Asher drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind a swirling mess of exhaustion and fragmented thoughts. The world felt distant, unreal, as if he were floating between the waking and the dreaming, tethered only by the warmth of her hand on his hair and the rhythmic beat of her heart beneath his cheek.
He didn't know how long he lay there, but he knew he should've fought it—should've pushed her away, should've hardened himself again. But the strength to resist was gone. It had been drained from him by the ritual, by the endless years of pretending to be something he wasn't—someone strong, someone invulnerable. But here, in the quiet aftermath of his collapse, the walls around him crumbled.
The Judge didn't move, not once, as though she had all the time in the world to wait for him to pull himself together. Her hand never faltered, gentle yet unyielding, as if it were a lifeline, one he was too weary to let go of.
He felt the pull of sleep deepen, dragging him into a haze where everything was muffled, distant. But just before he sank fully into that abyss, her voice pierced the silence.
"Asher…" Her tone was soft but insistent, a quiet command that carried a weight far heavier than any anger or judgment. "Look at me."
His mind tried to resist, his body aching for rest, but the command in her voice was enough to cut through the fog. Slowly, with what little strength he had left, Asher lifted his head from her shoulder, blinking up at her through blurry eyes. She was close, so close, her features sharp and clear even in his weakened state. Her face, usually cold and unreadable, was now unguarded, a subtle mix of concern and something softer—something almost… human.
He swallowed hard, tasting blood again on his tongue, the familiar metallic tang reminding him of just how fragile he was. His body trembled, his throat tightening, but he forced himself to meet her gaze.
The Judge didn't look away. Her eyes, usually so calculating, now carried a vulnerability he hadn't known was there—something that flickered behind the stone façade. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar, unreadable calm as she steadied him.
"I can't fix you, Asher," she said, her voice low but not unkind. "I won't pretend that I can. But you don't have to keep carrying all of this by yourself."
The words, simple and blunt, struck him harder than any blow could. His chest tightened, the weight of what she was offering, what she was asking of him, almost too much to bear. He didn't trust her—he couldn't. The Judge had been a stranger, a constant threat in his life, someone who had looked at him as a pawn, a tool for her own use. But now…
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his thoughts, trying to make sense of the turmoil inside him. What did she mean by that? Did she expect him to let her in? To let go of everything he had ever fought for?
But before he could form a response, she spoke again.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," she said, her words like a salve, even as they cut through the armor he had built. "You don't have to be perfect. Just… be. For once, Asher, just let yourself rest. I'm not going anywhere."
The rawness in her voice, the sincerity he'd never expected, hit him like a wave, washing over the last of his resistance. She wasn't trying to fix him, wasn't demanding anything from him. She was simply offering him a place to be.
Asher's breath caught in his chest, and he felt a knot he hadn't realized was there loosen, unraveling in the face of her unexpected compassion. The pain in his body, the fatigue that had threatened to swallow him whole, didn't disappear, but somehow, it felt manageable. He didn't have to face it alone.
For the first time in a long time, the weight on his shoulders didn't feel so crushing.
He couldn't look her in the eye anymore. His gaze dropped, and he clenched his fists at his sides, his fingers still trembling but not from weakness—from something else. The rawness of what she had just said left him feeling exposed, vulnerable in ways he didn't want to admit.
But despite the tightness in his chest, despite the emotional turmoil, Asher felt something stir within him—a flicker of hope, of trust, that he didn't know how to name. It was terrifying. And yet, for the first time, it didn't seem like an enemy.
"I… don't know how," he whispered, his voice rough from exhaustion and the remnants of tears. "I don't know how to let go. I've been… fighting so long. I can't—"
She cut him off, her touch never leaving him, her hand moving from his hair to his cheek, a small but comforting pressure.
"You don't have to know how," she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. "I'll be here. You don't have to do this alone anymore."
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, and then, Asher let out a shaky breath. Slowly, his head tilted forward, his eyes fluttering closed, and he let himself sink into her presence.
Just for now, he told himself. Just for now, I can rest.
And for the first time in what felt like years, he allowed himself the quiet relief of surrender.
_____________
Asher's eyes fluttered open, the dim light filtering through thick curtains making his head throb painfully. His body felt heavy, as though he were submerged in water, and the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, a stark contrast to the warmth he had last felt.
The first thing he noticed was the whispering. Low, tense murmurs. His vision was still blurry, and the world around him seemed muted, as if he were caught between sleep and waking.
The voices were familiar, but distant, muddled by his exhaustion. One voice was unmistakably the Judge's, while the other belonged to Roan, his butler. The third voice was unfamiliar to him—calm, authoritative, with a clinical edge.
"… this is becoming a problem, Roan. We can't keep pretending that he's fine. His condition has worsened." The Judge's voice was sharp, controlled, but there was an underlying frustration that Asher had never heard before. The walls she had carefully constructed—her unflappable calm—were crumbling in a way that made him uneasy.
"I know, ma'am," Roan's voice responded, soft but steady. "But there's not much more we can do. We've tried every remedy we know. If it's a curse, or some kind of sickness, we might be dealing with something far more complex than we've realized."
The Judge's voice rose, irritation bubbling through despite her best efforts to contain it. "I don't care what kind of sickness it is. Why is this happening now? What changed? He wasn't like this a week ago."
Asher's pulse quickened at her words, his mind racing to piece things together. Was it that bad? Was it so obvious? His body felt weak, sluggish, but what had happened to him? Why did it feel like everything inside him was on the edge of breaking? How long had he been unconscious?
"I don't know," Roan's voice came again, soft and resigned. "But whatever it is, it's moving quickly. His condition's deteriorating far faster than we expected. It's like whatever curse he's carrying is... accelerating."
"Curse..." The unfamiliar voice broke in, and Asher could hear the doctor's calm demeanor hiding the slight edge of concern beneath it. "We need to focus on stabilizing him first. The symptoms have been presenting rapidly, and without a clearer understanding of the cause, we'll only make it worse."
Another tense silence followed, and Asher's mind tried to latch onto their words, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but the pain still lingered beneath the surface, tugging at him, reminding him of the darkness he'd been trying to fight.
"Stabilize him," the Judge muttered, as if the words tasted sour in her mouth. "He's not some broken object you can just fix."
Roan, ever the calming influence, responded in a low, reassuring tone. "We're doing everything we can, ma'am."
The Judge's impatience was palpable as she paced the room, her soft footsteps echoing on the cold floor. "It's not enough. We need answers. Now."
The unfamiliar doctor's voice cut through the tension. "If it's a curse, or something magical at play here, we need to move quickly. I'll need more time, but there are certain things we can try to mitigate the symptoms. I can run a few more tests, examine him more closely."
"You'd better hurry," the Judge snapped, her voice brittle with frustration. "I don't have time for your tests, doctor. I need him stable."
Asher's mind swirled, the weight of their conversation making his chest tighten. They didn't know. They couldn't know what he had done. The ritual was a secret he had to carry, a heavy burden he couldn't let anyone see. But the pain, the sickness—it was undeniable, and whatever had caused it, whatever curse they believed he was under, it was eating at him from the inside out. Had the dark magic that now flowed inside of him not been clashing well with his initial sickness?
Suddenly, he felt it—the shift in the air as the Judge's attention snapped to him. The whispers faded, the room growing still.
"Asher?" Her voice was softer now, quieter, yet it held that same commanding edge. He could feel her moving closer, hear the subtle shift in her breath as she loomed over him. "Can you hear me?"
He blinked slowly, the effort too much, but he managed to pry his eyes open. The Judge's face hovered above him, her gaze intense and searching, but there was something there he couldn't quite place—an emotion he hadn't seen before, a vulnerability he hadn't expected.
He tried to lift his hand, but his limbs felt uncooperative, weighed down by an invisible force. His throat was dry, the words in his mouth too thick to form.
"Asher." Her voice again, urgent now, a slight tremor beneath the sternness. "Look at me."
His vision swam as he forced his eyes to focus on her. He was awake now, but he wasn't fully here. His body felt disconnected from his mind, and all he could feel was the crushing weight of exhaustion.
"Where… am I?" he rasped, barely audible.
Her gaze softened, though it quickly hardened into something more clinical. "You're in my quarters. You've been unconscious for a while now."
Asher's heart thudded in his chest. He wanted to ask more, but his body refused to obey. His fingers twitched weakly against the bed, but he couldn't form coherent thoughts or words.
The Judge sighed softly, but her hand, warm and steady, moved to his forehead. "You're safe," she said, almost as if to convince herself. "You're going to be fine."
He wanted to respond, wanted to explain that he wasn't fine—wanted to shout that something else was going on as the result of their ancestor's decisions—but the words wouldn't come. His mind was too foggy, the weight of sleep pressing down on him again.
"Asher," she repeated, her voice now commanding but soft, as though she was trying to pull him from the depths of whatever fog he was trapped in. "Stay with me. I need you to focus. Can you remember what happened?"
Her words sliced through the fog, and for a moment, Asher felt a flicker of clarity. He tried to speak again, but his throat burned, and the words felt like they were stuck behind a wall.
The Judge's hand tightened on his shoulder, a steady, insistent pressure that grounded him. She leaned closer, her face so near his now that he could feel the heat of her breath.
"Stay awake," she urged again, her voice gentle but firm. "Please, Asher. I need you to stay with me."
His pulse was racing, his mind a blur. He felt like he was drowning in his own body, suffocating in his weakness. And then, with effort, the word came out, barely a whisper.
"Curse…"
The room went silent for a moment, as if the word had stopped time. The Judge's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. She turned toward the doctor, her voice clipped and sharp. "What do we do now?"
But Asher wasn't done. The words came more easily now, as if once he started, they couldn't stop.
"It's the same curse…" His breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling with the effort of speaking. "The one that's been... plaguing the vampires. The same one that's been surrounding the Kapella family since we were betrayed..."
A heavy silence followed his words, the weight of the confession settling into the room. The Judge's face went pale, her expression unreadable for a long moment. She stood stock still, as though trying to process what he had just said.
The unfamiliar doctor's voice finally broke through the quiet, but there was a new note of urgency in his tone. "If it's that curse, then it's more dangerous than we realized. The symptoms, the fever, the disorientation—they're just the beginning. If we don't stop it now, it will continue to spread, to consume him. For us vampires, it's torture yes, but…for a human…" His voice faltered, and then he cleared his throat. "It's a death sentence…"
The Judge's lips pressed into a thin line, her expression hardening. "We need to act fast."
Asher's breath was shallow, and he could feel himself slipping again, the exhaustion and pain overwhelming him. But he held onto the Judge's gaze, the only thing tethering him to this moment, to reality.
"I tried to stop it," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I… thought I could control it. But I was wrong. I'm… weak..."
The Judge's hand remained steady on his shoulder, but Asher saw something flicker in her eyes—a brief flicker of something that almost looked like… fear.
"No," she said firmly, her voice hardening with resolve. "You're not alone in this, Asher. We'll find a way to stop it. We will."
Her words were fierce, but they didn't fully reach him. The last thing Asher could focus on was the pull of unconsciousness—his mind finally surrendering to the weight of it. But before he faded completely, the image of her face—the resolve, the uncertainty, the flicker of something softer—lingered in his mind.
And then, the darkness claimed him once more.
When Asher woke up again, he shot up, panting heavily as if he'd emerged from a nightmare he couldn't quite remember. His clothes and hair were damp with sweat. Scanning the empty room, he struggled to calm himself, fragments of recent events flooding back. He'd known, roughly, what he was getting into with the ritual—but he hadn't anticipated this.
He swung his legs over the edge of the large bed and stood, immediately noticing something felt… different. Very different. He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them experimentally. There was no pain, no discomfort—he felt amazing. Stronger, even. His mind was clear. How long had he been unconscious?
Taking a deep breath, he moved to the nearby table where a pitcher of water awaited. Without hesitation, he picked it up and drank greedily, water dripping down his face and neck as he tried to quench his thirst. When he set it down, the pitcher shattered in his hand. He hadn't meant to break it—he just couldn't seem to control his strength.
He looked down at his hand, expecting to see cuts from the thick ceramic shards. But there was nothing. No pain. No sensation at all.
The door burst open, slamming against the wall, and a vampire guard filled the doorway, sword drawn, eyes fierce. "Hey! What do you think you're—?" His voice faltered as his gaze locked onto Asher. For a moment, the guard just stood there, his face drained of color as realization struck. He staggered back, eyes wide. "T-The Court Consort has awakened!" he shouted, nearly tripping over himself as he turned to flee. "Alert the Judge at once!"
The hallway erupted in a flurry of footsteps, shouts, and the clash of armor as word spread like wildfire.
Asher exhaled sharply, annoyed by the interruption. He'd barely had time to process his new strength, his sharpened senses, the hunger gnawing at him. But his thoughts would have to wait—he could feel the insatiable thirst rising, like a fire in his veins. And now, it seemed, his audience was coming straight to him.
It didn't take long for the Judge to rush into the room, Roan trailing close behind. Her usual calm, collected expression had shattered, replaced by wide eyes that betrayed shock—a vulnerability Asher had rarely seen. Memories flooded back: the Judge's sickeningly sweet words, her tender touches, the flash of panic and worry in her gaze when everything had unfolded. He loathed it. He wished he could erase it from his mind. Every time he looked at her, those moments clawed their way back, reminding him of her softness—a softness he couldn't afford to care about. He had a plan, and that plan didn't include her happiness or well-being.
She froze as their eyes met, both locked in stunned silence. Tension hung thick in the air until Roan, struggling to find his voice, finally broke it. "C-Court Consort… how are you—what…?" He trailed off, unable to gather his thoughts, his shock overwhelming. "You've been unconscious for weeks… on the brink of death… how did you—"
"I feel better now," Asher cut him off, his tone cold. He didn't want to hear any more of this.
"What—"
"I'm hungry."
Roan jumped, startled, then nodded quickly. "Ah! Of course! I'll prepare something for you right away!" And with that, he rushed out, leaving Asher alone with the Judge.
The silence returned, heavy and thick. She looked at him, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. But Asher had no interest in what she had to say. His hunger gnawed at him like a beast, and his gaze sharpened, the emptiness in his chest reminding him that empathy was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Asher's gaze didn't waver as he finally broke the silence. "Are you just going to continue standing there, or do you have something you want from me?" His voice was sharp and cold, his expression unreadable, though he felt something twist in his chest at his own words.
The Judge took a slow, steadying breath, her collected mask slipping back into place. She studied him carefully, her eyes darkening with an unreadable mix of disappointment, frustration, perhaps even a glimmer of relief. "…Do you even understand how much chaos this place has been in since you became bedridden?"
Asher scoffed, crossing his arms. "And I should care because…?"
Her gaze hardened. "Because, like it or not, you're tied to this Court. Your absence disrupted our order, our alliances—hell, even the morale of my people." She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous softness. "I don't think you realize how many sacrifices were made just to keep you alive."
He narrowed his eyes at her, a shadow passing over his face. "I never asked for any of that."
"And yet you benefitted from it," she countered. "You were on the brink of death. If we hadn't intervened, you'd be nothing but a memory by now."
For a moment, he held her gaze, her words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. Somewhere deep inside, something heavy settled—a strange, uncomfortable weight. He hadn't asked for her help, hadn't wanted to rely on her or anyone. But that didn't erase what she'd done. He forced himself to ignore the feeling, to push it down. Empathy, attachment—those were distractions, dangerous ones.
"So," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "What now? Do you expect gratitude?"
Her mouth tightened, and her expression shifted, as if she was giving up on trying to reach him. "I expect you to be aware, at the very least. This Court isn't a game, Asher. It's not here for your amusement."
"And yet," he replied with a forced smirk, "it's treating me like royalty."
Her jaw clenched, but she didn't answer, only turned away, exhaustion clear in the slump of her shoulders. "Your meal will be here soon. After you eat, we'll discuss your…responsibilities in the Court." And with that, she moved toward the door.
Just as she reached it, Asher's voice stopped her. He hesitated, forcing the words out before he could stop himself. "Thank you… for coming to find me before I fell unconscious. And for taking care of me."
The Judge paused, turning back to him with a look of surprise in her eyes, the faintest flicker of softness returning. For a moment, she seemed as if she might say something, but then she just gave a slight nod, leaving him alone with the strange, sinking feeling that lingered in his chest.