birds, the rustle of footsteps, and distant murmurs of people speaking. It was as if a crowd moved about the room, though he could make out no distinct faces or figures.

Someone seemed to be lifting him, forcing a bitter, unfamiliar liquid into his mouth. The taste burned his throat, but before he could react, the sensations faded, leaving only numbness. He was trapped in a fever that scorched him from within, a fire consuming his lungs and stomach, leaving him gasping for air he could barely summon. He longed desperately for water, but the simple act of opening his eyes felt impossible.

Time lost all meaning. When he finally managed to struggle open his eyes, he realized the room was dim, painted in the melancholy light of late evening. Silence hung heavily, pressing down on him like a stone.

With immense effort, he turned his head—and froze. The bed beside him was empty. Lingyue was gone. Panic surged through him, but his body, weakened from blood loss and exhaustion, barely obeyed.

He tried to crawl to the water at the bedside. His hands shook as he lifted the cup to his lips, greedily drinking, the liquid providing a fleeting, fragile relief. Then, noticing the water jug on the table, he grabbed it and drank with reckless desperation, letting the cool fluid soothe his parched throat. Only then did his eyes fall upon a folded note lying on the table.

It was Lingyue’s handwriting.

Gene’s hands trembled as he unfolded the paper. The words were few, yet each one struck him like a dagger. The message explained that their flying mounts were limited and could not carry them both. Lingyue had taken the initiative to return to the Zhenhun Alliance, promising that she would send another mount the next day to retrieve him.

Hope, which had just begun to glimmer, was instantly extinguished. An icy shiver ran from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, a deep despair rooting itself in his chest.

Gene tried to push himself up, to leave the room, to follow her—but his body betrayed him. Weakness clawed at his limbs, and he collapsed, lying on the cold floor. Every attempt to rise was met with pain and dizziness; his energy was entirely spent.

He remained there, half-conscious, drifting between fevered sleep and waking agony, unable to muster even a single step.

The next day, Lingyue did not return. The day after that, still no one came. Hours bled into each other, each moment amplifying the crushing sense of abandonment. Gene lay there, utterly helpless, his body aching, his heart heavy, alone in the cold, silent room, clinging desperately to the fragile hope that she would come for him. Yet with each passing hour, that hope dimmed, replaced by the bitter taste of betrayal and isolation.

Even in his misery, he dared not move far, for every step threatened to send him crashing to the ground. He was trapped—caught between the pain of his injuries and the anguish of loneliness, abandoned in a world that felt suddenly vast and merciless.

Time stretched endlessly, and Gene’s consciousness began to ebb again, slipping into the fevered haze of sleep, waiting for a salvation that might never arrive.