I’d felt that way since the first night I brought Rohen on board, an ancient aura clinging to her like a second skin. At first, I’d blamed it on the alcohol, but the longer I was around her, the more intense her presence became. The evening she butchered half of the crew solidified everything, but it also lit whatever lay in wait beneath my skin—whatever had kindled my brand to silence me.
It’d become clear that the royal crest marring my skin carried secrets of its own, prophetic implications that I couldfeelyet couldn’t reach. With Rohen undoubtedly belonging to the sea, I knew it also linked us in some way. Ever since that grotesque storm of bloodshed and fury, it burned not only with any utterance I attempted about the texts I’d read over thousands of times, but in each instance I focused on her for a second too long.
Rubbing over the raised flesh, I turned to Syoran. “Are you staying on board or coming with me?”
He huffed in offense. “I can’t believe you’re asking me such an idiotic question.”
My lips curled, and I reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “Sometimes it is nice to hear the devotion.”
“If you wish to understand the depth of my loyalty, then allow me to kneel for you and give you whatever you please. If you wish to use me as a blade, wield me with the intention of death. If you wish to explore my mind to comprehend the ancient parchments you have uncovered, then have the crows pluck at my brain until nothing remains.” He lifted a brow as if he was waiting for me to challenge his faithfulness further. “I’ve told you, Caspian Vayne, I am your right-hand for good reason, and whatever comes out of protecting you has already been etched in my fate.”
Yet, little did he know, the chance for him to toss his life aside for mewould never come to fruition. I’d brushed Elaros’s hand countless times, my visits to the brink of life innumerable. Familiarity lingered there, and a certainty had settled within me that, when my time came, it would not involve Syoran’s interference.
I carried the weight of the shadows and the chime of death wherever I walked, for I was the son of the God of Death.
Having slipped away from Syoran, I vanished into an alleyway, narrowly avoiding the boisterous crowd of cityfolk who had gathered to explore the liveliness of the market. Usually, skipping out on other towns’ pleasantries wasn’t something I did, but I had far more pertinent matters to take care of.
I had a siren to find.
The cobblestone streets became familiar beneath my booted feet, each chime of the blades at my hips a cautionary tale to any onlooker who dared challenge my arrival. Part of me hoped one of them would be foolish enough to ask the wrong questions, but the other knew that level of involvement would further complicate the already complicated journey I was on.
Elaros’s presence bloomed in the back of my mind, billowing like a crisp breeze during the fall season.“Have you elected to keep your word?”
“Is there ever a moment when you are not intrusive?”I questioned, fingers brushing along the various structures I passed.
“I prefer to avoid intimate situations,”he hummed, a subtle chuckle following.“You are rolling your eyes.”
Engaging in the exact action he called me out for, I exhaled.“Yes. I am.”
“For what exactly?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Father, perhaps the words you just uttered.”
His laughter grew, but the haunting tune it carried was far from innocent.“We digress. You have not strayed from the plan we discussed?”
“No. I mean, not like I have much of a choice considering the ‘fragility’ I harbor. Something you incessantly remind me about.”
“Good. I would hate to be put in a position of eradicating my last heir.”
“Just as I would hate to be slaughtered by someone of your… decree.”
A gentle coax brushed against my subconscious, a sign that he was escaping and offering the only comfort he could. It was something I’d started to rely on ever since the brand was forced against my skin, ever since the first moment I connected with Elaros.
He’d remained consistent since, coming to my rescue whenever my fate slipped too close to a place of finality. The conversations we shared had first felt like they came from a place of lunacy, a coping mechanism I leveraged as a young boy trying to stay alive. But the night Alastair betrayed me transformed into an admittance I never would’ve imagined possible—Elaros’s confirmation that I was, in fact, one of his children.
Where one would assume favoritism when sharing lineage with the Damned, it felt far more aligned with the title they carried. It was a poison that slithered through my veins, weaving its way through my mind to partake in whatever was asked of me. The things I had agreed to do, regardless of the irrefutable betrayal, walked alongside the implications of expectation. Or rather, a desire to avoid eternal torment from the God who helped craft my existence.
I had my own secrets. The methods and tactics I used ensured I remained undetected, even by those I held close. Yet, even with that extended sacrifice, Elaros still refused to share certain things—the truth behind the prophecy, the definitive meaning ofMizani,and why he desired to continue playing these games instead of putting an end to the suffering that’d plagued our lands.
Perhaps it had to do with the involvement of the Others, and their uncovering of?—
“I should kill you as revenge for whatyourMizani did to me, but it seems I have run into a bit of a conflict of interest, considering you are the child of the prophecy. The one that is supposed to weave our world back together as one.”
Morwenna.
What the fuck was she doing here?
“I-I don’t… I’m not—” Rohen’s words were silenced, from what I wasn’t certain; the corner I’d perched myself around didn’t allow me to see into the alcove that echoed their voices.
