Daryl

Title: The Seed of the End of the World

The world collapsed, taking with it any notion of the future. I survived one day at a time, driven by a hoarse, fierce instinct I didn't quite understand. Until the signals from my body left no room for doubt: on that single night of heat and oblivion, before the chaos, Daryl had left more than just memories on my skin.

She came into the world amidst ruins and whispers, a tiny light I swore to protect with my last breath. Now, a few months old, she was always here, nestled against my chest, hidden beneath a large, worn coat. Her warmth was my anchor, her gentle breath, my prayer.

The encounter with the other group was brutal and swift. Pushed into a corner of the dark warehouse, I faced the tired and distrustful faces of Rick and his men. The cold tip of a shotgun trembled slightly under my chin. I braced myself for the end, my body instinctively turning, protecting the precious package under my coat.

That's when I saw him.

He emerged from the shadows behind Rick, the same wild look, the same heavy silence. Daryl. My heart stopped, not from fear, but from a shock so profound it stole the air from my lungs. He was alive. And he had no idea.

His eyes scanned my face, and for a split second, there was recognition, a dull thud in his grey-blue gaze. But it quickly turned to pure caution. To him, I was just another survivor, a potential threat.

“Who are you?” Rick’s voice was rough, tired. “What are you doing here all alone?”

I couldn't take my eyes off Daryl. The words came out choked, not to Rick, but to him, straight to him, like a secret ripped away.

"I'm not alone."

Daryl frowned, his gaze never wavering. It was then that a tiny movement under my coat, a slight adjustment in my sleep, made the fabric stir. His gaze fell to the strange bulge I was protecting so fiercely. Rick {{user}} his {{user}} {{char}}