Chapter 208: To Choose
Aldric drew a long breath, his gaze distant. "No one can say for certain. Most of the records were destroyed when the House of the Dragon fell. But fragments remain, stories whispered through our families. She was the wind to the Great Dragon’s fire. She had the power to bring kingdoms to their knees, yet she never used it for dominion. And he... he matched her, if not surpassed her, and ruled by fear. They were opposites, through and through."
A wry chuckle escaped him. "The people turned to her, praying she would deliver them from that merciless fire-breathing tyrant. And she, who could have destroyed him, went to him, to talk, instead."
"To ask him to kneel?" Lorraine prompted softly. Everyone knew that much of the legend.
"Yes. Perhaps she saw the threads of their future and stepped willingly into them. She was the wind, who was able to scatter him into embers or stoke him into a firestorm that would devour the world. Yet she chose neither. Instead, she wrapped herself around him like a breeze, tempered his blaze, and in her embrace, his fire found its true shape— A King. It was never a battle of power, but a surrender of hearts; two forces destined to rule as one." Aldric said.
Lorraine absorbed the tale in silence. So she had gone to kill him and instead had fallen in love with him. Power met power...and bent to love. That was... interesting.
"There are no books left from that age?" she pressed. She needed answers about the mirror-lake she found herself pulled into. If she could control her comings and goings, it would mean safety; freedom.
"They say a few manuscripts survived in Lystheria’s library," Aldric said, voice dimming. "But when the kingdom fell, the conquerors burned it all." His eyes darkened with the memory.
Lorraine tilted her head. "So... you sought out Damian, didn’t you? To see if he knew more?"
When Damian had spoken of it, she had half-believed him part of some secret cult. But now...
"You’re the "Master", aren’t you?" she said quietly. "You taught him everything he knows. You taught Leroy, too. Who taught you?"
Aldric only shrugged, his silence answering more than words.
Lorraine exhaled and leaned back against the headboard. He would not tell her. Perhaps she didn’t need him to. Not yet.
"You should rest for a while..." Aldric said softly, though his chest tightened beneath the weight of her gaze. Her eyes clung to him—unblinking, searching, burning.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice lower than he intended.
"There is something about you... Aldric." Her words were quiet, but each syllable struck deep. "Something so... familiar. I keep reaching for it, but it slips away every time..."
Aldric swallowed hard. He knew what she was brushing against, the unspoken tether of blood between them. But he forced his tone steady. "You’ve known me nearly a decade. That sort of bond leaves its mark."
"True." Her lashes dipped, then lifted, her stare unwavering. "But what I feel is... more."
She lowered herself onto the pillow, the blanket pulled high, half her face hidden, yet her eyes locked on him. "Aldric... who will you protect? Me... or Leroy?"
His lips curved, though his heart clenched at the sight of her so small, so earnest, with childlike innocence wrapped in such dangerous power. "You," he said without hesitation.
Her next words landed sharper. "Me... or Sylvia?"
Aldric flinched. His throat went dry, and his brows twitched before he forced out a strained smile. His throat hurt to even utter that one word. "...You." The single word cut him as much as it soothed her.
For a Divina like her to ask this of him, it pierced him deeper than any blade. She was essentially asking if he would choose duty or love, when in actuality it was choosing between family. Should he choose his niece or his wife?
"I have Leroy," Lorraine murmured, her tone suddenly grave. "You should always choose Sylvia."
Her eyes slid shut, severing the moment. Aldric pressed his lips together, watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths. His own heart thundered in defiance, an ominous dread curling in its rhythm, as if the question she had planted would never stop echoing inside him.
She hoped against hope that it would never come to this.
-----
Emma stood by the door of the medical room, her whole body taut with dread. She could hardly breathe, her hands twisting together as though prayer alone might soften what awaited her. Every heartbeat drummed louder than the last, every imagined picture of Elias’s pain tearing at her chest until tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
She had seen him only from a distance, carried in the physician’s arms, but the blur of blood on his clothes had been enough to hollow her with fear.
The latch clicked. The door opened.
Emma rushed forward before the physician or his assistant could even step aside, nearly knocking them over in her haste. She didn’t care for their startled protests. She only knew one thing: Elias.
Inside, her world stilled. He lay propped against the pillows, pale but stubbornly upright, as if refusing to appear broken even in such a state. Bandages swathed his side and forearm, crimson still seeping faintly through the linen. He fumbled at his shirt, trying to cover himself the moment he noticed her. That small, needless act, his attempt to shield her from his pain, shattered her.
Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling a cry, and tears blurred her vision anew. She stood trembling, until his eyes, those steady, storm-quiet eyes, lifted and found hers.
The next instant, she was in his arms, heedless of wounds and warnings, throwing herself onto him with the desperation of someone who had been forced to imagine life without him. Her sobs broke against his shoulder, her breath uneven, wild with both grief and relief. She clung to him as though the strength of her hold alone could keep him tethered to this world.
Elias inhaled sharply at the jolt near his wound, but his arms, hesitant for a breath, rose. One hand hovered above her head, as though afraid to startle her, then slowly descended... his fingers threading gently into her hair.
He felt the hot rush of her tears seeping through his shirt, scalding his skin more than the pain in his side ever could.
A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips. His face, so often guarded and unreadable, softened at last. He too had someone who cared for him this much. A miracle.
"Elias..."
Her voice trembled, breaking through his thoughts. Emma pulled back just enough to cup his cheek, her small hand warm against his skin, her thumb brushing away the faint sheen of sweat at his temple. She looked straight into his eyes, still wet with tears, as though trying to etch every line of his face into memory.
This little, beautiful woman was crying for him. Crying because the thought of losing him had hurt her. Elias’s chest tightened, and then stumbled into a quicker, uneven rhythm. His heart skipped a beat, then another.
"Elias..."
She repeated his name, softer this time, breathless, as if his name alone could anchor her.
Elias gulped, his throat dry, his self-control faltering. His eyes, once steady on her gaze, betrayed him, flicking downward. To the curve of her lips. So close. Flushed, trembling, parted just slightly with her ragged breaths. He forced himself to look away, but his pulse betrayed him, thundering harder, hotter.
His wound burned, but not half as much as the temptation searing through him.