CHAPTER 40— The Centuries -Year Host
Leylin woke to light that cut sharper than any blade. The smell,sterile, metallic..burned at the back of his throat. His muscles obeyed sluggishly. Fingers twitched. Arms moved like lead. Even blinking felt deliberate, a conscious act. He tried to rise… and failed, collapsing back against the bed, breath shallow, chest straining.
Amber eyes stared. Small. Human. Alive. Elira. She jabbered, rapid-fire, urgent. Words he didn't understand. The sound pressed on him, insistent, almost mocking.
A pulse shimmered in his vision.
[Welcome, Host.]
[Initializing… Host data. Analysis. Reading… Body cognition: 35%.]
Streams of numbers, data, and translations poured across his mind. Languages he had never learned suddenly made sense. Her words,her frantic, clipped speech..translated directly to him.
Gratitude flared. For the first time in centuries, he could comprehend another human. Her voice no longer noise. Meaning. Her intent clear.
Then, quiet text blinked in his vision.
"689 years of slumber."
Leylin froze. A thousand two hundred years. Imprisoned. Forgotten. The centuries hit like a wave of ice. Memories surged: chains, hunger, pain, extraction, endless battles, endless waiting. Gluttony and Pride twisted in his chest, claws deep. Always the bloody hunger.
He breathed. Rasped. "I'm… hungry."
His limbs obeyed as he rose. Each motion deliberate, slow, conscious. Elira's eyes widened. He was without clothes, immense, stark against the sterile room. Amber eyes flitted involuntarily, caught glimpses of chiseled back, broad shoulders, towering frame. Six-foot-nine of power barely contained. Pearl skin, smooth and flawless, hair like midnight silk.
Leylin ignored her entirely, moving to inspect the unfamiliar instruments, cabinets, uniforms..everything alien, yet necessary. His motions deliberate but natural, fluid despite the sluggishness, as if the body remembered things he had not consciously willed.
He paused at a long robe folded neatly at the end of the room. Fingers brushed the fabric. Soft. Functional. He pulled it on with the slow precision of someone rediscovering his body, aware of every inch of movement.
Elira whispered, voice trembling, muttered words her system didn't catch, betraying her thoughts:
"Why… is he so tall? He smells… like roses… his hair… gawd, his hair…"
Leylin didn't look at her. He turned toward the cabinets again, checking clothes, uniforms, tools. Everything was new. Everything strange. He moved like he had all the time in the world, yet each movement radiated contained strength, predator calm, and subtle menace.
Elira's gaze stayed fixed. A finger betrayed her, peeking despite herself, drinking in the sight of his height, form, and presence.
Then, as he finally stepped past her, he vanished. Just like that. One moment present. The next, nothing. The sterile hum of the room remained, untouched, unchanged..except he was gone.
Elira hissed, barely audible: "You ungrateful bastard."