Caius's Arc

Chapter 3 of 10

Caius woke to footsteps in the garden. Too early — the sky was barely pale. He sat up, listening. Someone was moving through the clover, breathing hard like they'd been running. His companion stirred beside him. "Someone's here," they whispered. Caius stood and reached for his stick. Outside, a voice called his name — cracked, desperate. He crossed the garden quickly, following the sound past the colorful fence where giant lilies grew between painted popsicle sticks. The stranger was on the wrong side of it, just beyond the boundary his neighbors had built. "Please," they gasped. "I heard you're leaving. I have to come with you. I can help." Caius stopped at the fence. The stranger's breathing was wrong — too fast, too shallow. "What's in your pack?" he asked quietly. Silence. Then a wet cough. His companion came up beside him and went very still. "Caius," they whispered. "Their hands are shaking." The stranger made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "It started yesterday. But I can still walk. I can still carry supplies. Just let me do something before—" Caius felt the fear rise in his chest, sharp and certain. If this person crossed the fence, if they came close to the others gathering at dawn, The Red would spread before the expedition even began. He could send them away and protect his volunteers. Or he could let them choose their own end. "Stay on that side," he said. His voice shook. "When the others arrive, I'll tell them you're here and what you're carrying. If anyone wants to share their supplies with you, they can pass them over the fence. But you don't cross it." The stranger's breathing hitched. "Thank you." Caius turned back toward the center of the garden, his stick tapping against the ground. He'd given the infected stranger a choice. Now he had to tell the healthy ones what it would cost them to be kind. The sun came up slow. The three volunteers arrived together, talking quietly until they saw Caius waiting by the fence. He told them about the stranger before they could ask. One volunteer — a mole-kin healer with soft features and gentle paws — stepped forward without hesitation. "I have bandages," he said. "Herbs for the pain. I can pass them over." He walked to the fence and set a small cloth bundle on top of the painted sticks. The stranger reached across and took it, their claws scraping wood. "Thank you," they whispered. The healer stepped back, and Caius saw him glance down at his own leg where a fresh scratch showed beneath his robe — red at the edges, angry. The healer met Caius's eyes and said nothing. The other two volunteers shifted uncomfortably but didn't leave. Caius felt the weight settle over him like a cold wind. The expedition hadn't even started, and The Red was already traveling with them. He couldn't send the healer away for an act of mercy. He couldn't pretend the scratch meant nothing. So he did the only thing left. "We leave now," Caius said. "Before anyone else gets close enough to be kind." The healer nodded slowly. The stranger stayed behind the fence, clutching the bandages. And Caius led his small, fragile party toward the ruins — knowing that one of them was already infected, and that honesty had just become the cruelest gift he could offer.