Chapter 14 - A Serpent’s Tears

Belladonna

Save me.

Save me.

Save me.

Save me. Save me. Save me.

As a child, I used to lay awake at night and whisper those two same words over and over again like a mantra, begging that somehow, someway, someone would come and save me from the disease that kept eating away at me every single day, robbing a little more of my hope every day, chipping away pieces of my soul every time I was too weak to walk or too breathless to talk, forcing my own body to betray me every time I passed out. Between dreaming of the world I couldn't afford to see for myself and trying not to die every day, I used my moments awake during nighttime — which became increasingly more and more common as I started sleeping more during the day — to sit cross-legged in my bed and beg the skies for someone or something to come and save me, wishing so strongly for what I knew wasn't possible I sometimes felt like I was imploring to be reborn in a skin that wasn't my own or to live a future that hadn't been meant for me.

Every day nothing happened, I fooled myself into thinking that being given another day was another chance at maybe being blessed with a miracle.

I stopped the night my parents died.

Because that was the night I realized there had never been anything in me to save.

There had never been enough of anything in me to save.

Not through any fault of my own, I think, but simply because that's how I'd been born. Since the moment I was born, I'd been this way. To some extent, I'd been born this way, half-dead and half-alive. Dangling from a line so fragile it could have broken at any time, pushing me into the abyss of the unknown.

Clinging to life with all my strength only to see it slowly slip away from me a little more each day.

That's who I'd always been.

The girl born to be eaten away by death, condemned to a life of barren hope and joy. And after my parents had been killed, my memories finally showed the truth of what lay beneath the things I saw, changed by the hope I'd carried at the time that I could yet live my own life. That I could have a life. The discolored floorboards of my old bedroom became gruesome scars, the family heirlooms turned into sad reminders of better days and the flickering light from the candles were flashes of their last dying breaths.

And suddenly, there was nothing left if not hollowness.

There had never been enough of anything in me to save.

Before my parents were killed, I remember how, as my body continued wasting away every day — too tired to fight, too weak to endure —, I felt myself drawn towards the mirror. There, the same reflection from all the other days and nights stared back at me. Bruised and sunken rust-colored eyes gazed back at me from my reflection, above cheeks sunken deep into a gaunt frame supporting illness rather than health, but within those same hollow eyes, there flickered a fire — a hauntingly resolute defiance against fate.

Despite everything, I was still there.

There might not be much left to save even then, just skin and bones masking an already departed soul, but I persisted.

I remained.

I fought.

I was still waiting.

But that changed the day they died.

The next time I looked at myself in the mirror, the embittered, hollow, empty woman who glared belligerently at me from the mirror was a completely different person. All traces of the disease that'd been rotting me from the inside since I was a child were gone. The once sunken eyes now appeared bright and lively, a mixture of green and brown as if they couldn't decide which color they wanted to be, and with no hint of bruising. The emaciated cheeks were now filled out and rosy, a drastic contrast from the skeletal frame they were once set in. The skin had a healthy, olive glow to it, with no signs of the ashen color that once plagued it. The red hair was shiny and vibrant, no longer dull and lifeless.

But as I focused my gaze on her eyes, she looked different.

Her eyes.

Her eyes were different.

Lifeless, hollow, without spirit, without fire.

They were the eyes of someone who'd been beaten by life. Plagued by it. Haunted by it.

Before, my eyes had been a weather-beaten ship that refused to surrender to the raging storm, but then it was like they became the weary remnants of debris adrift in a merciless ocean. The mirror reflected back a stranger who bore my face, but not my spirit. The rebel flame was extinguished, replaced by an abandoned emptiness that screamed of the blanket of sorrow and emptiness that'd fallen upon my world.

And the woman in that mirror might have survived, but I didn't.

So, it was no wonder that no one came now, to save whatever was left of what I'd become that day, so long ago.

Someone's coming —

Kol's voice was swallowed by another voice, much too physical to only exist in my mind. "I'm sorry about the doors."

My head snapped up.

I'd never heard that voice before.

But it was a male.

I was sure of that, at least.

My eyes flew to the source of the sound, but I couldn't see him, his silhouette hidden in shadows at the door he'd apparently burst open with the beast he'd sent soaring through it that now lay in ashes somewhere on the floor.

He is as strong as the legends say, after all, Kol growled. Although, his timing could definitely use a little work. Kol adjusted himself on top of me, moving his legs and paws until he could look underneath himself where I lay in a little ball on the ground, too scared and too exhausted to do anything other than stare at his topaz eyes. Are you okay, blóma?

Under any other circumstance, I would've answered, if nothing else to make sure I could, but I found that my tongue was too tied for that, and the urgent need to sleep and pretend like this entire day had been nothing but a dream forced me to lower my lashes.

I'd never wished for sleep more than at that moment.

At least asleep, the world didn't have the tendency to fall apart.

I turned my head in time to see the Keiserinne's utter surprise, completely unmasked as she stared openly at the newcomer covered in shadows that stood at the main entrance door of the pavilion. All the guards moved in a tight formation around her, facing the newcomer, preparing to deal with him. Swords were unsheathed and attack positions were taken as the Keiserinne remained immobile, completely frozen in the face of whoever had just barged inside the pavilion.

This is about to get interesting, Kol's tone was serious now, all his previous irony gone and replaced with a genuine curiosity I couldn't understand.

What do you mean?

The Keiserinne lunged forward, her hand snatching the small dagger from a guard's scabbard. With remarkable swiftness and precision, she flung the blade through the air.

I held my breath.

There was a loud clang.

With lightning-fast reflexes, the man raised his longsword high, its shimmering blue blade now glowing even brighter as it parried the dagger's strike, aimed at his chest. The loud clang of steel on steel echoed throughout the room, reverberating as the small dagger she'd thrown dropped brokenly to the ground at his feet with a dull thud.

The intruder didn't even flinch, his face half concealed by the ethereal glow of his blade and his eyes set upon the Keiserinne. There was no trace of fear in them, only a determined calmness that immediately stirred the room into a deadly silence. "I suppose this means my apology has been rejected."

"How dare you come here?" The Keiserinne's voice was shrill, breaking through the silence as her gaze hardened into sharp shards. "How dare you stand before me?"

Her guards tensed further, hands gripping their weapons with white-knuckled intensity.

"That is a question we'll have to leave for a later time, I'm afraid. The explanation is rather long," his voice remained resolute, yet respectful. "Probably sometime when you're not actively trying to impale any type of blade into my chest."

The Keiserinne scoffed.

Finally, the man stepped inside the room —

He was…

Almighty Gods.

He was simply…

Magnificent.

The man stood tall and broad, his silhouette cloaked in shadows that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. As he stepped into the room, though, the shadows seemed to dissipate and his frame seemed to eat up all the sun instead, glinting off his shoulder-length hair that shone lighter than spun gold and gracefully accommodated around his sharp features in breathtakingly gentle waves, highlighting features that could not be human by any strike of luck. His clothes were mostly black, but I could see a few spots where they were torn, clear signs that he'd fought bravely the beasts he'd ultimately killed.

He was too sharp, too refined, too defined, too…

Perfect, the thought completed itself in my mind in a whisper.

A sigh escaped me.

Stop drooling.

I shoved the heel of my hand up against Kol's chest, hearing him huff in return with a crude, morbid satisfaction. Stop being rude.

Despite his chaffing breath, he settled into silence in my mind.

I returned my attention to the newcomer.

His eyes were round, just a little slanted, and under the light, they smiled almost denim-blue at me from behind the fine sheen of amusement and interest that coated them. His lips curled in a mischievously innocent smile as he directed his gaze at the Keiserinne, though he still held his sword, its blue markings radiating with otherworldly power — from what I could tell from this distance, they looked like ancient runes, which I couldn't find a way to explain — and the same black tar from the beasts oozed from the blade, a reminder of what'd happened.

Of what he'd done.

Of what he'd killed.

"How dare you come?" The Keiserinne's words were a broken whisper, shattering the silence. "How dare you step foot in here after all this time and speak to me as if nothing's happened?"

He blinked as he tipped his head to the side, studying her. "It's been long enough. I might even risk as much as to say it's been too long," he said simply, his voice calm and composed. "And you sent for me, so I came."

Whispers rose around the entire room.

I heard the guards whisper the word 'slayer'.

Was this the King's Slayer?

The man the Keiserinne wanted dead? Alongside the King himself? The man she had said to have exiled her? The Kairo they'd spoken of?

Why was he here with her acting like she'd been expecting him anxiously when she'd said only yesterday that she was planning to murder him in order to gain access to the King himself?

What was going on?

This was the man the Keiserinne had painted as a monster?

He looked nothing close to a monster —

I couldn't take my eyes off him.

He was a striking blend of angles and curves, like a masterfully crafted sculpture brought to life. Each line of his face was sharp and precise, accentuated by the play of light and shadow around him. And yet, there was a softness to his features that spoke of gentleness and warmth, drawing the eye to linger on his every perfect detail. He was almost otherworldly in his beauty, a being beyond human understanding.

He was… godly — in the true sense of the word.

"To be honest, I came hoping to talk before we get to stabbing."

The Keiserinne seemed to compose herself, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin in a motion that seemed to awaken the room around us. "Of course." She shrugged nonchalantly. "But I'll still drive my sword through your chest before you leave anyway."

His soulful laughter echoed in the pavilion, an intimate sound that hinted at a history between them. "Always so hospitable…" He commented, his gaze flicking around the room momentarily before returning to the Keiserinne. "We have a lot to talk about, it seems."

My eyes instinctively narrowed.

They did know each other.

Well.

My heart pounded in my chest as I watched the exchange happen from under Kol's protective form.

It was like watching a play unfold, only this wasn't staged drama, it was deadly and real. I could see it in the way these two powerhouses hedged around each other with words, like lions circling before they pounced.

"I don't know how stupid you think I am, but you should have tried talking before making promises you didn't intend to keep," the Keiserinne spat out the words as if they were venom. Her voice was cold, but there was an undercurrent of something else in her voice, maybe fear, or anger — it was hard to tell which. "Because unlike you, I intend to keep mine."

Clearly, whatever had happened between them wasn't water under the bridge for her.

More than whatever reason she'd stated before for wanting him dead, her personal reasons mattered more in her thirst for bloodshed.

The man didn't seem fazed by her declaration. If anything, he looked bemused. "And yet, here I am," he said, shrugging slightly as he twirled his radiant sword nonchalantly. "Still breathing."

"For now," she grumbled under her breath, and it was clear it was a threat. She turned to the guards gathered around her, capturing their attention. "Gather the slaves and send the patrons on their way," she ordered in a low voice. "I'll deal with this."

The guards didn't hesitate, their trained movements swift and precise. With a sense of urgency, they herded the slaves and patrons up to the second floor, following the instructions given by the Keiserinne. The rooms were jam-packed with bodies, the air thick with fear and anticipation. As the guards went about their duties, their footsteps echoed off the stone walls, creating an eerie symphony in the silence. The once bustling room was now filled with tension and unease, as everyone waited to see how they would be dealt with by their ruler.

Silence stretched between Keiserinne and the stranger again as they faced each other.

It felt charged with a tension that made my skin prickle with unease.

But just when I thought one of them would break and attack, the man leaned his slender hip on a table behind him convivially, his eyes landing lazily on the Keiserinne and the blue of his irises was brighter under the light, making me realize there was golden freckles around his irises that glinted off the light beaming on from above. "So… Keiserinne…" He started, saying the word with clear displeasure. "That's the name you chose?"

Her smile turned wolfish. "I was told that 'Queen' was taken."

"Indeed, it was," he agreed, looking down almost as if bowing his head to her. His lashes lifted, sand over a dark-blue sky. "And she has been a good queen to her people ever since. Can you say the same?"

The Keiserinne's smile turned downright venomous and her eyes narrowed in the subtlest of reactions. "I would never dream of comparing myself to such a noble character."

His lips didn't move but his eyes laughed at her as he tipped his head to the side, studying her in the type of scrutiny that would make lesser people change their weight uncomfortably or look away, though his eyes stayed firmly on her as if her reaction was too delicious not to appreciate. "Somehow, I hardly find that believable."

"Well, you haven't been around much, have you?" She threw back, her tone lowering as a few notes as pain flashed through, along with a good amount of resented anger that was evident even to me. "How could you know anything?"

"You made me a promise many moons ago and though I doubt you'll go through with it, I've kept my distance in hopes to not give you a reason to fulfill it, but don't mistake my distance as a sign of my oblivion. I know exactly who you are," he stopped, lips thinning in the clear sign that he was choosing his words wisely, either because of the Keiserinne's reaction or because he didn't want to say too much in front of the entire room. "I'd only hoped you had followed my advice." His head fell to the side. "Which, in hindsight, seems foolish to have hoped for since you promised to drive your sword through my chest the next time you saw me. Instead, you seem to have taken up a title not very dissimilar to the one you said you never wanted."

My brows flew up.

"It was never mine."

His eyes looked around the pavilion. "Many would argue you're as close to it as you can without actually owning it."

Was the title he was referring to that of a monster?

Because if so, she'd already achieved it.

A long time ago.

But something told me that wasn't at all what he was talking about and he knew very well what he was talking about.

"Don't patronize me, Slayer. Morality doesn't suit you."

So, he was the Slayer.

The Slayer curled his lips until they formed a half-smile that made a single dimple appear on his cheek. "I could say the same to you." His eyes moved around the room as if he was referring to the entire building around us. He righted himself, coming closer in steps that were swift and calculated. "What did you think would happen? Did you think I'd stay away forever? You had the indecency to pray on fool mens' dark desires to build yourself a position of power?" The Slayer's voice was rich with accusation, his words ringing through the silence of the room, passing judgment on the Keiserinne's actions. "How could you?"

A dark cloud seemed to pass over her features as she absorbed his words. For a moment, she looked almost stricken. But then, just as swiftly as it had appeared, the vulnerability was gone. "How do you know that?"

He laughed. "One doesn't need to be a genius to understand what all these young women in little to no clothes and a crowd of men are doing in the same building."

She barked out a sharp laugh, the sound echoing sharply off the stone walls. "Men have been using women for their own carnal purposes and power plays for all eternity," she retorted, her eyes gleaming dangerously. "If they're foolish enough to let me turn the tables on them, then they deserve what they get."

The Slayer simply stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, very slowly, he shook his head. "This isn't about who uses who," he said quietly. "This is about enslaving innocents for personal gain. You've made this place a haven for your revenge plot, using innocent souls to further your plans for vengeance."

His words hung heavy in the air, and I felt my heart speed up in anticipation of her retaliation. Despite everything that'd happened so far — despite being afraid — there was something incredibly compelling about their exchange. Something raw and honest that stripped away all pretenses and laid their souls bare.

"You act as if you didn't do the exact same thing once upon a time!"

"As opposed to you acting like you weren't a victim of this as well?" His voice was extremely quiet, almost silent. He pointed at the girls still all around the pavilion, watching. "Why put them through the very thing that destroyed you?"

The same thing?

Did that mean that she'd been abused as well?

His words only seemed to enrage the Keiserinne even further. "I know the truth, Slayer," she hissed, stepping forward as she hurled her own accusations at him. "Don't pretend like you are so much better than me," her voice dripped with venom as she laughed at him. "Your past could paint these walls with the innocent blood you've shed in the name of your revenge."

There was a beat of silence before he responded in an eerily calm and collected tone. "That's precisely my point. I made that mistake, too, a long time ago." He sighed in a sound that made me feel exhausted for him. "And I know that one of my many mistakes was hurting you," he carried on, voice quiet in his request, leveling her with a gaze that was as cold as it was devoid of remorse. His sword glowed as he moved his hand, the cool steel gleaming ominously under the weak light. "And I know you resent me for never asking for your forgiveness."

The Keiserinne's eyes flashed dangerously at his words, but this time she didn't retort. Perhaps she had nothing left to say. Or perhaps she knew that there was some truth in what he'd said.

"But I know it won't change anything if I ask for it. It's done. I refuse, however, to let you go down the same road I paved," the Slayer continued, his voice taking on a decidedly dangerous edge. He straightened up, preparing himself for what was about to come next. His grip on his sword tightened, knuckles standing out in stark relief against the hilt. "Death waits at its corner, and I made you a promise when I saved your life, all those winters ago. So, even if you drive your dagger through my heart, I will uphold it."

I took in a deep breath —

A whimper escaped me as searing pain exploded on the side of my ribcage.

Kol immediately lifted his weight fully from me. Blóma, are you hurt?

I quickly assessed the damage, wincing when it became clear that there was something wrong with my ribs. There's something wrong with my ribs.

I struggled to sit, and Kol quickly helped by pushing his muzzle against my shoulder gently. Then, he sat on his heels before me, eyes focused on me before flickering away from my shoulder and returning. Do you feel dizzy?

I couldn't find the strength within me to answer him with words and the world was swirling too much for me to keep my eyes open, so I brushed them closed and focused on keeping my breathing steady before I vomited or fainted. Yes. And nauseous.

We need to get you to a healer.

I didn't deny that I needed a healer, but I knew there wasn't one in the fortress. I also knew that even if there was, the Keiserinne would hardly allow me to be treated, both as a punishment and lesson, as well as a safety measure against the very real possibility that I might kill the healer when he touched my skin. I just need to be in my room. And I need to be alone. I'll deal with it.

Kol's nose touched my chin, tipping my head a little upward, eyes holding mine. What does that mean?

I let out a snort, slouching as I tried to find a position that didn't make my ribs cry in pain, although it turned out to be a useless effort as nothing made the pain dim enough for me to breathe normally. Guess you don't know everything about me after all, do you, Kol?

Kol growled lowly, but he either ignored my comment or was too distracted by something else because his eyes were poised on something behind me. He's staring at you, you know?

I raised a brow. Who is?

The Slayer.

I felt a chill tiptoe down my spine. What do —

I heard footsteps and before I could blink, Kol was on his feet, baring his fangs at whoever was approaching, his ears lowering in warning.

I lifted my eyes to see the Slayer standing to my right, inches from us.

Up close, his eyes weren't entirely as blue as I thought they were. Instead, there was a captivating blend of gold and blue swirling together in a mesmerizing pattern. It was both beautiful and unsettling to behold. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as though he had a ring of golden freckles around his irises, giving them an otherworldly quality. They seemed to glow like stars in the night sky just before the darkness fully descended, with hints of sunlight still lingering on the horizon. My head tilted to the side in awe as I openly stared, suddenly realizing that the golden freckles looked like specks of stardust, radiating against the deep blue of his pupils — like I was staring into the galaxy itself, with remnants of daylight still lingering in the distance. The color was unlike anything I had ever seen before, so rare and unique that it seemed to defy any name or description. I wasn't even sure if it had a name.

I was quite positive it didn't.

This man's eyes would probably be named after him.

Slayer-blue.

I almost snorted.

Wouldn't that be ironically narcissistic?

The fact was for someone so adept at killing, his eyes were remarkably and unfairly soft.

And absolutely beautiful.

His eyes focused on Kol for a few seconds until the wolf suddenly stopped his aggression and sat back on his hind legs, resembling more a perfectly trained dog than an actual wolf.

I gave him a raised brow in response. What are you doing?

Kol tilted his head and snapped his jaw once in a gesture that was more tamed than wild. He means us no harm.

I narrowed my eyes at the Slayer, enthralled once more by his features and those beautiful eyes. Oh, he doesn't?

He might not mean any harm, but he certainly posed a very real danger to me, for a variety of reasons that I couldn't really make myself name at the present moment, although I could see in the Keiserinne's eyes the most evident one.

She hated him.

Loathed him.

I wasn't, by any means, a fierce defender of her moral compass, but if she hated him, how awful must he be?

I was guessing very much.

And I was only guessing, of course, but I thought that being in the center of this man's attention was a very bad thing.

The Slayer's gaze strayed to me and I was swallowed by their intensity as shivers coursed through my entire body, making my skin tingle. "I'm assuming the wolf was protecting you from the beast?"

I blinked a few times.

Should I pinch myself?

Was this real? Was he real? Was he talking to me?

His smile grew until it was almost blinding, and for some reason, I felt like I was staring at the sun. "My apologies," he quickly amended himself, giving Kol an amused stare and bowing his head almost reverently. "As it appears, Kol attacked the Skadlig to protect you. And he nearly killed it. While that is intriguing on its own, I have to wonder why a Skadlig would be interested in you." He leaned down, his hand snaking out to support me when I struggled to rise. His eyes glowed under the light with such an intense glare that I could see the intricate pattern weaved in his irises and the tiny, deep-gold freckles. "What's your name?"

Blóma, you are hurt.

I flinched my arm away, rising without his help, grimacing when pain exploded on my side, but when he tried to help again, I deliberately stepped away, stumbling into Kol, who inched forward as if he expected I might fall if I stood alone too long. I'm fine.

You can trust him.

The whisper was gentle. The words were kind. But I had spent half a life trusting people and hoping for the best only to be betrayed in the end by my own foolishness.

I would never make that mistake again.

If he ever intended to gain my trust, he'd have to earn it.

I don't know what made me answer, and I don't know what made me answer with the clipped tone I heard coming out of my mouth, but before I could use my common sense, I found myself opening my mouth, gritting my teeth against the agonizing pain radiating from my fractured ribs as I fixed my unwavering gaze upon him. "No," I hissed through clenched teeth, daring him to ask me my name again. I licked my lips and repeated myself, this time louder — stronger. "No."

Don't be rude, Kol rasped.

Says the wolf that keeps growling at anyone who even looks in my direction.

Fair, he replied bemusedly. But you're treating him like the enemy, which I've already established that I don't think he is.

I didn't care.

He is the enemy until I know that he is not.

"She's refused to tell me her name ever since she's been here," the Keiserinne said, crossing her arms above her chest almost in a challenge, daring him to make me tell him my name when I hadn't told her despite all the torture she'd put me through. "I call her Belladonna."

I lifted my chin in defiance.

The Slayer's eyes moved slowly through my face, a half-smile growing on his lips as if he found my defiance and resilience amusing. "Seems entirely too fitting," he remarked, the laughter in his eyes contrasting vividly with the severity of our situation. "Beautifully deadly." His gaze fell to my lips momentarily, before shifting back to my eyes. "Belladonna," he repeated the name slowly, eyes dancing with a dangerous glint.

Not a glint.

A symphony.

Of something I was entirely too scared to even name.

But it was there nonetheless.

Shivers coursed down my spine.

"I will find out your name," the Slayer promised, his voice as gentle as the breeze yet carrying undertones of ominous threat. It seemed to hang in the room long after he'd said it.

A laugh escaped me then.

It felt strange. I hadn't laughed in months. The sound bounced off the stone walls and echoed around us, creating an eerie harmony with the silence around us. For only a few seconds, my laughter filled the room like a flock of wild birds, soaring and diving in intricate patterns, only to be swallowed by the cavernous walls and sent back to me in haunting echoes. Like a forgotten melody suddenly remembered, a long-lost part of myself that I thought had withered away in the darkness — something I thought I'd forgotten how to do. The sound was like a rusty chain breaking free from its bindings, echoing and reverberating through the cold, stone walls. And in that moment, the silence seemed to hold its breath, waiting, listening to the haunting melody that filled the space. It was a strange and beautiful feeling, a glimpse of something that had been lost but now found again.

Only to vanish as quickly as it'd come.

Faint surprise danced in the Slayer's eyes, as if the sound had been just as unexpected for him as it'd been for me, but the reaction was quickly smothered by that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

"I wouldn't waste my breath on promises I won't keep, if I were you," the Keiserinne warned him, her voice bitter and dark.

He shrugged, his demeanor so casual it was infuriating. "I always keep my promises."

The Keiserinne snorted, her cold gaze leveling on the Slayer. "If that were true, I wouldn't have dreamed for sixteen winters of the day when I'd finally put a sword through your gut."

The Slayer's eyes never left mine as he stared at me, a slow, lazy smirk seeping into his features.

Yet, he didn't answer.

"Let me assure you, however, while beautiful, Bella is poisonous. They say the sweeter the honey, the deadlier the trap and that would be right in her case. Her particular type of poison does kill," the Keiserinne warned, icicles seemingly forming on each syllable that fell from her lips. "And it's a most painful death."

A chill ran down my spine as the Keiserinne's words slipped through the silence, her tone carrying a hidden warning.

She's going to use this against both of you.

I flickered my gaze to Kol for a second. That's what she always does.

"You forget, Keiserinne," replied the Slayer languidly, never breaking our gaze. His voice was low, but there was a spark in it, a spark that mirrored the flame kindling in his eyes. He was taunting her now, taunting danger and the odds stacked against him. "I don't react to poison the same regular men do and I am not easily killed."

Kol stepped forward, his muzzle touching my leg. Why is he so interested?

I had no idea.

A soft gasp escaped from my lips, cutting through the cavernous echo of my laughter that still lingered like some ghost in the room.

His claim hung in the air, stirring a discomfort that squirmed and twisted in my gut.

I could feel the Keiserinne's eyes on me now, her gaze heavy with anger. It was like standing at the edge of a precipice, a wild wind teasing at my back and an impossibly long fall waiting eagerly for me to take that last, irretrievable step.

His gaze held mine with an intensity I felt like a punch to the stomach.

Fury flickered in the Keiserinne's eyes for a brief moment before she turned to me, advancing the space separating us until she had her hand around my arm, squeezing almost painfully. "She is mine," she spit, voice so low I had to strain to hear what she was saying. "She belongs to me. Remember that for the future, Slayer. If she doesn't kill you for the audacity of touching her, I will."

For a moment, we just stood there.

The Slayer finally broke the silence, his voice a whisper among the shadows as he took a single step back, eyes focused on the woman who'd certainly drag me with her to her tomb on the day she died if only to make sure no one but her possessed me. "Then, I guess we'll just have to wait and see who falls first."

My mouth dropped open.

A threat.

Was that a threat?

My eyes went round.

If I've ever heard one, Kol answered, sounding just as puzzled.

Great Gods above.

This man was insane.

And yet, as I blinked, I could feel it.

A stirring, almost imperceptible at first, began to rise within my chest. It was a curious sensation, one that couldn't be classified as fear or excitement, but rather an elusive feeling somewhere in between. The Slayer's intense gaze bore into me, his eyes piercing and unrelenting. And yet, beneath the intimidating stare, there was a dangerous thrill that seemed to awaken something dormant within me - a part of myself I hadn't known existed. It was like lightning crackling through my veins, igniting a dizzying mixture of adrenaline and curiosity that both terrified and enticed me. As if possessed by some primal instinct, I felt a hunger stir inside me under the Slayer's compelling gaze. Despite my attempts to resist, I couldn't deny the irresistible pull that drew me closer to him, beckoning me into the unknown with equal parts fear and longing.

It was like he was the lightning and I was the storm.

Drawn to each other.

The Keiserinne's grip on my arm tightened, painfully reminding me of the reality of my situation. It wasn't excitement that I should be feeling, it was terror — pure and unadulterated. This Slayer, this unpredictable man who'd just openly threatened the most powerful woman in the kingdom, was not an ally.

He was a threat.

And threats such as him were the most dangerous of all.

They made us soar as high as birds in the sky, only to then clip our wings and see us fall through the air to our untimely deaths.

The Slayer's smirk widened as if he could read my turbulent thoughts.

I felt a shiver snake down my spine.

There was something about him that disconcerted me, something unpredictable and wild. His presence was chaos personified, an unrelenting storm ripping through the serenity of my life, leaving nothing but destruction behind.

And through the numbness settled all around me, I found that the fire I'd lost in my eyes suddenly seemed to return, awakened by the storm his presence installed in me, and the small bud of hope I'd lost all those winters ago suddenly blossomed again, small and fragile but there nonetheless.

Save me.

My lips parted.

Unexpectedly, the Slayer turned halfway to look at a group of four silhouettes entering the pavilion. I didn't recognize any of them but, much like the Slayer still before me, there was something about them that was strangely alluring. The feeling wasn't as strong, but it was definitely there, like a magnet pushing me to look closer at each of them.

Which I really tried not to do.

But I did, anyway.

My eyes were fixed on the four figures making their way towards the Slayer, each one armed and exuding a dangerous aura. Their weapons glinted in the sunlight, giving off an intimidating presence as they passed by piles of ash scattered on the ground. Three of them were men, their faces revealing a sense of danger that lay just beneath the surface. They seemed capable of switching from playful banter to deadly violence in an instant. Despite their similar edge, each one had a distinct appearance, hinting at diverse backgrounds and origins.

The youngest among them was a charming sort, with an easy smile and youth still evident in his features. His dark curls framed a pair of mischievous, dark-brown eyes that sparkled with excitement. The shortest member appeared older than the others, but there was a serene quality about him as he took in his surroundings with gentle brown eyes. It was as though he had found pure bliss in this moment, delivered to him by fate itself. But underneath his calm exterior, I could sense a sharp intellect and keen observation skills. And then there was the tallest of the group — undeniably handsome and oozing confidence. He moved with grace and ease, completely comfortable in his own skin and the life he led. His rebellious dirty-blonde hair fell in untamed waves around his face, while his sky-blue eyes crinkled at the corners in a friendly manner. He seemed like someone who could easily charm even the toughest of crowds with just a smile.

The fourth person coasted to a stop to the Slayer's right, one step behind him with her body angled to him in the sort of stance that was too flagrantly purposeful not to notice.

She was no innocent girl, but a woman full of mysteries and hidden depths. The way she held herself spoke volumes, revealing a strength and confidence that belied her delicate appearance. As someone who had encountered countless women in my life, I could sense there was something different about her. She exuded a raw power that drew me in, yet also made me wary. Her eyes showed no signs of malice, but there was a hint of hostility as she surveyed the pavilion with a keen gaze. And despite standing beside the Slayer as if to protect him, her focus shifted between the Keiserinne and myself with a deep suspicion, as if she instinctively knew we couldn't be trusted.

I wondered how she could've known that.

And if she, in fact, did.

There was an aura of danger and unpredictability surrounding this enigmatic woman that left me unable to fully decipher her intentions.

She was a delicate woman with middle-length raven hair, her eyes were deep brown, sharp, and inquisitive, focusing on the Keiserinne and staying there for a few seconds as if she was analyzing the amount of aggression she was holding inside of her. The way she carried herself with an aura of strength and confidence somehow exuded a quiet power that belied her size completely.

She was a force to be reckoned with.

I took a small step back, bumping into Kol, who lifted his snout to me questioningly. I shook my head slowly, facing the woman once more.

They're the infamous Melig, Kol answered my unvoiced question.

I looked down at him. What?

Have you been living under a rock?

I scowled. In case you haven't noticed, I've been a bit preoccupied with more urgent matters than acquainting myself with the kingdom's gossip.

Her eyes fell to the dagger at the Slayer's feet. "That's the blade she threw at you?"

That's not a good excuse, Kol grumbled.

I rolled my eyes. Keep quiet.

"Her aim was true, but her effort was to no vail," he answered bleakly.

The woman grinned as she trained her stare on the Keiserinne. "It seems you have a beast problem, Keiserinne," the woman pointed out, flinging the tip of her silver sword at the ash on the floor that'd once been the beasts the Slayer had killed. "I would have thought your men would be better suited to fight them, given how far North you're installed."

The Slayer's gaze dropped to the woman at his side. "Ahya, this is not the time."

The Keiserinne's hand fell from my arm as she stepped up to the woman who'd spoken and when she answered, I expected her voice to be full of belligerent animosity for the woman's remark, but instead, her voice was soft. "I would have thought a woman of your beauty would know how to enjoy the pleasure of her freedom, instead of choosing to mar herself with the scars of a war that isn't hers to fight."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Spoken like someone who thinks her cause is any more noble than mine." One of her brows arched diabolically as she rolled her sword expertly in her hand. "Which, if I can be honest with you, it is not. And I'm sad to tell you that, in the end, it will only bring you sorrow and ruin, because that's the path you chose winters ago. And though sometimes the hand of fate takes time to strike, it never falters, so you will meet the exact ending you deserve."

"Ahya."

The woman — Ahya — faced the Slayer, eyes glinting with intent. "You told me to play nice, not to lie," she sneered. "This is me playing nice. You might have made a promise to her, but I haven't." She changed her weight, facing the Keiserinne again as she spoke. "If she comes close enough to bear her claws at any of us again, I'll be sure to clip them for her."

For some reason, I didn't doubt she would.

Seemed the Keiserinne had found her match in this woman.

Someone who finally stood up to the monster of a woman who held the shackles to so many helpless souls.

The Keiserinne laughed. "You're protecting him?"

"Who do you think I should protect instead? You?" Ahya shrugged and the look of utter disgust she gave the Keiserinne made my skin crawl. "I haven't seen much worth protecting. You've been wallowing in your own misery all this time, instead of making something of yourself worthy enough to fight against the hand you were dealt. In the end, you're only proving why you were never worthy enough to be saved. Instead of being on your knees thanking him for what he did, you're standing there acting like he's to blame for the ruined shred of a person you've become after surviving." Ahya's eyes narrowed as she stepped forward, circling around the Slayer to stand in front of him, her full attention on the Keiserinne, the corner of her lips tipped down in severity. "Did you really think surviving would be pretty, foolish girl?"

I gasped.

The Slayer's eyes widened a fraction of an inch —

The Keiserinne moved in a blur too quick to track down and, before anyone could move, her hand was on her whip. I heard Kol growl behind me and felt him step around me to shield me. Then, I saw the blur of the Keiserinne's whip dancing through the air as she aimed it at the woman's face, her expression contorted by hate and fury.

There was the snap of leather against skin —

"That's enough." The Slayer's smooth yet cold voice thundered through the room.

He was… glowing.

I'd never seen anything like it before, except, maybe, for myself when I used my fire. It was the closest I'd ever seen, although different, as well. In my case, my veins glowed when I used the fire, but with him, it was different. His skin was painted with this faint, golden glow, like an aura enveloping him, making his eyes look more liquid gold than molten blue. It intensified as he kept himself immobile, his silhouette as still as polished stone. His hair had fallen over the sides of his face, touching the top of his cheeks and his jaw was tense, forming a tight line. He had the tip of the whip curled around his wrist and even if I hadn't heard the sound of it coming down on his skin as he'd moved to intercept the hit directed at his companion, I knew the exact weight of that whip when it struck against skin. And yet, he showed no sign of discomfort and I could see no red welts forming on his skin.

How was that possible?

And it was gone.

How was this possible?

Then, quickly like he'd done it a million times before, he gave one single tug on the whip, forcing the handle off the Keiserinne's hand as she gasped silently beside me. The handle landed right into his waiting hand, and he held it with such grace as he admired the black-leather whip, uncurling the cracker from his wrist slowly, almost like he was inspecting the rarest of weapons.

Blinking, the Slayer faced the Keiserinne, eyes more gold than blue as a muscle jumped in his jaw. "That is more than enough."

The Keiserinne looked distraught.

"And you thought she could be reasoned with," Ahya commented, rolling her eyes.

He glared at her. "Not the time."

"You almost had me believing she was a survivor."

"Ahya."

"Instead, she's really just a moping child."

He sighed — long and hard.

"I hate you, Steel Kairo," the Keiserinne growled under her breath.

She meant it. Every word.

I knew it. He knew it. Everyone in the room knew it.

She meant it.

His eyes softened to a freckled midnight ocean, his lips forming a lopsided grin that would've been beautiful if not for the sea of remorse and sorrow painted in his eyes. "I warned you, didn't I?"

"You left me here."

"I know."

Her eyes watered and her voice shook when she spoke. "Do you know what happened?"

"Yes."

"Why did you leave?"

"I had my reasons," he replied, his tone remaining placid despite her anger.

"You had your reasons?" She repeated incredulously. "That's not good enough! It wasn't good enough then, and it's not good enough now!"

"I am aware," he said, his gaze turning sorrowful for a fleeting moment before hardening once again.

"Then why?" She demanded, stepping closer to him with each word.

"That is not something I can explain. But I assure you, I did not abandon you out of choice."

Her eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "There are things beyond your understanding," he said carefully. "Things I couldn't change even if I wanted to. Things that had to happen that not even I could interfere with."

"Why? How? Why would the choice you made be interfering with anything?" She pressed.

The ferocity of her thirst for answers echoed through my chest like a wild wolf's cry, desperate and haunting. The raw intensity of her need was something I could feel in my bones, a familiar ache that resonated deep within me. It was a feeling that demanded respect, an unyielding force that I couldn't help but feel rumbling deep within my own heart.

It was something I related to. Something I understood. Something I respected.

He met her stare resolutely. "You know why."

Silence.

"Did you care?" Her voice was small and weak.

He looked at her from under the fair lashes that curled over his eyes, filled with ghosts of a past I don't think neither of them had put to rest. "I cared enough to come back for you. Isn't that enough of an answer?"

"Did you know that I was —"

"Yes," he interrupted. "And I know that she died."

She? Someone died? Who'd died?

If my eyes weren't deceiving me, the Keiserinne was close to tears, her chest rising and falling at such a quick rhythm it was a wonder she could breathe at all. Her hands curled over her chest and the pain sifting through her was obvious even to me as she moved her fingers restlessly over her heart. "Why didn't you help, then?"

"I warned you." His head tipped to the side. "Sometimes, the wyrd gives us that which is hardest just so it will make us that much stronger."

A sneer contorted her face into a mask of venom and hatred. She straightened, struggling to control the trembling in her hands as she forced them to drop to her sides. Still, I could see the anger pulsing through her veins, radiating off of every pore. "I remember," she spit out with disgust, her voice dripping with venom. "But that doesn't change anything. Nothing will ever make what you did okay and I will never forgive you for it."

"I know."

"But you won't stop, will you?" Ahya asked.

The Keiserinne's hands curled into fists. "Never."

Ahya sighed. "It's your funeral."

The Slayer seemed to gain his composure, straightening to his full height as if he could sense that there was nothing more to come out of this encounter, coming to terms with the outcome of whatever had happened in the past between him and the Keiserinne. He swallowed, staring at her through eyes that seemed to see more than the embittered, cruel woman she'd become. "We will take care of the beasts. If there are nests nearby, we'll find them and kill the beasts so you'll be safe for the winter." He said simply, voice gruff, as he turned to walk out of the pavilion.

"And after?"

He stopped and faced the Keiserinne over his shoulder. "Then, either I or the wyrd will decide what to make of you."

"You're leaving it up to fate?"

"No." His voice was quiet, yet it echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the cold stone walls. "Fate is what we shape with our own hands," he said. "The wyrd is what what we cannot change. And though it is not always kind, it is fair."

The Keiserinne watched him turn, his silhouette disappearing into the wisps of darkness clinging to the corner of the pavilion. To his back, she scoffed, crossing her arms above her chest. "I don't believe in any of that."

"That's probably where you went wrong, before," Ahya ground out, pointing her arms at the pavilion around us. "Look where it brought you." She walked up to the Slayer, grabbed the whip he still held in his hands, and walked back to the Keiserinne, placing it into her palms and closing her fingers around it curiously softly. "Not many people have tasted as much violence in their lives as you have. But your sad story doesn't give you the right to hand out violence in the same measure."

"Doesn't it?"

"Just because your pain is understandable, it doesn't make your behavior acceptable. Or justifiable, even." Ahya sighed and looked towards the door once more as if contemplating on whether to leave or stay. After a few moments of silence, she finally spoke. "Everyone has a sad story, Keiserinne. Yours is just another one."

Ahya was absolutely right.

It seemed a little incongruous, but it was the truth. Hurt people hurt people. That was the purest, most honest truth in this world. Evil people were just shells of whoever they'd been before. People turned bitter and cold by the pain of their own past. Keeled over from the weight of their own suffering, which they then tried to inflict on others so they could ease their own. Violence was their scapegoat. Their way of making their own pain go away, even if just for a little while.

Maybe villains didn't really exist. Maybe villains were only normal people, who'd given up fighting after taking too many blows from their mocking fate.

Die a hero or live to see yourself become the villain.

Or something like that.

For the first time, I saw the Keiserinne in an entirely new light. I didn't forgive her. And I didn't forget what she'd done. But I looked at her in a completely different light. Seeing her this way didn't lessen the weight of the monstrosities she'd done or the things she was to blame for, but for a few seconds, seeing the tears in her eyes and the anguish in her posture made me understand that she might be this way because she herself had been through unspeakable things she'd never heal from. Things that'd been done to her that she hadn't been able to move on. Things she held on to with bitterness and resentment because that'd been the only she'd found to survive, by molding her entire self around the scars she'd healed on her own, by licking her own wounds and struggling every single time to accept what they made her turn into.

Whatever she'd been through, I could see she'd lost someone. Someone she'd cared about. Someone she clearly still mourned.

After being betrayed by the Slayer when she'd somehow been convinced he'd help her. It was evident that whatever had happened between them had opened her road to the hardships she'd endured. And while I understood why she'd hold on to the hate and resentment, I knew it didn't change what she'd decided to do with her pain and it didn't make it fair, but, to an extent, it made sense.

Maybe Serket had been right, after all.

Maybe we were all born beautiful and some of us were just turned very ugly by the hand we were unfairly dealt.

By the hands that happened to shape our story.

By the evil that insisted on clinging to our souls.

And by the fate that decided to make us pay — with our blood and soul — for the sins that others have committed.

"Just another one," the Keiserinne echoed brokenly.

Ahya nodded.

"We all have one," the Slayer added and I could hear the sentient pain in his voice.

How many centuries deep was his wound?

How many of his wounds had festered and scarred?

How many of the secrets surrounding him held the sad story of his life?

The Keiserinne shook her head. "You won't make me hate you any less by telling me how much of a victim you are. I won't be tricked into feeling sorry for you, Kairo, no matter your reason for doing what you did. I may have made my mistakes, but you're going to pay for yours before the fucked up wyrd you believe so much in makes me pay for mine." Her voice was barely a whisper and that only made the words graver, more dangerous, more lethal.

More a promise.

He chuckled gracefully, but the sound lacked real amusement. "I never said I was a victim."

My head tipped to the side, inspecting him as I tried to understand him.

He was serious. I wasn't sure how I knew that, but I could tell by his tone and the expression on his face that he was absolutely serious. He'd admitted to having had his own hardships to move past in his life, but he wasn't trying to play the role of the victim. He wasn't patronizing the Keiserinne by wanting to tell her that everyone was a victim in their own story and a villain in another's. He was only stating the truth.

Everyone had a sad story.

And it didn't matter one bit to the world.

The Keiserinne threw her hands up in frustration. "Then, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying it's time to stop fantasizing about spitting in the face of the apologies you know will never come."

Ahya's eyes nailed the Slayer, but she kept silent.

There was silence in the room for a few seconds.

I watched the Keiserinne closely as the silence stretched between her and the Slayer. She seemed to be struggling with her emotions, trying to keep them in check and remain in control of the situation. But I could see that her resolve was slowly crumbling.

A needle falling would've been heard.

Tension filled the room as we all waited for the Keiserinne's reaction.

Only she didn't have one.

Her jaw worked as she straightened stiffly. "For all the faults my mother may have given me, I am my father's daughter, at the end of the day, Slayer," the Keiserinne announced loud enough to rob the very air from the room as it echoed like the broken echoes of her past that collided against the walls, moments long gone she couldn't let go of. "I will swallow myself whole before I give away my pains and sorrows. Nothing and no one will ever change that." Her head inclined gracefully to the Slayer almost as if bowing her head to him. "Remember that the next time you try to appeal to my good heart."

My chest tightened.

Finally, I understood why the Keiserinne was the way she was.

It wasn't because she couldn't heal or hadn't healed from what'd happened to her.

It's because she refused to.

And that was as close to evil as I thought human beings were capable of coming.

The Keiserinne grabbed my arm unexpectedly and walked me out the door herself, ignoring the people standing in our way as she marched me into the courtyard with Kol obediently behind us.

I looked over my shoulder once.

And what I saw made a spark of hope light up in my chest once more, because there was steely determination in the Slayer's eyes. I wasn't sure what he intended to do with it, if save the Keiserinne or go against her, but I could see in his eyes he wouldn't give up. I didn't know the lengths he was willing to go in order to achieve his purpose, but he was no quitter. Even if it took all of him, he would fight the Keiserinne and he would not give up on her. And if she refused to heal and move on, he'd be there, too.

He'd mend her or break her.

I faced forward slowly, warmed by the certainty that something had undeniably changed, today, and maybe — just maybe — there was still some way that the thing I'd wished so fervently for all my life could still come to pass.

People speak of hope as this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider webs.

It's not.

Hope had dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and she'd just spat out a tooth as she rose for another go.

Life has a strange, painful way of reminding us of that, Kol added to my thought. And a stranger way, still, of making us believe it.

I nodded, eyes on the sky above the outer walls.

He was right, of course.

Hope was the only one thing in the world that, no matter how many times it was beaten and broken, always managed to come back for another round, even if, to do that, it had to die and be reborn each time.

And the proof of that lived within me, tonight.

because after all this time, finally, something had changed.

Someone had come.

***

The second my ass landed on my worn, uncomfortable cot in my cell and I was left alone after the soft click of the lock of the strong entrance door, I found a feeling I hadn't felt in a long time.

Bliss.

Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Even blinking was a strenuous task, but for the first time in a long while, I felt a kindling, warm comfort I'd never felt before. I couldn't explain it, but despite all the sore spots in my body and the pain rippling through my ribs, I genuinely couldn't care about anything right now except lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about what'd happened. How long had it been since I could do that? Just lay here and think without worrying about someone barging in or being dragged off somewhere for some new torture? Without the weight of my own incarceration dragging me down, suffocating me, robbing the life out of my body?

Who would have thought feeling pain could be so liberating?

With a groan, I laid down on my back, staring at the cold, stone ceiling of my cell. The dampness seeping through the hard surface transformed eloquently into constellations as my mind began to drift. Twirling galaxies of 'what if' and 'could have been' danced in front of my eyes. Every now and then, one of them burned brighter than the rest, as if yearning to break free from the confines of the mental chains I'd carefully wrapped around them, building dreams of lives different from the one I'd been handed.

So, are you going to explain to me how you're going to treat your broken ribs? Kol's voice intruded into my mind harshly.

I let out a long sigh. If you keep quiet, I'll do it.

He huffed in annoyance.

I popped one eye open, tipping my head to the side, to where he sat by my head on the floor, amber eyes burning in the dim cell. There was a heaviness to the expression on his face, almost like he was frowning at me. And then we need to talk about you and this talking-in-my-mind situation.

Kol's ears twitched. First, your ribs, he said, his voice incredibly soft. Then, we'll talk.

I grunted in agreement and closed my eyes again, focusing on the pulsing pain in my torso. Each breath sent a jolt of sharp, raw discomfort through me. But the feeling was grounding.

It reminded me that I was alive.

That despite everything, I was still here.

And for some reason, largely immeasurable to any feasible scale, that certainty felt good.

I turned my attention back to Kol and our strange connection. Our communication was something oddly hard to explain. It wasn't telepathy exactly. It was more like an extension of intuition, hearing thoughts that weren't mine sitting comfortably in my mind as if they were. Of course, it'd become evident today that hearing each other's thoughts wasn't the only thing we could do, either. At least, not for Kol. He could hear the thoughts I didn't voice in my mind for him. And while that felt like an invasion of sorts, I also weirdly trusted him with whatever thoughts he might hear that weren't directed at him.

I sighed.

You need to stop thinking and focus.

I tried not to react to his words.

My nose twitched, though, and I heard a roar from his chest that sounded a lot like laughter. I'm glad you find my pain amusing.

I have never said such absurdity.

Well, he wasn't lying.

Taking a deep breath, I started.

Very slowly and very carefully, I ignited the embers of the fire, swaddling them to life like a newborn. Then, I was quick to direct the fire where I wanted it to go, edging toward my ribs where two of my lower ribs were broken. The weight I'd felt on my chest when I breathed and the pain when I moved suddenly made sense. The broken rib had nicked the lung.

Repairing the broken bone took a long time.

Sweat dotted my forehead as I moved the fire's flame over the bone, gently mending it inch by inch, reshaping and remodeling the broken tip until it was set in its right angle once more. I worked mostly on instinct, going in small sections so I wouldn't overexert myself or pass out from the pain. I realized, however, on a subconscious level, that even though the pain was almost crippling, it still didn't even approach the pain I'd felt stabbing through me in the pavilion.

Setting bones was usually hard because of how long it took. Bones had mass, which I needed to reshape and remodel if I meant for the broken bone to be mended correctly, which meant I had to work very slowly to allow the bone marrow to properly heal. Unlike with tissue, I couldn't just picture the growth of new tissue and blood vessels. I needed to use the fire to grip each small piece of broken bone, hold it steady and firmly, and then use the fire to remodel it to its natural shape. The reason for that was because, unlike a wound, a broken bone was already there, it just needed to be reset to its natural place and angle, which made the work a lot harder since I couldn't just will what I wanted into existence. There were times when I'd been foolishly hasty in my remodeling of bones and that'd never worked in my favor. My left arm was a constant reminder of that.

I took in a full breath the second I was done, the pain subsiding to a near tingling now that the bone was healed.

After I was done, I set to working on the torn lung lobe. The nick hadn't been too grave — maybe two inches long and four inches deep —, and though it'd bled as any wound would, the bone had actually stemmed some of the bleeding, which worked in my favor because the hardest thing to heal was always the hemorrhages. I could easily deal with the motive of the hemorrhage by mending bones, organs, tendons, or muscles, but I always found it hard to manage the gathered blood around internal wounds such as this one. For these types of wounds, I simply pictured very clearly the sight of the human lung in my mind and I willed it to mend itself back again right where the tear was located, creating tissue and new capillary blood vessels to fill the space where the wound was. While a meticulous process, it happened quickly without much difficulty through the strength of my will, and when it was done, I then felt for the spilled blood with the fire and slowly cauterized it.

And then it was done.

I inhaled deeply the second it was over. My lashes dropped low as my muscles relaxed, my breaths coming fuller and more satisfying by the passing second as my body readjusted. I felt the warmth of the fire twirl back to my chest slowly, dying out as my need for it no longer existed.

While incredible in theory, using my fire to heal wounds was something that defied all logic and was entirely innate, which only made it even more confusing. I'd wondered many times how I could ever explain it to someone, and I'd always fallen short on an answer because even though a part of me intuitively understood it, there was a larger part that was at a loss. The idea that the feeling I'd named 'fire' that allowed me to bond with other people could be used to heal wounds was just too ludicrous to believe or even consider.

And yet, here I was.

Exhausted. Alive. Healed.

Kol had been silent the entire time, his presence remarkably steady and strong in my mind, even when the pain reached its pinnacle and threatened to wash me away. He hadn't said anything or even moved, sitting beside me on the ground, his twinkling eyes focused on me.

But now, as I exhaled my last breath, I felt him shift uncomfortably beside me. Well, that felt unexpectedly unpleasant, his voice filtered through the echo in my mind, tangling itself softly with the remnants of my pain and relief.

I didn't open my eyes or reply.

I chose instead to relish the fact that I could finally breathe properly. Time seemed to stop for a while as I basked in the solitude of that relief, but the harsh coldness of the cell's walls around me seeped into my tired body, a comforting reminder of reality and the world beyond this singular moment.

Finally, opening my weary eyes, I found Kol's still concerned gaze weighing upon me heavily. His amber eyes flickered with unspoken questions and worry, scrutinizing every twitch of emotion on my face.

He said it had felt unpleasant.

How could he have known that? Could he feel my pain, too?

"What did you say?" I stammered, struggling up into a sitting position against his watchful amber eyes.

He blinked once, tipping his head to the side, ears pointed upward — a very human-like gesture that caused an unexpected unease to pool in my belly. The look he gave me was the look someone might give another when they hadn't understood the posed question. But I could see it in his eyes that he'd understood me. He knew exactly what I was asking.

His eyes flickered upwards as his ears twitched. I've known I was a Skera since the day I was born.

I shook my head. "Don't change the subject." My eyes narrowed. "You said you felt me healing myself. Can you feel my emotions, too?"

I sense everything about you.

My eyes widened. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Exactly what I said. He got to his feet, jaws snapping as he lifted his snout to look at the moon over the bars on the top of our cell. I've never questioned what I was. I knew since I was a cub that I belonged to another. I was always as much my mother's as I was my pack's, which serves to say I never belonged to either. He made a sound that resembled a snort as he sat with his eyes fixed on the sky, his head shaking gently from side to side. Though I tried to fight it for some time, I've always known my soul wasn't my own.

"How is that possible? Animals don't have that kind of awareness, Kol."

I know.

"Then how?"

Do you know what the word 'skera' means?

I had been taught the common language since I was a child. Though Serket had tried to teach me some of the old languages, I'd never gotten a complete grip on any of them. I recognized the word, but I wasn't exactly sure what the direct translation was.

"No."

In the ancient language the creatures such as myself were named in, the word 'skera' literally means 'to cut', Kol explained somberly and I saw him take a deep breath. Skera beings are given by the Gods a cut of a human's soul. A piece, a sliver, or a shard, if you will. It has many names, but they all mean the same thing. At birth, we're given a shard of another's soul and thus, our entire existence is changed. The part of the soul we carry from that moment on gives us insight into our kindred soul. Thoughts, memories, and emotions. We share it all with them.

I explored the tightly woven rope I felt tied around my heart that I had learned to identify as my bond with Kol. Aside from feeling his presence, I couldn't feel any of the things he was describing, not his feelings, his emotions, and much less his memories.

That's because I have the cut of your soul. He got up gracefully and turned around, meeting my eyes with his topaz irises, bright like the stars in the sky. Not the other way around.

"So, it's a one-way bond?"

He moved closer, his nails clipping the floor. Eventually, as it strengthens, you will be capable of sensing more than just my presence, but it will never be fully bidirectional in the way you mean.

I stared at him. "Because you're my Skera, and not the other way around, right?"

Yes.

From the first day I'd seen him, I knew he wasn't a normal wolf. He didn't act like a regular wolf. Even then, there had been a spark of sentience and intelligence in his eyes that didn't match that of a feral animal. I hadn't been able to explain it and there had never been any way that I could have dreamed of this possibility, but something in me had sensed that he wasn't just another wild wolf. The fixation I'd felt since the very first time I'd seen him suddenly made sense. I'd felt some sort of connection I couldn't explain even then. Like we were kindred spirits trapped in the exact same situation, caged in the same position of powerlessness. It made so much sense. How I used to compare myself to him. Almost as if I saw myself reflected in his eyes. And now that I knew that he was a Skera, it made even more sense — that intelligence, that intent, that fire I'd always admired in him.

Kol was as close to a human as he could be when trapped in the form of a wolf.

Wasn't it ironic that after all that time dreaming of a white wolf, Kol turned out to be my Skera and be a wolf at the same time?

Gods in the Heavens —

"Wait." My eyes grew round and I sat upright in the cot, ignoring the tugging at my freshly healed ribs, suddenly realizing the connection and wondering how I could've been so blind. "I've had dreams of a white wolf since I was a child, but the day I saw you being brought in here, they stopped. Serket always used to say they were dreams given to me by the spirits of the wild. Was that you all along?"

Kol's ears twitched and he sat by my feet, his nose touching my knees in a tender gesture. Serket was a very wise woman. Of all the seid-weavers I met before her, she was by far the most sagacious, he exhaled calmly through his nose. And she protected you better than I ever could.

"How do you know that? My memories?"

He lifted his eyes to me. Your memories haunted my sleep for most of my life.

I lowered my lashes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly through my nose as I tried to process what he was saying. I wanted to pace, so I could absorb the enormity of what he was telling me, but he very timidly laid his snout in the crook between my legs, stopping me. You saw my memories in your sleep?

I experienced some of your emotions and thoughts when I was awake. The distance lessened the connection, but I could feel you all the time, so I always knew that you were alive. It wasn't constant, though, but your strongest emotions and thoughts rushed through the bond very strongly. Particularly when you were angry, he explained. His voice turned melancholic, as if he was remembering those times and somehow missing them or feeling nostalgic towards them. Even as a child, whenever you got mad, it was very hard to ignore you.

My mother had always said I had a strong temper.

I could only guess that Kol had probably taken after me.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to ascertain what he meant by being able to feel me. "So, if you could sense me, why didn't you come to me? Why wait all this time to find me?"

I knew we would eventually find each other. It is very rare that a Skera and his kindred meet at birth. Though the shard is given at birth, the carrier isn't chosen for his proximity, but for his honor and valor, he answered and I could tell by his eloquent answer that he'd given this a lot of thought. I knew the wyrd wouldn't have picked me to be your Skera if it didn't mean for us to find each other.

I bit my lip. You actually believe that, don't you?

He lifted lucid, open, earnest, rust-orange-colored eyes to meet mine. My faith in that single belief is what's kept me patient all this time I've waited for the moment I'd get to be a part of your life.

That's why you decided to only intervene the other day?

Yes. He blinked slowly. When I realized that I'd found you after all that time, I decided it was best that I kept quiet. I worked to make myself as harmless as possible, even when my temper got the best of me. I knew that if I raised too much trouble, there was a chance that the Keiserinne would think me more trouble than I was worth and that could drive her to separate us, which I couldn't risk. I needed them to trust me enough to let me out of my cage and my chains. He growled low and menacing as his eyes closed as if he were containing his rage. So, I waited and watched from afar. But then, the guard in the courtyard forced my hand. And, ultimately, I forced yours, as well.

I couldn't find it within myself the will to even be mad at him, because I understood it. When he'd been brought in, like the wild animal everyone thought he was, he was as powerless as I. Probably even more so. Even if he'd tried to intervene or make himself known to me like he had the other day, he would have needed the perfect opportunity to do it, so neither of us would be killed on the spot. Of course, though it hadn't been exactly the perfect opportunity, that day on the snow had been a fortuitous hand of luck, because despite the risk he'd taken by protecting me, we'd both come out the other end alive and together, so it'd worked in our favor, in a twisted kind of way.

"But you knew all along, didn't you?" I whispered, cupping his snout in my hands, letting my fingers gently trace the coarse fur.

Of course. His topaz eyes snapped open at the touch, his gaze doe-eyed and confused. I knew.

His answer was short, but it sounded like there was more he wanted to say, and had chosen not to, which made me wonder what he was hiding about the moment he knew he'd found me. Then, I remembered how he'd said that he'd met other seid-weavers like Serket, and, suddenly, it dawned on me. "How old are you, Kol?"

I am as old as you are, Kaja, and I shall be as old as you become.

So, you mean you're my age?

I was born the same day you were. He blinked again in confirmation in such a calm manner I felt my stomach fall to the floor. And I will live for as long as you do. The day your soul dies is the day my existence will come to an end.

Tears welled in my eyes. That's so unfair.

Why? Kol twitched, his amber gaze softened as he gently licked my palm — his version of a comforting gesture.

I stared at him, meeting the same eyes that'd followed me in my dreams for so long, always lurking in my sleep to guide me through the darkness and protect me from evil. Because it means you'll never be free.

I only found my freedom the day I found you, Kaja.

Oh, Gods.

His words echoed in my mind like a haunting lullaby. I blinked back tears and pulled away from Kol reluctantly, struggling to my feet despite the sharp pull of pain that flared up along my side. Ignoring Kol's low noise of protest, I approached the small window set high up on one wall of our cell.

You think I wasn't given a choice in this, he stated calmly, watching me from the space separating us, keeping his distance as he saw me struggle with the weight of what this bond between us meant for him. And you might be partially right, but that doesn't mean I am a victim of the circumstances of my birth. I have lived a wolf's life, Kaja, but being a Skera is my wyrd and I've lived all this time waiting to fulfill my true purpose. And though you can only see the downsides now, I can guarantee you there are many upsides.

I highly doubted that.

"Upsides," I repeated, chuckling bitterly under my breath, refusing to turn towards him. "Like being chained in a dungeon, deemed as a wild animal to be slaughtered at the first sign of aggressiveness? Like having no control over your own existence? Like having to exist for as long as I do without having a say in anything, and then being robbed of your own life when I die?"

Silence hung heavy and stifling between us.

But then Kol pushed up from his sitting position and padded across the cell toward me, his soft paws silent on the hard stone floor. Some sacrifices often seem unnecessary or unjust until you weigh them against what they protect.

Me.

He meant me.

Yes, I mean you, he agreed.

His words stirring emotions within me that I wasn't prepared to face. His presence closed in behind me, warm and reassuring despite the chill air inside the cell. He pressed his body against my legs, letting me feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. It felt grounding amidst my turmoil.

I remained stiff, my gaze still fixated on the small sliver of light that slipped through the window bars. A symbol of hope, maybe? Or was it just a cruel reminder of a world out there that thrummed with life while we languished here in this pitiful existence?

Wistful thoughts fluttered like moths drawn to the pitiful flame in my mind.

"You never asked for this bond," I muttered, my voice barely more than a whisper against the palpable silence that strangled our cell.

Kol didn't reply right away. Instead, he stayed pressed against me in silence, a comforting bulk of warmth lulling my nerves into a state of surrender. His eventual response came softly, woven with gentle compassion and loving devotion. My soul was always yours.

Kol…

I've known it no other way and I don't want it any other way, either, he cut in. The sentence echoed in my mind, wrapping around my heart with a warmth that seared and soothed at the same time. His voice carried a familiar cadence, one I had never heard before but that felt as familiar as if I'd dreamed it as many times as I'd dreamed of him.

My hand reached down automatically to touch him and my fingers found their way through his fur, tracing rhythmic patterns on his head in response to his confession. "You suffered along with me," I whispered back, struggling to push past the lump in my throat.

Yes, and I would do it all over again if it meant being by your side.

The earnestness in his response had tears pricking at my eyes. It took all the willpower I had not to break down right then and there. "And you'll have to keep suffering for however long I live."

His wet nose touched the inside of my wrist. As long as my heart beats.

This wasn't fair. None of it was. But this was our tragic fate, bound together by a cosmic thread neither of us asked for, but we both felt whole with.

He pressed closer into me, as though trying to offer me any solace he could muster within this bleak reality we found ourselves in. Sighing, I looked down at him, a devious smirk on my lips. "So, I was blessed with you at birth?"

He let out a growl that resembled a snicker. Seems the Gods deemed you worthy to bless you with my existence. Kol nudged his snout under my hand again and pressed into the touch. He sighed softly, and I could sense the contentment radiating off him. It was much more than physical comfort, he was purposefully expressing his emotions to me. His eyes twinkled jokingly as he stared at me. I don't know what they hoped to achieve with that decision, but I guess only time will tell what their reasoning was.

"I don't disagree," I murmured as I sat back down on the cot. He followed me with a soft grunt, resting his head on my lap and my hands immediately cupped his snout, gliding over his soft fur. "But right now, I'm inclined to think it's better if we never know."

Maybe. Kol nudged his head against my hand, affectionate and comforting. However, I think it is entirely sensible to be grateful for something and also question its motive, particularly when it's one we might ultimately not be happy with.

He had a point.

"You almost sound wise," I said softly, my fingers tracing a small, almost imperceptible scar on his snout on the side of his nose. His eyes fluttered close, and he let out a soft sigh, seemingly enjoying my gentle touch.

I've had a long time to ponder on most of the questions you have to ask me. Honestly, I've probably asked myself most of them through my own life, he confessed. Most of the answers I came to were not easy to accept, but I've come to see them as the unbiased truth.

I found myself smiling at his words.

It was strange that in so short a time I'd come to find solace in our conversations — cryptic yet wise, filled with unimaginable depth and emotion. The bitterness of our shared reality felt somewhat bearable with him by my side.

"I've been burned by the truth enough times to fear it, now," murmured, a plaintive note weaving itself into the cadence of my voice.

His ears perked up, eyes opening to reveal an endless ocean of understanding. Instead of answering, however, he shifted, brushing his snout against my hand in a silent plea for continued caresses. His warmth seeped into me again, staving off the biting coldness of our cold prison.

I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent of snow, pine, and fresh rain, and let my fingers drift back to their idle journey through his fur. It was soothing in a strange way — his presence, his unwavering faith in us, and this uncanny bond that tethered us.

Despite our grim circumstances, I felt an unwelcome tug at the corners of my mouth as I looked down at him. "Thank you."

You're welcome, blóma.

I lay down on the cot, staring at the ceiling and Kol jumped up on the cot, molding his very large body around me so his snout settled comfortably over my right shoulder and my arm laced under his belly, finding his left hind paw that he supported on my palm. His warmth seeped into my skin, his heartbeat strong and steady against my skin alongside my own. For the first time since I found myself locked in this place, it seemed as if the shadows retreated, chased away by our bond.

My thoughts later strayed back to the Keiserinne and all I'd learned about her today.

I'd never seen her as emotional as she'd been today in front of the Slayer. How affected as she'd been at seeing him. I'd seen her angry, and though that was scary enough to make me crawl inside my shell and wish I never had to get out, what I'd seen today wasn't just pure fury.

It was hurt. Ache. Betrayal. Pain.

In its truest, most cruel, most human form. It was the kind of emotion I'd always thought the Keiserinne wasn't capable of. The kind of pain I didn't think she even had a heart in order to feel. I had no idea the reason for that and there was no way of knowing, of course — since I highly doubted she'd just tell me of her own volition —, what had happened between them, but the rawness of what I'd witnessed today seemed to point that the severity of whatever had transpired was enough to leave wounds she'd never been able to heal. Otherwise, her reaction wouldn't have been so visceral.

For someone like her, particularly, the degree of emotion she'd displayed was reason enough to ponder the true, logical weight of what I'd seen.

The way she'd spoken about the Slayer before, with the archduke, had made him out to be a villain and though I had no way of knowing for sure, what I'd heard him say and seen in his eyes didn't exactly portray him as the vicious character she'd described. I could tell that what'd happened between them had definitely made a dent in both of them, leaving marks and scars neither had forgotten, but was the Keiserinne's rage truly justified? I'd seen the way she'd refused to let go of what had happened. The way she'd refused to understand what'd happened from his perspective — no matter how little he'd given of it.

And that made me wonder if the emotion I'd seen in her today was just the mask she'd put on her own pain? If it was simply the measure of her inability to move on from what had happened and rearrange herself to accommodate the weight of the past she carried?

There was no way to tell, of course.

I recalled the way she'd walked me back to my cell after the encounter with the Melig. She hadn't spoken a word, looking too caught up in her own mental turmoil and the feelings she'd found a way to put behind walls against the rest of the world, almost as if bearing them out for others to see was just as painful as having them inside of her. The guards had kept silent, as well, keeping to themselves as they escorted us to the thrall quarters and returned back with the Keiserinne.

Despite carrying herself with the same self-empowered pride she never let slip away, there was something about the Keiserinne that was different. There was a part of her that had returned to her house of trauma and was still trapped there, screaming and banging at the walls to get out. The absent look on her face and the shadows in her eyes were enough to tell me she'd been awfully rattled by what'd happened, almost as if the confrontation she'd expected had happened but everything had gone differently from the way she'd pictured it.

Was it because she hadn't come out the other end of it feeling like the victim she always thought she was? Or was it because confronting herself with the past hadn't filled the dark hole her pain had carved into her?

It made me wonder.

Despite all the bias I had of my own against the Keiserinne for the things she'd done to me personally and to all the girls in this place, even if what I'd seen wasn't enough to make me change my outlook on her and see her as more than the monster I'd met all this time, it was enough to make me question whose side I'd be on if I was ever given a chance to choose one.

Because that's the thing about monsters.

Do they really cry or are their tears just another cunning way to slaughter their prey?