Page 121 of Black Sea

But when I recognized the tall figure standing before the wooden support on which the Crystal floated, a few steps from the altar at the end, I stopped.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

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He stayed silent for what felt like an eternity, then replied, “I’m just looking.”

Whose voice was that?

It wasn’t his. It was too cold, detached. It was so devoid of warmth, of its arrogant streak.

Slowly, he turned to me. “For now,” he added.

Where had he gotten those black clothes? It was a color my people never wore, not even during mourning. Frowning more deeply, I studied the intricate obsidian patterns on his matte tunic: Placed on his forearms, shoulders, and chest, they resembled the plates of refined armor.

“How did you find this place?” I asked, advancing cautiously down the aisle, my gaze flicking from one side to the other in search of the evil presence I had sensed when I was with my parents. “Only the oldest of the faithful knew of its existence before it was sealed.”

He didn’t answer, limiting himself to peering at me so strangely.

There was something off with him. Something different. Something wrong. Something that made me stop halfway.

“How did you get in?” I asked again, trying to read his expression. “I am the only one who can access it, as the temple is protected by a spell tied to my blood.”

A subtle half-smile dawned on his lips, the fires casting an eerie play of light and shadow across his face. “And your blood runs through me as well, Elf.”

I had heard him say that nickname countless times—with malice, anger, passion, or frustration.

But what I now sensed in his tone was repugnance.

“It’s . . . it’s not possible,” I replied, dazed by his attitude and his appearance and his words. “We . . . we have not yet celebrated the union ceremony. We have . . . we have just—”

“Fucked,” he said in a stark tone. He put his hands behind his back and started walking toward me. “Did you really think I was just washing your wounds in that tub to look after you?” His eyes gleamed with perversion. “Day after day, bit by bit, I merged your blood with mine.” He paused about three feet from me, scanning me with superiority. “And mine with yours.”

My heart started kicking against my ribs, and my breathing grew louder and louder, and my memory recalled all those moments.

Recalled that suspicious warmth I had felt whenever he touched me.

“You couldn’t have,” I replied, my voice small, as if I were talking to myself. “Magic doesn’t work in the Lands of the West.”

“Your magic, Elf. Not mine.” He lifted his chin with pride. “Mine knows no boundaries.”

Silence stretched endlessly between us.

My mind was trying to process something important, but my heart was shouting so loudly that I couldn’t get my own thoughts in order.

And then, suddenly, I heard it.

That monstrous cry I had carried inside me for a thousand years burst out once more in my ears, as vivid and powerful as that dreadful day, and my soul cried out in despair.

My eyes gradually widened, filling with tears. Panic and disbelief spread through me like billions of icy streams, leaving me paralyzed.

It couldn’t be real.

It. Couldn’t. Be. Real.

But when he taunted me with a smirk, all my hopes shattered, and a weeping I dared not show tore through me from inside.

Pleased with my destruction, he turned away and headed back toward the Crystal with deliberate slowness. “I spent centuries searching for it, but all I could sense was you. Now, at last, I feel his power again.” He stopped before the holder, his broad shoulders rising and falling as he let out a disgruntled sigh. “If only I hadn’t been so stubborn about not binding myself to you a thousand years ago, I would already be sitting on the throne of my new world by now.”