Belladorn lay crumpled against the charred tree, her body broken and twisted in ways that defied nature.
I watched as Kiaran crouched beside her, his movements slow and deliberate, his large, calloused hands pressing two fingers to her neck. He stayed still for a moment, his crimson eyes narrowing, and then his hand pulled back sharply like he'd been burned.
"She's alive," he muttered, his voice low, almost disbelieving.
A chill crept over me, sharp and biting, like the breath of a winter storm.
My heart was racing now, thundering in my ears, and yet it felt... off. Wrong. It pounded too quickly, too unevenly, like a drumbeat out of sync with the rest of me.
I flinched. Alive? How could she be alive? My gaze darted back to her mangled body, her limbs bent at angles that made my stomach churn.
Her eyes were rolling back into her head, showing nothing but the whites, and her wings—those once-beautiful wings hung in limp, shredded tatters.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps, but there was no life in her movements, only a trembling, involuntary shudder. She looked more like a marionette with its strings cut than a living thing.
Something about her state wasn't natural. I felt it deep in my bones, like an itch I couldn't scratch. The air around her was thick, heavy, and wrong—like the aftermath of a storm that had torn through something sacred.
Kiaran's expression darkened as he straightened up, his gaze lingering on Belladorn for a moment longer before he turned toward me. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and assessing, and I realized then how hard I was breathing. .
"Breathe," Estella said softly beside me. She had a hand on my shoulder, her touch light but steady, as though she thought I might collapse at any second. She wasn't wrong.
I couldn't focus. My vision swam, the edges of the clearing blurring together in a haze of smoke and ash. My ears were still ringing faintly from the explosion, and my body was trembling so violently that I couldn't tell if it was from the aftershock or something else entirely.
But when Kiaran crouched in front of me, his shadow blocking out the dim light, my attention snapped to him like a rope pulling taut.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the map.
The moment the map came into view, something shifted. The air around me felt heavier, colder, and the buzzing in my head intensified, growing louder until it drowned out everything else.
My vision blurred, and for a fleeting second, I saw—no, heard—something.
Laughter. Soft and breathless, with a musical lilt that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn't my laughter. It wasn't Estella's.
It was hers.
My breath caught in my throat. The map. The one we'd stolen. The one we were going to use to locate the slave caravan and rescue Mirelle. I stared at it, my chest heaving, as Kiaran turned it over in his hands.
"It was pulsing," he said, his tone flat and matter-of-fact, but there was something under it—something sharp. "I felt it in my pocket during the Requiem."
I blinked at him, my mind struggling to process his words.
The map was pulsing? What did that mean? My gaze flicked back to Belladorn, her mangled body twitching faintly against the tree, and a sickening realization settled over me like a cold shroud.
"It's all connected," Kiaran said, his voice breaking through my thoughts. His crimson eyes met mine, unyielding and relentless. "The map. Belladorn. And you."
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My throat felt raw, my tongue heavy and useless. I wanted to deny it, to argue, but I couldn't. Because deep down, I knew he was right. The map, the Requiem—whatever it was that had happened—it had all started with me.
Kiaran's gaze didn't waver. "I asked you," he said, his voice low and steady, "if you were sure you covered your tracks when you stole this. Did you?"
I couldn't answer. My lips trembled, but no sound came out. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms.
Guilt churned in my stomach like a storm, but I swallowed it down, refusing to let it show.
"Did you?" Kiaran pressed, his tone sharper this time.
"I—" My voice cracked, barely audible. "I don't know."
Estella's voice cut through the tension, her worry palpable. "What is this, Kiaran? What's happening to her?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. His eyes flicked back to the map, his jaw tightening. Then, finally, he spoke. "It's a Phantom Requiem."
The words hung in the air like a death knell, heavy and foreboding.
I don't know how long we stood there, the silence pressing down on us like a physical weight. My body still felt like it was on fire, trembling and unsteady, but I forced myself to stand.
Kiaran reached out to steady me, his hand brushing against my arm, but I slapped it away with what little strength I had left.
"Don't," I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper. "Don't waste time on me. We have to save Mirelle."
Kiaran stared at me, his expression unreadable, but he didn't argue. Instead, he turned back to Belladorn, her lifeless form still slumped against the tree. He crouched beside her and began gathering large leaves from the ground, carefully wrapping them around her broken body.
His movements were slow and deliberate, almost gentle, and for a moment, I saw something in him I didn't recognize. Something human.
"There's nothing more we can do for her," he said quietly, almost to himself. "The Pixies will find her. They'll take care of her."
It was such a strange thing to say—clinical, detached—yet there was a weight to his words, as though they carried more meaning than they seemed. I didn't ask. I couldn't. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment.
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The journey was silent. I kept my head down, my eyes fixed on the ground as we walked. My mind was a swirling mess of thoughts and emotions, none of which I could untangle.
The weight of the Requiem still clung to me, thick and suffocating, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw Belladorn's broken body. Her eyes rolling back. Her limbs twisted.
But worse than that was the map. And the way Kiaran's words echoed in my mind: "It's all connected. The map. Belladorn. And you."
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to steady the shaking that hadn't stopped since we left the clearing. Kiaran walked ahead, his eyes fixed on the map in his hands.
"We're one turn away from the noble's house," he said finally, breaking the silence. His tone was calm, almost detached, but I could feel the tension simmering beneath it.
I didn't respond. I couldn't. My throat felt tight, my chest heavy. I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Princess" he said, his voice cutting through the stillness. "What did you hear during the Requiem.......what did you see?"
I flinched, my shoulders jerking involuntarily. My breath hitched, but I didn't answer. I couldn't. The memory of the voice—the vision—was still too raw, too vivid.
"Princess Mablevi," he said again, more firmly this time. I felt his hand brush against mine, but I tore it away, my movements sharp and frantic.
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
I stopped in my tracks, spinning to face him. My chest heaved, anger and frustration bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?" I shouted, my voice cracking.
Kiaran blinked, his expression hardening. "What are you talking about?"
"You think I didn't hear what you called us? Dead weight. Weak. Worthless." My voice trembled with anger, my fists clenched at my sides. "That's all we are to you, isn't it? Just burdens."
Kiaran's jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise stoic face. He didn't respond, but his silence only made the anger bubbling inside me boil over.
"You know," I spat, taking a step toward him, " I thought you were some noble knight who volunteered to protect me. But you're a trained assassin sent from my father!!!?"
His crimson eyes narrowed, dangerous now, but I didn't care. The words tumbled out of me like a flood, raw and unrelenting.
Kiaran's lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but I didn't give him the chance.
"You insult us," I continued, my tone sharp and bitter. "You throw around words like 'weak' and 'dead weight' like they mean nothing. But when it comes to her, you're so... so tender."
My voice cracked on the last word, my chest heaving with the effort of keeping my emotions in check. "Why is that, Kiaran? Why was she the one who got to see the side of you that wasn't cruel? Heartless?"
His face remained impassive, but I saw it—the faintest twitch of his fingers, the way his gaze flickered just slightly at the mention of Serendine. It was enough to confirm what I already knew. Enough to make the ache in my chest sharpen into something unbearable.
"You—" My words faltered as a sudden, sharp pain shot through my skull. I staggered back, clutching my head as the world around me tilted violently.
My ears rang, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else, and a deep, rhythmic pounding echoed in my mind, like the beat of a war drum.
I gasped, falling to my knees as the pain intensified, white-hot and blinding. Kiaran's voice came from somewhere far away, distant and muffled, but I couldn't make out the words. All I could hear was the drumbeat, growing louder and louder, until it felt like my skull might split open.
And then I saw her.
A flash of movement, quick and fleeting, like a memory I couldn't quite grasp. A fairy, her wings shimmering like stained glass, flitted through my mind's eye.
Her wavy black hair tumbled down her back, strands catching the light, and her tan skin was dusted with freckles that seemed to glow. Her heart-shaped wings beat furiously as she zipped past Kiaran, her laughter ringing out like a melody.
Kiaran. He was there, too, his face softer than I'd ever seen it. There was no tension in his jaw, no shadow in his crimson eyes. He looked... happy. Genuinely, achingly happy.
The sight of it made my chest tighten painfully, and I couldn't tear my gaze away.
She flew around him in circles, playful and teasing, before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the trees. He followed without hesitation, his expression one of quiet amusement as she dragged him deeper into the forest.
The air around them seemed to shimmer, warm and golden, and I felt like an intruder, watching something I wasn't meant to see.
They stopped in a small clearing, and the fairy turned to face him, her laughter softening into something quieter, more intimate.
She reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly. The moment felt so raw, so tender, that it made my stomach churn.
And then they began to move.
Her hands slid down his arms, tugging him closer, and his fingers found the laces of her dress. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, falling away to reveal smooth, freckled skin and the curve of her bare breasts.
My breath caught in my throat, and I wanted to look away, to stop watching, but I couldn't. The image held me captive, vivid and unrelenting, like it was burned into my mind.
Kiaran's hands roamed her body, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing every inch of her. His lips followed, brushing against her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, each touch filled with a reverence that made my chest ache.
She responded in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as her wings fluttered behind her.
"Kiaran..." she whispered his name against him
The sound of it snapped something inside me, and the vision shattered like glass, leaving me gasping for air.
I was still on my knees, my head pounding and my chest heaving, as the world came back into focus. The forest around me felt cold and empty, the golden light of the vision replaced by the dim, gray haze of reality.
I looked up, my gaze locking onto Kiaran. He was staring at me, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something sharp and knowing—that made my stomach twist.
He knew. Somehow, he knew what I'd seen.
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