Chapter 4: The Burden of the Gift
They brought the boy to a quiet, secure brownstone owned by Evelyn’s family estate. After a warm meal and a pair of new boots, the boy introduced himself simply as Toby.
He didn't know where he was born, nor did he remember his parents. His earliest memory was waking up in a field outside a church when he was four, his hands pulsing with light whenever he touched something broken—a wilting plant, a bird with a fractured wing, an old man wheezing on a park bench.
"Doesn't it hurt you?" Evelyn asked, sitting across from him by the fireplace. She noticed the slight pale ring around his eyes, a lingering fatigue beneath his calm veneer.
"It makes me sleepy," Toby admitted, sipping warm apple cider. "Every time I give the light away, a little piece of me feels cold. But when people hurt, their sadness is so loud. I just want the noise to stop."
Evelyn reached out and gently touched the boy's hand. For the first time, she realized this wasn't magic or a parlor trick; it was a profound, selfless exchange. Toby was absorbing the invisible weight of human suffering at the cost of his own vitality.
"You don't have to carry the whole world, Toby," she told him gently.
May you like
Toby looked into the crackling fire. "If I don't, Miss Evelyn, then who will?"
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