I stared at him, the pieces clicking into place with a sickening weight, horror building in my chest as I processed it. "God,that's... that's monstrous. You trusted her, and she ruined you for power."
He nodded slowly, pain etching deeper lines around his eyes, his voice dropping to a bitter whisper. "Thirteen years, Morgan. I've scraped by in your world, feeding that thing to survive, blackouts erasing pieces of me, while she reshapes Velrith in her image. I can only imagine what it's become—Houses bent to her will, truths suppressed, loyalties knotted so tightly no one questions her rule. I was her tool, disposable once I bore the curse. And now, with you... whatever you unlocked in the blade, it's tied to this. But I never saw it, not in all those years. You touched it once, and you knew—it's a prison, containing something. I carried it, fed it, and never realized its true nature. Blind, or maybe willfully so."
I interrupted then, my voice rising with the outrage building in me, the personal horror of it hitting closer as I saw the man in front of me not as my captor but as someone shattered by betrayal. "Blind? Xavian, she manipulated you from the start. Used your trust, your bloodline, to get what she wanted. That's not on you. But the blade... if it's a prison, and you've been feeding whatever's inside, that means Nyra knew. She sent you off with it, let it consume you, while she played god with the stone. It's sick."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the bitterness giving way to a weary resolve, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that carried the full weight of those lost years. "The prophecy, the artifacts—they're intertwined, and Nyra's hold is deep. She's turned Velrith into her empire, using the stone to bind dissent and rewrite alliances. I've been gone too long to know the full extent, but if we can reach allies, expose her... it starts with understanding what the blade really is, and what the hell you mean to it.”
30
XAVIAN
The silence from Virelya was unlike any pleasure I had ever known. My mind felt truly my own, unburdened by the blade's insidious demands, allowing fragments of the man I had been to surface, raw and unexpected. Emotions I had long buried stirred now, not as weaknesses to suppress but as echoes of a humanity I thought the curse had eroded away entirely. Regret for the lives taken, not just in necessity but in the blackouts' blind fury; a quiet ache for the home I'd lost, not the grand halls of House Seraxen but the simpler moments of connection I'd forsaken in exile.
And woven through it all, an attraction to Morgan that grew with each passing hour, no longer dismissible as mere fascination with her anomaly. It was in the way her presence grounded me, her sharp words cutting through my isolation like light through fog, her resilience mirroring something I had lost in myself. Here in Velrith, with the realm's power amplifying everything, that pull intensified, drawing my gaze to the curve of her neck as she rested against the stone wall, the way her hair fell in loose strands across her shoulder, stirring urges I had not felt since before the blade claimed me. The silence amplified it all,restoring pieces of my soul I had mourned as gone, making me painfully aware of how alive she made me feel, even as danger closed in.
We had taken refuge in one of the outpost's side chambers, a smaller space with walls that still held faint etchings of old wards, their glow responding to our presence with a soft, welcoming hum. The air here carried a warmth from the stone itself, heated by underground veins of ambient energy that pulsed through Velrith's earth, chasing away some of the chill that had seeped in from the mist outside. Morgan sat on a low ledge, her good hand tracing absent patterns on the floor, her expression a mix of exhaustion and that relentless curiosity that had drawn me to her from the start. She had not complained since the crossing, though I saw the way she favored her injured arm, the stump wrapped in bandages that glowed softly with runes. The realm was already working on her, amplifying the latent power she had woken, but it showed in subtler ways too—the color returning to her cheeks, the steadiness in her breathing, as if Velrith recognized something in her blood and fed it strength.
I watched her from across the chamber, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed, the blade's bundle set carefully nearby. The silence allowed me this—moments to observe without the distraction of inner turmoil, to note the way the light caught in her eyes, turning them a deeper shade that pulled at me unexpectedly. Attraction had been a distant memory in exile, suppressed under the curse's weight, but now it bloomed, warm and insistent, making me aware of her every movement, the subtle shift of her shoulders as she adjusted her position, the curve of her lips when she frowned in thought. It was dangerous, this feeling, complicating the protectiveness that had grown in me, turning it into something more intimate, a desire to be close not just to shield her but to feel her presence againstmine. I pushed it down, focusing on the practical, but it lingered, amplified by the realm's energy, making my skin hum with awareness whenever she was near.
She looked up then, catching my gaze, and a small smile tugged at her mouth, not mocking but genuine, as if the weight of everything hadn't fully dimmed her spirit. "Staring again? If you're going to brood, at least teach me something useful while we wait. These walls are covered in runes. Show me another one I can try—something simple, like outside."
Her request carried that familiar edge of challenge, pulling me from my thoughts, and I found myself nodding, drawn to the idea of guiding her again, of seeing that spark light in her eyes. The silence had restored enough of me to enjoy this, the simple act of sharing knowledge without the blade's interference clouding my mood. I pushed off the wall, crossing the space to sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders brushed, the contact sending a subtle warmth through me that I attributed to the realm's amplification, though I knew better. "Alright," I said, my voice low, carrying a hint of that restored ease. "Pick one. The curving line with the three branches—that's a basic ward for clarity. It sharpens focus, filters out distractions. Trace it in the air, like this." I demonstrated, my finger moving through the empty space before us, the rune forming in a faint trail of light that hung for a moment before dissipating, the motion effortless after a lifetime of practice.
She watched intently, then lifted her good hand, mimicking the shape with careful precision. At first, nothing happened, just her finger cutting through the air, but then a faint glow sparked along the path, the rune materializing not as a weak flicker but as a steady, luminous form that lingered longer than mine had, its light casting soft shadows on her face. Surprise widened her eyes, followed by a quiet laugh of triumph, the sound warm and unguarded, pulling at that attraction in me again, makingme aware of how close we sat, the heat of her body a tangible presence beside mine.
"You did it," I said, my tone carrying genuine admiration, though I kept it measured, not wanting to reveal how it affected me. "And without a medium. That's... rare. It took me years of training to draw runes in air alone, channeling intent without stone or ink to anchor it. Most need tools, surfaces, something to hold the shape, like I had to resort to in the mortal realm with my powers supressed. But you... the energy here is amplifying you already, waking whatever is in your blood faster than I expected."
She flexed her fingers, watching the rune fade slowly, her expression a mix of awe and that sharp curiosity, turning to me with a smile that lit her features in a way that made my chest tighten. "Years? And I just... did it?" Our eyes met, the space between us charged with that shared discovery, her nearness stirring something deeper, a warmth that spread through me unbidden. I could smell the faint scent of her, clean sweat mixed with the herbal paste from her bandages, and it drew me in, making me painfully aware of how long it had been since I'd felt this pull toward anyone.
The moment stretched, our shoulders still touching, and I found myself leaning in slightly, drawn by the ease between us, the way her presence filled the silence without demanding anything. "You're adapting fast," I murmured, my voice lower now, the words carrying an unintended intimacy. "Faster than I did when I first learned. Whatever tie you have to this place, it's strong. Stronger than mine, in some ways."
She didn't pull away, her gaze holding mine, a flush creeping into her cheeks that mirrored the heat building in me. "Maybe it's because of you," she said softly, the words light but laced with something real, her hand brushing mine as she shifted, the contact electric, sending a jolt through me that settled low inmy gut. The attraction flared, no longer distant but immediate, her nearness amplifying it until I could feel the rhythm of her breathing syncing with mine, the subtle curve of her body against my side stirring urges I hadn't entertained in years.
We talked like that for a while, the conversation flowing into lighter territory, her questions about the runes turning to stories of Velrith's fringes, the wild places where power ran unchecked. I found myself opening up more, the silence from the blade allowing a humanity I'd thought lost to surface, making the words come easier, laced with a dry humor I hadn't used in ages. She laughed at one point, a genuine sound that warmed the chamber, her hand resting on my arm briefly, the touch lingering, pulling me further into the tension building between us. The air grew charged, our proximity a constant awareness, every glance and brush amplifying the pull, until the cold of the night began to seep in through the cracks, the temperature dropping as the realm's strange light faded outside.
The chill deepened quickly, the stone walls radiating cold that bit through our clothes, making her shiver despite the jacket. "It's freezing," she said, rubbing her arms, and I nodded, the practical need overriding the tension for a moment.
“We’ll have to share warmth,” I said, keeping my voice even, as if the idea meant nothing at all.
It did.
The bench was narrow. There wasn’t much choice. I stretched out along it and pulled her with me, guiding her back against my chest. She went still for a moment—tense, uncertain—before settling, fitting against me with an ease that felt… unearned. Dangerous.
Her spine curved into me, every line of her body aligning with mine. The scent of her hair filled my lungs, warm and sweet and entirely distracting. I focused on the cold air instead. The hard wood beneath us. Anything but this.
It didn’t help.
As the night dragged on, her breathing softened, deepened—sleep, or something close to it. Mine didn’t follow.
Because, apparently, thirteen years of being half-dead, half-cursed, and entirely uninterested in anything resembling desire could be undone in the span of a few quiet minutes.
I went rigid as the realization hit.
Ah.
That was… unfortunate.
The curse had taken everything. Hunger, instinct, thought—buried it under noise and need until there had been no room for anything else. No space for distraction. Certainly not this.
