Chapter 89 Moonwell Corruption
LUCA
I’d discovered a few things about mortality over the past month as my body adjusted to being actually killable. Wounds that would have healed in minutes now took days. Exhaustion was a constant companion. And aging, I’d found three gray hairs last week and nearly had a breakdown.
“You’re being dramatic,” Arya said, watching me examine my reflection. Again.
“I’m being realistic. I aged eight hundred years in eight centuries. At this rate, I’ll look ancient by our first anniversary.”
“You’ll look distinguished. Silver fox.” She giggled, sounding entirely too pleased by this whole scene.
“I’ll look old.” I grumbled, aware that i sounded like a bratty child, but who cares? She’s the only one here to see it.
“And I’ll still love you.” She came up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Even when you’re old and gray and complaining about your joints.”
“I don’t complain.”
“You’ve complained three times today. About stairs.”
“Stairs are steeper than they used to be.”
“They’re literally the same stairs.”
“Are you sure?” I raised a brow. “They feel steeper.”
She laughed, and I felt the sound everywhere. It was still muted compared to before the power transfer, but present. Enough to feel her love, her amusement, her absolute certainty that we’d made the right choice.
Most days, I agreed.
Today, staring at gray hairs and feeling my knees protest the four flights of stairs I’d climbed, I had doubts.
“Stop spiraling,” Arya commanded. “I can feel you overthinking and it is making me overthink.”
“I’m not overthinking. I’m appropriately thinking.”
“You’re catastrophizing. There’s a difference.” She turned me to face her. “Luca. Look at me. Do you regret it? Honestly?”
“No. But—”
“No buts. Either you regret it or you don’t.”
“I don’t regret saving you. I regret that saving you required sacrificing immortality. I regret that I’m now going to age and die while you watch. I regret—”
She kissed me, cutting off my spiral.
“Better?” she asked when we broke apart.
“Marginally.”
“Then come on. We have a council meeting in an hour, and I need you to look intimidating, not mopey.”
“I don’t mope.”
“You’re moping right now.”
“This is brooding. There’s a difference.” I puffed my chest to send my point across.
“Explain the difference.”
“Moping is passive. Brooding is active contemplation of problems.”
“So moping with better PR?” her lips curled into that smile that always makes my heart goes faster.
“Exactly.” she pressed her lips to mine again, when i wrapped my arms around her waist and started moving them lower, she made a sound and pulled away. “No, no, no. we have to go, now!”
I groaned but agreed as she dragged me out, ignoring my half hearted protest for her to consider my aged bones.
The council meeting was about the northern territories incident. We’d been investigating for a month, and Caspian had finally identified suspects.
“Three individuals,” he reported, pulling up images. “All with connections to Theron’s coalition. They orchestrated the false flag operation by using dark magic to forge the messages and plant evidence implicating both sides.”
“Do we have them in custody?” I asked.
“Two of them. The third disappeared before we could apprehend him.” Caspian zoomed in on the missing suspect’s photo. “Cyrus Ashford. Former coalition intelligence officer. He’s gone completely dark. No magical signature, no financial trail, nothing.”
“He’s the smart one then,” Sage observed. “The one who planned it while the others executed.”
“Probably. And he’s still out there, likely planning the next attack.” Caspian closed his tablet. “We’ve tightened security, increased surveillance on potential targets, but if he’s as good as his record suggests—”
“He’ll find a way through,” I finished. “Perfect.”
“We’ll catch him,” Arya said with more confidence than I felt. “He has to surface eventually. When he does, we’ll be ready.”
The meeting continued with various administrative matters. Mostly border disputes, resource allocation, and the endless bureaucracy of running a multi-species government. By the time it ended, my head was pounding.
Immortal me never got headaches.
“You need rest,” Arya said as we walked back to our quarters.
“I need to review the security reports—”
“No. You need sleep. Actual sleep.” She steered me toward our bedroom. “I’ll review the reports. You’re going to bed.”
“I’m eight hundred years old. I don’t need you to mother me.”
“You’re eight hundred years old in a rapidly aging body that needs proper rest. So yes, I’m mothering you. Deal with it.”
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion won. I collapsed onto the bed, and she was right, within minutes, I was asleep.
I dreamed of gray hair and wrinkles and watching Arya stay young while I withered. Dreamed of dying and leaving her alone. Dreamed of the slow erosion of mortality eating away at the centuries I’d accumulated.
I woke to darkness and Arya shaking my shoulder.
“Luca. Wake up. We have a problem.”
I was instantly alert, the old battle instincts kicking in despite my body protesting. “What kind of problem?”
“The magic kind. Bardon just detected a massive dark magic surge coming from the Moonwell.” Her expression was grim. “Someone’s trying to corrupt it again.”
“Fuck.” I was already moving, pulling on clothes. “How is that possible? You cleansed it completely.”
“I don’t know. But if they succeed—”
“The power source for your entire bloodline becomes corrupted. Along with every unity ward we’ve established using its energy.” I grabbed weapons. “Who’s responding?”
“Everyone. Caspian’s mobilizing security. Sage and Ryker are already en route. Bardon’s preparing counter-rituals.” She was strapping on armor as she spoke. “We need to go.”
“Agreed. But Arya—” I caught her arm. “If this is a trap, if someone’s using the Moonwell as bait to draw you out—”
I didn't let myseld finsih that sentence.
“Then we spring the trap and deal with it. We don’t have a choice. If the Moonwell falls, everything we’ve built falls with it.”
She was right. I hated it, but she was right.