Chapter 8: Soup and Scars

I no longer needed food or sleep, but Caleb was still mortal, so I made simple chicken noodle soup for him. The kitchen filled with the warm aroma of simmering broth and fresh parsley, reminding me of my childhood home in Ohio. The recipe was my mom’s—she always said it could cure anything.

He ate quietly, spoon scraping the bowl, steam curling up into the cool air.

Suddenly, I thought of Marcus. The first year I brought him to the academy, he refused to eat my cooking and always tried to escape. The memory stung, and I clenched my fists, the sting of old wounds flaring up.

Unfortunately, the academy’s wards kept him in. That year, he tried everything—poisoning me, luring me into forest traps, even trying to strangle me in my sleep—all to no avail. I remembered the sound of rocks hitting the windows, the sting of betrayal.

He discarded my kindness like trash. But I hadn’t forgotten—when Tessa was upset over burnt ribs, he was the first to pick up a fork and eat. The contrast was sharp, and my throat tightened.

My thoughts returned. After Caleb finished eating, I took him to the local thrift store for new clothes. The store smelled of mothballs and old denim, and the cashier gave us a polite nod.

After buying clothes and passing the city wall, a gang of boys threw rocks at Caleb, some hitting me. The sharp sting of impact made me flinch, and the boys’ laughter echoed down the alley. Caleb’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t react, as if used to such cruelty.

They laughed maliciously, and one darted forward, snatching the new clothes from Caleb’s hands. In a flash, he was gone, the sound of his sneakers slapping the pavement fading into the distance.

Caleb didn’t react, as if used to such cruelty. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t flinch.

I chased after them. The boys were slippery as eels, and with spell techniques forbidden in the city, I lost them quickly. The frustration burned in my chest.

I returned, and Caleb was still standing where I’d left him, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Suddenly, I realized this was a good opportunity to build favorability. So I patted his shoulder and said confidently,

"Have you always been bullied by these kids? Next time they mess with you, hit back."

"With me here, don’t be afraid. Go ahead and fight, I’m tougher than I look."

"Forget it this time, don’t be upset. I’ll buy you another set."

I blinked, trying to appear friendly, forcing a crooked grin like my dad used to after a bad day. "Seriously, Caleb, no one's gonna mess with you while I'm around. I promise." My words hung in the air, waiting for him to grab onto them. But he just stared at the ground, jaw set. The silence stretched out, heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by the distant laughter of the boys. I decided then that I'd have to earn his trust one day at a time.