Chapter 309: Beauty built on a hollow floor will eventually fall

Theo stared at the child, but there was no rush of fatherly warmth. Instead, he looked at the boy with a sickening sense of dread.

To Theo, this child wasn’t a ’miracle’ or a ’gift.’ This boy was a physical scar. He was a living, breathing reminder of the nights he spent rotting in the Lower Ward, of the woman he didn’t love who jumped him when he was at his lowest, and of the lie that had just shattered his peace with Alias.

He looked at the boy’s blue eyes—his eyes—and felt a wave of resentment so sharp it made him want to retch. This child was the ’stain’ he had tried so hard to scrub away, and he was here to stay.

"It was a mistake," he said and then stood up slowly, his legs feeling like lead.

He looked at Maya, then at Alias, and finally at the boy, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"But it was a mistake I made. And mistakes do not just go away with lies. I will own up to my mistake." 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

He would care for the child, but he would not be able to care for the child with his whole heart.

"Theo," Alias called. "Today, I would like to sleep in Maya’s room," he said, and Theo’s heart gave a painful thud.

His fists clenched harder, and he closed his eyes. He has lost the right to persuade him from the start. In fact, it was better this way.

He didn’t know how he was going to face Alias after his lie had been exposed like this.

"Very well," he responded and walked towards the child, who slightly flinched. "Come. I will start by washing you."

But the child did not move, scared of the coldness in Theo’s eyes.

Alias patted the boy’s head and said to Theo.

"He is a child who has gone through a lot. We do not know where his mother is, but please do not scare him." He advised, but it only made a coil tighten in Theo’s guts.

Theo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Every time he looked at the boy, he didn’t see a helpless soul; he saw the broken reflection of his own worst nights.

He saw the grime of the slums he thought he’d washed off and the face of a woman who had used his despair to tie him to a life he never wanted.

​He reached down, his movements stiff and mechanical, and picked up the boy. The child went rigid, his small hands curling into tight balls, but he didn’t cry out. He simply stared at the ground, accepting the coldness of Theo’s grip as if it were a familiar weight.

​Alias watched them go toward the washing area near the lake. He felt a hollow, echoing ache in the center of his chest.

This was the ’love’ he had been trying to understand—something that could build a paradise and then poison it with a single, unspoken word.

He looked at his own hands, the ones that had gathered fruit and held Theo’s face, and realized they felt heavy, as if the divinity within him was finally being weighed down by the sheer complexity of human regret.

​"Maya," Alias said softly, not turning around. "Is it always like this? Does truth always feel like it is tearing things apart?"

​Maya was still standing by the door, her face pale. She had known her brother was struggling back then, but she had never imagined this.

"I don’t know, Alias. Theo... he’s always been a man who carries everything alone. I think he thought that if he didn’t tell you, it wouldn’t be real. He was trying to protect the only beautiful thing he ever had."

​"But beauty built on a hollow floor will eventually fall," Alias murmured. He began to walk toward the house, his steps slow. "I will stay with you tonight. I need... I need time to collect my thoughts."

She nodded.

"Sure. I will spread the mats."

​Near the water, the atmosphere was frozen. Theo dipped a cloth into the basin, his jaw set so tight it ached. He began to scrub the child’s arm, his movements far more hurried and less tender than the way he had cleaned Alias only nights before.

​The boy flinched when the cold water hit his skin, but he remained mute, his blue eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Theo’s shoulder.

​"You’re thin," Theo muttered, more to himself than the boy. He felt a spike of irritation. Why was the child here? How had he survived the dunes? And where was the woman? "Where is your mother? Did she just send you here to die?"

​The boy’s lip trembled, but he didn’t speak. He just looked at Theo with a gaze that was far too old for a seven-year-old. It was a gaze that said he knew he wasn’t wanted. It was a gaze that mirrored Theo’s own resentment back at him.

​Theo stopped scrubbing. He looked at the boy’s face—his own face—and felt a wave of nausea. He realized then that he couldn’t just ’own up’ to his mistake. He had to live with it. He had to look into those blue eyes every day and see the person he was before Alias came back for him.

​"I’ll get you some of Maya’s old clothes," Theo said, his voice flat. "Then you’ll eat, and you’ll sleep in the living room."

​He stood up, leaving the boy shivering by the basin. He didn’t offer a hand to help him up. He didn’t offer a word of comfort. He simply walked away, his heart a cold, jagged stone in his chest.

​High above, Norx leaned back, his eyes glowing with a dark, satisfied light. The ’malfunction’ in Alias’s heart was no longer a flutter of joy; it was a fracture of trust.

​"You see, Alias?" Norx whispered to the empty air. "The mud always finds its way into the garden. Now, let’s see how long you can stay in a home that smells like a gutter."

The kitchen was heavy with the sound of the boy’s frantic swallowing. He ate the broth Maya had prepared as if the bowl might vanish if he blinked, his small hands trembling against the wooden bowl.

When he choked, a harsh, dry sound, Alias was there instantly. He leaned over and patted the boy’s back with a steady palm.

​"Slowly," Alias whispered, his voice grounded and calm. "Slowly. No one is stealing this from you. There is more when you finish."

​The boy looked up at Alias, his blue eyes wide and glassier than before, before nodding once and lowering his head to take a smaller, more careful sip.

​Theo watched from the shadows of the corner, his arms crossed tightly. He didn’t move to help. He looked at the boy and frowned. He saw the way Alias touched the child—with a natural, unhurried grace—and the guilt in his stomach turned into a slow-acting poison.

It seemed Alias did not care that the child was a result of his past deed, a stain. To Alias, he was just a child.

How would they ever get back to how they were? Would this paradise choke them?