The fortress of the Melvalore was the most powerful, most feared, and the oldest military power center of the family Doefuera. Located at the continent's border, protecting the entire continent from internal threats as well as It was under the full control of Adalisa, but after her death, a question was raised among the people and the aristocracy of the empire. Adalisa was responsible for the military expansion of her family and the protection of the empire; she was chosen by her great-grandfather to be his successor, but after the deaths of these two strong pillars of Melvalore, the empire was now facing major internal and external turmoil.
The Doefuera family was the light sword meant to protect the throne from the emergence of external danger.
The decision on those internal choices relied only on the internal power of the Doefuera family, but the emperor was growing impatient and anxious. Being left without is designated head, the forteress was almost vulnerable, protected by the magic of Adalisa and her powerful intervention in the creation of protective systems, and relying on her alchemist's knowledge to create great and powerful weapons.
Even if the Bohania Empire is one of the most powerful, advanced, and protected of the continents, no peace was guaranteed for them, since the news of the death of Adalisa had been announce, the neighborhood kingdom and empires needed to be on alert. Not only for outside force but also within the Empire itself, the number of families who would like to see the Downfall of the Doefuera, and it seem they have touched the heart of the powerful family itself, breaking it slowly but surely.
Near the manoir of the Duofuera, in the capital of the Empire, a dark shadow was roaming around the area, but because of the powerful dorm protecting the property, so no one without a formal invitation with the sceau of the head of the family could enter the manoir.
After the repetitive on different family in the Empire, it was in the begigning just some lord in the countryside, but now it has getting more dangerous for also the Aristocrat in the Capitol and all of those events was making Eris restless, his trait was more prononced, he lost a lot of weight and look moore older than his age, with a growing beard, he tried as best he could to remain presentable when they went out, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. With all the responsibilities he carried on his shoulders, the young man looked almost like a wandering soul rather than a human being. The imperial family was urging him to find the culprit as fast as possible, to calm the aristocratic faction.
All those Attack News reports were being controlled, so the people of the empire would not yet know what was happening... But it seemed an extremely heavy control was put on the Duofuera family; the more they tried to act like they hadn't gotten a hold of the movement that was unfolding around them, the tighter the surveillance became, from their territory to their residence in the Capitol.
The orange and pink hues of the setting sun were covering the whole City , making it a breathtaking, Eris is seen coming out of the front door of the Manoir, is carriage was already prepared waiting for him outside. But from the interne information shared from inside the Residence he was not suppossed to go anywhere today. Eris go down the escalier and then enter the carriage, where is seat awaited him, worn leather creaking under his weight.
The driver asked no questions. That was the point.
Eris adjusted the collar of his plain traveling cloak as the carriage lurched forward, wheels clattering over cobblestone. Through the small window, he watched the Doefuera residence recede into the distance, its imposing walls and protective wards fading into the evening haze.
His fingers trembled slightly against his knee. Not from fear. From exhaustion that had settled into his very bones.
They're watching.
He could feel it. The weight of eyes on his back, the subtle displacement of air that spoke of someone maintaining distance but never losing sight. Good. That was the point.
The carriage rattled through three districts past the merchant quarter with its shuttered shops, through the textile district where workers trudged home with stained hands, into the outer rings where the paved roads began to crack and the buildings leaned against each other like drunken companions.
At a busy intersection near a fountain clogged with refuse, where carts and pedestrians created a chaotic knot of movement, Eris made his move.
The carriage slowed to navigate the congestion. He slipped out the side door while the driver negotiated passage, his hood drawn low. Within moments, he had merged with a group of day laborers heading toward the docks, their conversation loud and unconcerned.
They'll find me anyway, he thought, counting his steps. They always do.
But that wasn't the point. The point was distance. The point was drawing them away from the residence, away from the few remaining protections, away from the servants who didn't deserve to become collateral damage in whatever was coming.
He ducked into an alley, emerged on a parallel street, and entered a second carriage this one heading in the opposite direction, toward the city's edge where imperial authority grew thin and questions were rarely asked.
This was a psychological game. Let them think they were hunting him. Let them believe they had the advantage.
Let them follow him into the trap.
The Fried Wolf sat at the edge of the capital's jurisdiction, where cobblestone gave way to packed dirt and the buildings wore their age like battle scars.
The tavern's sign a wolf's head emerging from a skillet, paint faded to near-abstraction creaked in the evening breeze. Warm light spilled from grimy windows, and with it came the smell of cheap ale, roasted meat, and unwashed bodies packed too close together.
Eris pushed through the door.
The interior hit him like a wall. Smoke hung thick in the air, oil lamps guttering from low beams, casting everything in shades of amber and shadow. The floor was sticky beneath his boots decades of spilled drink and tracked-in mud creating a permanent glaze. Conversation rumbled like distant thunder, punctuated by sudden laughter and the clatter of wooden cups.
Workers hunched over scarred tables, speaking in low voices about wages and weather. A group of off-duty guards played dice in the corner, their armor hanging loose, their faces flushed with drink. An old man dozed near the hearth, chin on chest, a half-empty mug forgotten in his gnarled hand.
The smell was overwhelming sweat and smoke, onions and questionable meat roasting over the fire, the sour tang of ale that had seen better days.
No one looked up when Eris entered. Perfect.
Eliot sat at a table near the back wall, positioned so he could see both the entrance and the rear exit. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, one hand wrapped around a wooden cup, the other resting on the table. But Eris knew better. Those emerald gloves caught the lamplight, the precious stones embedded in the leather glinting subtly with each small movement.
Eris slid into the seat across from him without a word.
"Took your time," Eliot murmured, not looking at him directly. His voice was barely audible over the tavern's din.
"Had to make it convincing." Eris reached for the second cup already waiting on the table watered wine, by the smell of it. He didn't drink, just held it, letting his fingers warm against the clay.
They sat in silence, two travelers sharing a table, nothing remarkable about them. Around them, life continued. The barmaid a woman with tired eyes and capable hands delivered food to a nearby table. Bread and stew that smelled of onions and something that might have been mutton. Someone dropped a mug, and it shattered, drawing curses and laughter. The dice game grew louder as someone won or lost something significant.
But beneath the mundane noise, Eris's awareness stretched outward.
He could feel Eliot doing the same a subtle pulse of mana, carefully controlled, extending like invisible fingers to probe the space around them. Not enough to draw attention from anyone without sensitivity, but enough to sense what mattered.
Minutes passed.
Eris took a false sip of wine, his eyes tracking the room without seeming to. A merchant argued with the barkeep about his tab. Two women in work-stained dresses shared a meal, their conversation animated. The old man by the fire snored softly.
Normal. All of it normal.
Then the door opened.
The figure that entered was wrapped in a dark cloak, hood drawn low despite the tavern's warmth. They moved with a strange fluidity, not quite right, as if their joints bent at angles that shouldn't be possible.
Eris felt it immediately.
The presence.
It washed over him like cold water, raising the hair on the back of his neck. This wasn't human mana not entirely. There was something ancient about it, something that tasted of rot and earth and things that should have stayed buried. The signature was wrong, twisted, like looking at a reflection in disturbed water.
Across the table, Eliot's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his cup.
There.
The cloaked figure paused just inside the doorway, head turning slowly as if scenting the air. For a heartbeat, Eris felt certain those hidden eyes had found him, had locked onto him with predatory focus.
Then the figure moved to the bar, ordered something in a voice too low to hear.
Eris forced himself to breathe normally. He lifted his cup, pretended to drink, let his gaze drift away as if bored. Beside him, Eliot shifted in his seat, the picture of a man ready to leave.
"Finished?" Eliot asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
"Yeah." Eris stood, leaving a few coins on the table not too many, not too few. "Let's go."
They moved toward the door with the unhurried pace of men who had nowhere important to be. Eris kept his awareness on the cloaked figure at the bar, feeling that wrongness like an itch between his shoulder blades.
As they passed, he caught a glimpse beneath the hood.
Pale skin. Too pale. And eyes that reflected the lamplight like an animal's.
Then they were outside, the cool evening air a shock after the tavern's stifling warmth.
"Walk," Eliot murmured. "Don't run."
They moved down the street, past shuttered shops and darkened windows. The sounds of the tavern faded behind them. Eris counted his steps, listening.
There.
The soft scrape of a boot on stone. The whisper of fabric.
The figure had followed them out.
The alley was narrow and dark, the kind of place where the city's refuse collected and decent people didn't venture after nightfall.
Eris and Eliot turned into it deliberately, their footsteps echoing off close walls slick with moisture and something that might have been moss. The smell hit immediately rotting vegetables, human waste, the sour tang of old beer. The walls pressed close on either side, blocking out the last light of the setting sun.
They walked deeper, fifty feet, then a hundred, until the alley bent and the light from the street no longer reached.
Then Eris stopped.
Eliot turned, his back to the wall.
They waited.
The cloaked figure rounded the corner, moving with that same unsettling fluidity. In the darkness, the wrongness of their presence was even more pronounced a distortion in the air itself, as if reality bent slightly around them.
Then the figure threw back their hood.
The man was completely bald, his skull gleaming faintly in the dim light. But it was his eyes or rather, the lack of them that made Eris's stomach turn. Where eyes should have been, there were only smooth expanses of skin, as if the sockets had been sealed shut. Yet somehow, impossibly, he was looking directly at them.
The man smiled, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too many.
"Found you," he said, his voice a wet rasp.
Then he moved.
Bone erupted from his forearms not metaphorically, but literally, the flesh splitting to reveal blades of yellowed bone that extended like swords. The transformation was grotesque, accompanied by the sound of tearing meat and the smell of copper.
Eris's hand went to his sword.
The acrid stench of the slums hung thick between the cracked walls, mixing with the copper smell of the assassin's transformation.
Eris adjusted his grip on his sword, feeling the familiar weight settle into his palm. The leather wrapping was worn smooth from years of use, molded to his hand.
Mana stirred within him.
Weakly.
Unstable.
Once, he would have let it overflow with precision, sharpening every movement, every cut. But now... he had to conserve. Channel only the bare minimum. His reserves were a fraction of what they'd been before the weight of leadership had begun consuming him from the inside out.
Make every strike count.
Beside him, Eliot drew a slow breath.
The mana around him responded immediately.
He didn't contain it.
He crushed it.
The air itself seemed to vibrate, pressure building like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. Eliot's emerald gloves ignited with inner light, the precious stones embedded in the leather catching the ambient mana and redirecting it. The flow bent to his will, forming an invisible pressure that distorted the ground beneath his feet, leaving hairline cracks in the stone.
The eyeless man attacked.
Eris activated his mana.
A thin veil rippled across his blade, barely visible in the darkness. Not an explosion of power. Not a blazing aura. Just... enhanced precision. The world around him slowed slightly, his perception sharpening to a razor's edge.
CLANG.
The bone blades struck.
Eris deflected, feeling the impact shudder up his arm. The bone was harder than it should be, reinforced with the assassin's twisted mana. He pivoted, using the momentum to spin away, and countered with a horizontal slash mana-reinforced, aimed at the exposed ribs.
But the man had already disappeared.
Too slow.
The thought burned. Once, Eris would have been faster. Once, his mana would have carried him through the movement with fluid grace. Now, every enhancement cost him, draining reserves he couldn't afford to lose.
The assassin reappeared behind him, bone blades whistling through the air.
Eliot raised his hand.
His fingers curled into a fist.
The mana around him contracted brutally, responding to his will like a living thing.
The space around the eyeless man seemed to collapse inward, folding in on itself. The air screamed. The assassin's body was seized by invisible forces from every direction simultaneously up, down, left, right and slammed into the ground with devastating force.
BOOM.
The cobblestones cracked. Dust exploded outward. The assassin's body cratered into the alley floor, the impact so violent that Eris felt it through his boots.
For a moment, there was only the sound of settling debris.
Then the assassin moved.
He rose slowly, impossibly, his body unfolding from the crater like a puppet on strings. His head tilted at an unnatural angle, and though he had no eyes, Eris could feel the weight of his attention.
The assassin's bone blades vibrated, resonating with his mana.
He lunged.
Eris was ready.
He released his mana in a sharp burst through his legs, the energy flooding his muscles. For one precious moment, his body moved as it used to fast, fluid, precise.
Acceleration.
He vanished from his position, reappearing in the assassin's path. His blade flashed once, twice, three times surgical strikes aimed at the joints, the weak points where bone met flesh. Each cut was calculated, minimal mana expenditure for maximum effect.
The assassin twisted, deflecting two strikes, but the third caught him across the shoulder. Blood sprayed, black in the dim light.
But the effort cost Eris dearly.
His breath broke, ragged and harsh. His vision swam. The mana drain hit him like a physical blow, and he stumbled, barely keeping his footing.
Too much. That was too much.
His hands trembled on his sword hilt.
On the rooftops above, she had been watching.
Waiting.
But she couldn't wait any longer.
They dance so beautifully together...
Her head tilted, birdlike, as she observed the fight below.
But it's my turn now.
She planted her pique a long, thin spear with a wicked point into the roof tiles. Mana flowed through her immediately, but hers was different from the others.
Unstable.
Toxic.
Almost alive.
It writhed through her channels like a nest of serpents, eager to be released. She could feel it burning in her veins, sweet and terrible, the gift that had transformed her from human into something... more.
She pulled the pique free and stepped off the roof.
She didn't fall so much as descend, her body moving with a grace that defied physics. When her feet touched the alley floor, mana spread from her like a living thing.
A fog.
Greenish.
Thick.
It clung to the walls, to the ground, to the air itself. Where it touched, stone hissed and pitted. The smell was overwhelmingly sweet rot, like flowers left too long in a vase, mixed with something chemical and wrong.
Eliot reacted instantly.
He struck the air with his open palm.
The mana around him exploded outward in a circular wave, a pulse of pure force that rippled through the alley. The toxic fog was blown back, dissipating for several meters in every direction.
The woman's head snapped toward him.
Oh?
Her eyes too large, too bright fixed on Eliot with sudden interest.
He can push me back?
A laugh bubbled up from her throat, high and musical and utterly mad.
Then I'll just get closer.
She moved.
Not fast, not in the traditional sense.
Erratic.
Her body seemed to dislocate with each step, joints bending in ways that shouldn't be possible. Her spine curved at impossible angles. Her feet touched the ground at odd intervals, her rhythm completely unpredictable.
Eris tried to read her movements, to anticipate her next position.
Impossible.
There was no pattern. No logic. She moved like something that had forgotten how humans were supposed to work and was improvising badly.
She attacked.
Her pique extended suddenly, propelled by a burst of compressed mana. The weapon shot forward like a striking snake, the point aimed directly at Eris's throat.
He brought his sword up to parry
Too late.
The point grazed his shoulder, barely breaking the skin.
Immediately, fire erupted across his flesh.
Not heat. Poison.
It burned like acid, spreading from the wound in pulsing waves. Eris gasped, his sword arm going momentarily numb. He could feel the toxin trying to work its way deeper, seeking his bloodstream, his heart.
Yes...
The woman's eyes gleamed with delight.
You felt it.
Her tongue too long, too pale flicked across her lips.
Now you understand.
Eliot intervened.
He closed his fist, and the mana around his arm condensed. Not into an aura, but into mass dense, heavy, concentrated into a space far too small to contain it naturally.
He struck.
The air exploded.
The impact didn't touch the woman directly it didn't need to. The pressure wave hit her like a battering ram, the sheer force of compressed mana slamming into her body and hurling her backward. She flew through the air, limbs flailing, and crashed into the alley wall with a sickening crunch.
Brick cracked. Mortar crumbled.
For a moment, she hung there, pinned by momentum.
Then she slid down, leaving a smear of dark blood on the wall.
Haha...!
She rose, trembling.
Blood ran from her mouth, black and viscous. Her left arm hung at a wrong angle. But she was laughing, the sound wet and broken.
More!
She spun her lantern, a small cage of twisted metal that hung from her belt, filled with something that glowed sickly green. The toxic mana concentrated, drawn into the lantern like water into a drain.
Then it exploded outward.
Dozens of filaments erupted from the lantern, thin as needles, each one dripping with concentrated poison. They shot through the air in every direction, seeking flesh, seeking blood.
Living projectiles.
Eliot raised both arms.
His gloves blazed with light, the emerald stones burning like small suns.
The mana around him solidified, forming an invisible wall. The poisoned needles struck the barrier and shattered, dissipating into harmless smoke. The air shimmered with the force of the defense, reality itself bending under the weight of Eliot's will.
But behind the barrier.
She was already there.
You're looking the wrong way.
Her voice came from directly behind Eliot, impossibly close. Her pique thrust forward, aimed at the base of his skull, the point gleaming with fresh poison.
CLANG.
Eris.
Again.
His blade intercepted the strike, deflecting it inches from Eliot's neck. But the effort cost him. His hands shook violently. His vision blurred, the edges going dark. The poison in his shoulder had spread, creeping through his system like ice.
How...?
The woman stared at him, her mad grin faltering.
Why is he still standing?
She could see the poison working. Could see the way his body trembled, the way his skin had gone pale and clammy. By all rights, he should be on the ground, convulsing, dying.
He should already be dead.
Eris drew a breath.
It hurt.
Everything hurt.
But he forced himself to focus, to gather what little mana remained in his depleted reserves. Not for defense. Not for survival.
For attack.
The mana contracted into his blade, unstable and dangerous. He could feel it threatening to tear free, to explode outward and consume what little strength he had left.
One strike.
He took a step forward.
That's all I have.
The world seemed to freeze.
His blade moved through the air, trailing wisps of blue-white light. Time stretched, each moment crystalline and perfect. He could see the woman's eyes widening, see the exact instant she realized what was happening.
The sword plunged into her abdomen.
Silence.
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
No...
Her hands went to the blade, fingers scrabbling at the steel.
This isn't... possible...
She felt it then. Not just the pain, though that was exquisite. She felt his mana, the last dregs of his power, flowing through the blade and into her body.
Precise.
Cutting.
Lethal.
It severed something vital inside her, something that even her twisted regeneration couldn't immediately repair.
Fear bloomed in her chest real fear, the kind she hadn't felt since her transformation.
She wrenched herself backward, tearing free of the blade. Blood poured from the wound, more than should be possible. Her regeneration tried to kick in, but the mana Eris had left inside her was interfering, disrupting the process.
Her laugh returned, but it was broken now, edged with panic.
I'll... I'll come back...
She stumbled backward, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other clutching her pique for support.
This isn't over...
Then she was gone, disappearing into the shadows at the alley's far end, leaving only a trail of black blood behind.
Eris felt his legs give out.
The poison burned through his veins, spreading from his shoulder to his chest, his neck, his head. His mana was completely exhausted not just depleted, but empty, a void where power used to reside.
The world tilted.
Eliot caught him before he hit the ground.
"Easy," Eliot murmured, lowering him carefully against the alley wall. His own breathing was heavy, labored. The sustained use of his gravitational mana had taken its toll, even on someone with his reserves.
Around them, silence settled like a shroud.
The eyeless man's body lay in the crater Eliot had created, unmoving. Whether dead or merely unconscious, Eris couldn't tell and didn't have the strength to check.
The woman's blood trail led into darkness, but she was gone.
For now.
Eris tried to speak, to tell Eliot about the poison, about the way his heart was beating too fast and too slow at the same time. But his tongue wouldn't cooperate. His lips moved soundlessly.
"Don't talk." Eliot's hand pressed against Eris's shoulder, over the wound. Green light flickered around his fingers not healing, Eliot didn't have that gift, but a temporary seal, using pressure to slow the poison's spread. "We need to get you back. Now."
Eris's vision was fading, the edges going black and fuzzy. He could hear Eliot moving, could feel himself being lifted, but it all seemed distant, happening to someone else.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the orange glow of the setting sun, still visible at the alley's entrance.
Then nothing.
Er....Eri....Eris look look, look what i found.
The voice was bright. Clear. Untouched by time or grief.
Ada.
The darkness receded, replaced by golden light warm, southern, alive. The sun hung high in a sky so blue it hurt to look at, unmarred by clouds, stretching endlessly over rolling hills that descended toward the lake.
The lake.
It spread before him like a mirror, its surface catching the light and throwing it back in a thousand dancing fragments. The water was impossibly clear, turquoise near the shore where the sandy bottom showed through, deepening to sapphire farther out. Gentle ripples moved across its surface, pushed by a breeze that carried the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass.
Eris stood at the water's edge, sixteen years old, his boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The grass here was thick and lush, dotted with small white flowers that swayed in the wind. Behind him, the land rose in gentle slopes toward his grandmother's estate a sprawling villa of white stone and terracotta tiles, surrounded by olive groves and cypress trees that stood like dark sentinels against the brilliant sky.
The air was different here. Lighter. Sweeter. It tasted of honey and lavender, of summer afternoons that stretched on forever, of a world where nothing could go wrong.
"Eris! Eris, look!"
He turned.
Ada was running toward him, her small feet flying over the grass, her dark hair streaming behind her like a banner. She was ten years old, all skinny limbs and boundless energy, her face split by a grin so wide it seemed to take up her entire face.
In her cupped hands, she carried something carefully, protectively.
"Look what I found!" She skidded to a stop in front of him, breathless and laughing, her cheeks flushed pink from running. "Look, look, look!"
She opened her hands.
A butterfly.
Its wings were iridescent blue, catching the sunlight and transforming it into something magical. It sat perfectly still in her palm, wings slowly opening and closing, as if it trusted her completely.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ada's voice was hushed with wonder, her eyes—the same dark eyes as his—wide and shining. "I've never seen one this color before. Do you think it's rare? Do you think it knows I won't hurt it?"
Eris crouched down to her level, studying the butterfly with exaggerated seriousness. "Very rare," he said solemnly. "Probably the rarest butterfly in all the southern provinces."
"Really?" Her face lit up even more, if that was possible.
"Absolutely. You're very lucky it chose you."
Ada beamed at him, then carefully lifted her hands, letting the butterfly take flight. They both watched as it spiraled upward, a flash of blue against the endless sky, until it disappeared into the brightness.
"I hope it comes back tomorrow," Ada said wistfully. Then, without warning, she grabbed his hand. "Come on! I want to show you the spot I found by the rocks. There are fish there, Eris, really big ones, and the water is so clear you can see all the way to the bottom!"
She pulled him along, her small hand warm in his, her laughter bubbling up like spring water. The breeze caught her hair, and she turned her face into it, closing her eyes and smiling like she was trying to drink in the whole world.
Eris let himself be led, feeling the warmth of the sun on his shoulders, the softness of the grass beneath his feet, the gentle pressure of her hand in his.
This is what it means to protect someone, he thought, watching her skip ahead, then turn back to make sure he was following. This is what it means to love.
She was so small. So bright. So utterly, completely alive.
The world felt safe here. Here, there was only the lake, the sun, the breeze, and his little sister's laughter.
"Race you to the rocks!" Ada shouted, already running.
"That's cheating!" Eris called after her, but he was smiling, breaking into a run to catch up.
She shrieked with delight when he got close, pushing herself faster, her arms pumping, her feet barely touching the ground. The sunlight caught in her hair, turned her into something golden and perfect and CRACK.
The world shattered.
The lake vanished.
The sun died.
Darkness. Screaming. The smell of blood and burning wood.
The carriage.
No.
The carriage was on its side, wheels still spinning uselessly in the air. Smoke poured from the wreckage, thick and black, choking. The horses were dead, their bodies twisted at impossible angles, their blood soaking into the road.
No no no no
Eris was running.
His feet slipped on something wet. He didn't look down. Couldn't look down.
"ADA!"
His voice was raw, breaking, barely human.
The carriage door was crushed inward, the wood splintered, the metal bent. He tore at it with his bare hands, feeling his skin split, his nails break, not caring, not feeling anything except the desperate, clawing need to get to her.
She's inside. She's inside. Get her out. Get her OUT
The door gave way.
He saw her.
Small.
Broken.
Covered in blood that was too red, too much, spreading across her dress like a blooming flower.
"Ada." His hands were shaking so badly he could barely touch her. "Ada, look at me. Look at me, please "
Her eyes opened.
Dark eyes. His eyes.
But wrong.
Fading.
"Eris..." Her voice was so small. A whisper. A breath. "It... hurts..."
"I know, I know, I'm going to fix it, I'm going to" His hands hovered over her, not knowing where to touch, where to press, how to stop the bleeding that was everywhere, too much, impossible to stop. "Just hold on, Ada, please, just"
"I'm... scared..."
"Don't be scared. I'm here. I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise, I promise "
But even as he said it, he could feel her slipping away.
The light in her eyes dimming.
Her breath coming slower.
Slower.
"No." The word tore out of him. "No, you don't get to leave. You don't Ada, please "
Her hand found his.
So small.
So cold.
"Love... you..."
Then nothing.
Her hand went limp in his.
Her eyes stared at nothing.
The world ended.
No.
She's not dead.
She can't be dead.
Ada doesn't die.
Not Ada.
Not his little sister who chased butterflies and laughed at the sun and held his hand like he could protect her from anything.
This isn't real.
But her body was cold in his arms.
This can't be real.
But the blood was real. The silence was real. The emptiness where her heartbeat should have been was real.
Something broke inside him.
Not cleanly.
Not mercifully.
It shattered like glass, a thousand jagged pieces tearing through him, shredding everything that made him whole.
Grief.
Rage.
Helplessness.
Despair.
They weren't emotions anymore. They were living things, parasites burrowing into his mind, his chest, his bones. Eating him from the inside out. Destroying him cell by cell, thought by thought, until there was nothing left but the screaming void where his sister used to be.
She's not gone.
His mind rejected it.
Refused it.
She can't be gone.
Ada was light. Ada was laughter. Ada was the only good thing in a world of duty and death and endless, crushing responsibility.
She wouldn't just die.
Not like this.
Not in a carriage accident on a road that should have been safe.
Not when he was supposed to protect her.
I was supposed to protect her.
The thought circled, vicious, relentless.
I promised.
He had promised.
Every time she took his hand. Every time she smiled at him. Every time she called his name.
I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to her.
But she was dead.
Cold.
Empty.
Gone.
No.
The word was a scream inside his skull.
NO.
There had to be a way.
There had to be something he could do, some magic, some power, some anything that could bring her back, that could undo this, that could make the world make sense again. But there was nothing, only her body in his arms, only the blood on his hands.
Only the silence where her voice should have been.
The grief was a black hole, collapsing inward, devouring everything. His thoughts fragmented, breaking apart into jagged shards that cut and bled and wouldn't stop.
She's gone.
She's not gone.
She's dead.
She can't be dead.
I failed her.
I should have been there.
I should have known.
I should have
The darkness was spreading.
Not just in his mind.
In his body.
The poison.
He could feel it now, burning through his veins, turning his blood to acid, his muscles to lead. It was eating him alive, just like the grief, just like the rage, just like the parasite of memory that wouldn't let him go.
Ada.
Her name was the last coherent thought he had.
Then the darkness swallowed him whole.
But all of this was never true. We never found her. I didn't even see what really happened to my sister.