Chapter 35: Chapter Thirty-Five: Why should I care?
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The water was still warm when Damien finally opened his eyes.
For a moment, he had closed his eyes for a while just to let her words sink in. Now awake, only the faint echo of water rippling beside him reminded him that he had probably fallen asleep in the bath. His head throbbed lightly, but it wasn’t from exhaustion. It was from the storm of thoughts that refused to let him rest.
Slowly, his gaze shifted and he lifted his head to see Elena still there.
She was curled up on the other side of the tub with her knees drawn to her chest and her head resting lightly on them. Strands of her wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders. The moonlight filtering through the glass window above them fell gently on her face, softening her frail body.
Damien didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at her. It was strange how a few words from her set him in reboot mode.
It was even more strange how quiet everything felt, like time itself had stopped. Her presence did that to him. Every time she was near, it was always him trying his best not to make her cry but he had always failed. At least now he had.
As he stared at her, something darker stirred inside him.
He lowered his head, running a hand through his damp hair in frustration. This was bad. It was one thing to need her and another thing to fall for her.
It had been centuries since he last felt that sickening ache — the ache that came before the blood moon.
That cursed night under a blood red sky.
He let out a low breath, his hand curling into a fist in his knees. The curse was always there, like a shadow trailing him through every life and year he lived.
A witch’s punishment. A cruel sentence that no blade, no spell, no prayer could undo. His blood had been corrupted by her rage and ever since then, he had lived with hunger that no mortal could understand.
Once in every hundred years, the silver crescent blood moon would rise. It was the night when all the constellations would align, and the stars themselves seemed to hold their breath for the moon to take reins. On that night, the curse would awaken fully. His body would turn against him, twisting his mind into madness until all that was left was hunger.
Unending, brutal, rampaging hunger.
He could still remember the first time it happened. He had torn through his own home, through the soldiers who had once sworn loyalty to him. His screams had filled the night, but no one dared come close. He had been hidden away from sight, like a monster that he had become.
Only Severin had dared to stay with him.
Severin, the one who had stayed, even when Damien begged him to kill him out of deep hatred for himself.
He was the one who found ways to contain the madness. When Damien began to change, Severin would lock him in the old dungeon, chaining him to the walls when his mother was no more to hide it. At times, he even provoked him, fought him, just to tire him out and get locked up so he can have the excuse to help forget what he had become.
But as centuries passed, it became harder to contain. The hunger grew worse and it became harder to contain him. Severin had to bring beasts — wild, savage ones whose hearts were strong enough to feed the cursed blood. He’d trap them in a room, lock Damien in with them, and let the night pass with screams and growls.
It worked...for a while.
Until the hunger stopped coming altogether.
A full century had passed, and Damien had not felt the curse stir.
That should have been good. He should have felt relief. But it was far from the case at hand.
Because that meant the time might be lost. He might have lost the time to recover fully.
His mind came back from memory lane and his eyes moved back to Elena, sitting quietly across from him. The water shimmered faintly around her as the moonlight touched her skin making it appear like a silver lake. The prophecy had said it clearly: "Only the purest blood will cleanse the corruption you bear."
And that blood was hers. After almost a millennium of waiting, he finally had what could end his years of suffering.
But to break the curse, he would have to drink from her till completely. All of it.
The thought made him sick. His throat tightened as the image filled his mind: her lifeless body in his arms and the warmth fading from her skin. But wait, why does he care? Didn’t that mean his curse will finally die? Then what was so hard?
He clenched his jaw hard, shaking his head. It was the price to pay for salvation.
Damien rose from the bath slowly, water dripping down from his clothes and tracing the lines of his arms and chest through his soaked shirt. He stood there for a moment, staring down at her once more. Her lips were slightly parted as her breathing came out soft and even. He suddenly felt the strangest urge to touch her for a second. He almost reached out to brush the strands of hair from her face but he stopped himself.
"What am I even doing?" he groaned in annoyance to himself.
Damien bent down and slipped one arm under her knees and another behind her back. She stirred faintly but didn’t wake up. Damien lifted her effortlessly, as though she were made of glass out of the tub. He moved her to the edge of the tub and set her down gently on the rim.
He stood still watching her face with her head resting on his palm. Then, with a deep breath, he walked out and called through the open door.
"Bring the maids."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and within moments, a group of palace maids appeared at the doorway. They stopped short at the sight of him but quickly knelt to greet him.
"She needs care," he said simply, stepping aside.
They bowed quickly, rushing to the bathroom without being told her and wrapped her in warm towels.
Damien didn’t wait to watch. He turned on his heel and walked out, actually shutting the door behind him this time.
His sentence, his confinement was over. The diagnosis from Xy had completely freed him from the king’s sentence but freedom meant little now. Because no matter how far he walked, he could still feel a crawling in his veins and it unsettled him terribly.
....................
Far from the palace, in Eryndor, Calithar stood alone beneath the canopy of an ancient forest. It was the forest where he had first met Elena that was invisible to the normal eye.
Wisps of light drifted over him like tiny spirits. This was the boundary between his world and the divine.
He walked forward slowly, his boots sinking lightly into the moss-covered earth. In his hand, he held the small, glowing sphere he had taken from the palace. The light from the ball shone faintly as if responding to the energy that surrounded them.
When he reached the end of the clearing, he stopped.
Calithar closed his eyes and lifted the sphere. It floated from his palm, rising slowly until it hovered at the height of his chest. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, and the sphere passed straight through him, vanishing into his chest like it was part of him all along.
A sharp light flared around him and a faint halo appeared above his head but it was cracked and incomplete, giving off a dying light. He felt the old pain rush through him coupled with the memories of the divine realm he had long been exiled from. And then, behind him, light burst open.
Two wings unfolded on his back. They were large, white, and pure, but streaked with veins of dark, creeping shadows. Feathers fell from them like soft snow, scattering lightly across the forest floor.
Calithar took a step back and let out a shaky breath. The last time he had summoned them was when the sky had split open. The very heavens had rejected him. That happened hundreds of years ago and he still never forgot even a flicker of the memory.
He looked up at the moon as his silver eyes gleamed faintly.
The air rippled around him even the ground responded to the power awakening inside him. He drew in a long breath, then spread his wings wide.
In the blink of an eye, he moved swiftly.
The wind roared as his wings struck the air. The trees bent from the force. He shot upward, cutting through the clouds, climbing higher and higher until the light around him shifted. The world below faded into a sea of stars, and all that remained was the moon massive, bright, and silent.
And then, he was gone. Vanished completely into the clouds.
When he appeared again, he stood before a realm made entirely of light and crystal.
The air here was weightless. The ground was smooth marble and white as snow, veined with silver that glowed faintly with every step. Tall pillars rose on either side, carved with runes that glittered when touched by light. Above, endless skies shimmering like troubled waters, filled the silver clouds that never moved.
In the center of it all stood a throne.
It was carved from pure porcelain stone, laced with diamonds that caught every glimmer of the moonlight. Behind it stretched a great arc of radiant energy; a crescent halo floating in the air above it. Around the throne, gentle streams of light curved like ribbons, forming the symbols of the constellations.
And on that throne sat a figure. A serene, radiant, and divine figure.
Her gown was woven from the essence of the moon itself, flowing endlessly to the floor. Her hair was silver-white, cascading down her shoulders like waves. The air around her vibrated with divine calm like the kind that immortals. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes gleamed with silver that looked like they held galaxies in them.
Calithar stopped a few steps away with his wings still faintly spread and his chest rising with slow, measured breaths.
The cracked halo above his head shimmered faintly, reacting to her dazzling light.
His lips parted slightly, but no sound came. His throat tightened as the weight of her presence pressed down on him.
It had been quite a whule since he had last stood before her.
The goddess of the moon.
Seraphine.
Her gaze lifted slowly, and though her eyes had not yet fully met his, he could already feel it...that piercing, otherworldly light that always seemed to intimidate him.
The air trembled between them.
And before a single word could be exchanged, the light from the throne grew brighter, flooding the hall before swallowing him whole.