Wonderful Insane World-Chapter 94: A Family

Two days passed.

The little girl hadn’t opened her eyes once. Her body remained frail and still, laid on a simple cot in the herbalist’s house. The villagers took turns watching over her day and night—changing bandages, wiping her sweat, helping her sip water when her lips barely parted.

Dylan had stayed almost the entire time.

He only slept in short bursts, sitting on a chair too low for his back, elbows on knees, head tilted toward her. He didn’t know why. He could have gone home. He had things to do. But... no.

He couldn’t.

And that morning, just as a pale beam of sunlight slipped through the curtains, he finally saw movement.

A finger twitched.

Then her eyelids fluttered once. Twice.

Dylan straightened instantly, tension flooding his body, breath held.

The girl slowly opened her eyes.

Her gaze was blurry, lost, as if unsure whether she was still dreaming. She blinked again, staring at the ceiling. Then her head turned ever so slightly—and locked onto Dylan.

She said nothing.

Or maybe she simply had nothing to say.

Her black, hollow eyes rested on him without blinking, without trembling. No trace of fear. No recognition. Not even relief.

Just... emptiness.

A stare so empty Dylan forgot to breathe for a second.

He held her gaze, uneasy, unsure if she was still in shock—or if something else lived behind those eyes.

Something deeper. Older.

He tried a smile.

"You hear me, little one?"

No response.

But her eyes didn’t leave him. Not for a second.

And that wasn’t normal.

She finally blinked.

Once.

Then again.

As if reactivating her body took tremendous effort. Dylan leaned in closer, worry etched on his face. The air felt heavier, as if the room itself held its breath.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

A dry throat. A missing voice. A mute breath.

Dylan leaned even closer. "Easy... don’t force yourself."

But she tried again.

A broken sound—barely more than a rasp—escaped her lips. Inaudible. She tried once more. The air vibrated faintly. One word, buried under effort.

And on the third try... her voice dragged itself out.

Weak. Scratchy. Sluggish in an almost unnatural way.

"Pa... pa..."

Dylan froze.

An inexplicable chill crept under his skin. His fingers tightened on the edge of the chair.

That was impossible.

He had no children.

And certainly not... with her.

Her, a girl he didn’t know. Had never seen before that day—bleeding, unconscious, in the middle of the woods.

Yet she still stared at him. Unblinking.

Without a hint of hesitation.

As if, to her, it was obvious.

As if that word—"papa"—wasn’t a mistake, but a fact. Her truth.

And Dylan, against his will, felt a strange vertigo twist in his gut.

The day passed.

And the little girl never left his side.

She clung to him like a silent shadow, her tiny footsteps echoing his, her wide eyes always raised to him with the same mute intensity. Every time she spoke, it was to call him "papa" in a voice still fragile, but calm and certain.

The village had opinions, of course. Some laughed quietly. Others joked openly.

"So Dylan, hiding a daughter from us all this time?"

"She makes you look young again!"

But beneath the teasing, there was real warmth. Everyone knew what Dylan and Raviel had gone through over the years. And little by little, the laughter gave way to gentle nudges.

"Take her home, old man. She needs shelter."

"A kid like that can’t be alone. And you—you look better since she showed up."

Dylan... didn’t know how to respond.

Mostly because Raviel hadn’t hesitated a single second.

When he brought the girl home, holding her hand, Raviel had rushed to them, her hands shaking with joy. She had pulled the girl into her arms—despite her fragility, despite her silence—as if she’d waited her whole life for that moment.

Dylan hadn’t seen her that excited in... he couldn’t even remember.

"She can stay, right?" she asked, eyes shining.

And he’d nodded without a word.

Because how could he say no?

They were two tired old folks, nearing seventy. Their home was small. Their bodies were slower. Dylan wasn’t sure it was the best place for raising a child—especially one so strange, so silent.

But he saw Raviel’s face.

He saw the light that had returned to her voice, the softness in her steps.

And he told himself he’d do whatever it took not to ruin that.

Days passed.

Life returned to normal.

Except now, the house didn’t echo with silence.

There was a new voice.

Clear, insistent "papa"s and curious "grandma"s rang through the little rooms and over the creaky old floorboards.

Raviel had tried to make her say "mama." She used soft smiles, gentle hand strokes, kind words whispered in the girl’s ear.

But the child had refused.

Every time.

She called Dylan "papa" without hesitation. And Raviel? She was "grandma."

Which, in truth... felt right.

At their age, that’s what they would’ve been. If life had been kinder. If they’d had children of their own.

And now... the house sounded like family.

It was a clumsy, warm chaos that disrupted their habits—but filled the space with something rare.

Something alive.

Dylan had grown fond of her presence. Because she made Raviel smile. Because when she laughed, so did Raviel. Because after all those years of being two... they were now three. And that was all that mattered.

He’d even caught himself thinking, some nights, that he wished he could live a little longer. Just enough to watch her grow. To see who she might become. To hear her laugh again. Once. A dozen times. A whole lifetime.

One afternoon, as he was chopping wood out front, their neighbor showed up.

A sturdy man with arms like tree roots and a smile that had survived too many winters. He carried a small basket.

"Just brought you some sweets," he said, lifting the basket. "My wife brought them back from the city. My kids used to love them."

The girl was at the door. The moment she saw him, she darted behind Raviel’s skirt, her little hands gripping the fabric.

The neighbor chuckled.

"Shy, huh?"

"She’s careful," Dylan replied with a half-smile.

"Go on, you can take it," he said gently to her.

She hesitated. Then took one step. Another. She reached out, grabbed the candy, and hurried back behind Raviel.

The man laughed, warm and loud.

"Ahah! She’s adorable. You’re lucky, old man. She suits you."

Dylan looked up, a little stunned by the sincerity in his voice.

And for the first time, maybe... he believed it.