Chapter 64

Chapter 64
Cyrus stood at the threshold of Calista’s chamber, hand hovering just above the handle. The hallway behind him was dim, lit only by a flickering torch mounted to the stone wall, casting elongated shadows that danced like ghosts.

He wasn’t sure why he came. Maybe he was tired of hiding. Maybe he couldn’t stand another night listening to the silence that filled the corners of his room, wrapping around him like a noose. Or maybe… maybe it was the way Emilia looked at him earlier, a silent kind of urging in her eyes. A whisper that said: If you don’t speak to her now, you’ll lose her forever.

Cyrus pushed the door open.

The room was dim but not empty. The fire had burned low in the hearth. A bowl of untouched broth sat on the bedside table, long gone cold. Calista lay in bed, curled slightly, her face pale and drawn, but not asleep.

Her eyes opened the moment he stepped in.

“I wondered when you’d come,” she said softly.

Cyrus didn’t move. “I almost didn’t.”

Her throat moved with a swallow. “But you’re here.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he said. His voice was rough, as if it had been scoured by wind and ash. “I don’t even know what I’d say to you.”

Calista shifted, slowly sitting up. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled the blanket tighter over herself. “Then don’t plan it. Just say what you feel.”

Cyrus laughed once, bitter and low. “Feel?” He stepped further into the room, the door shutting with a soft click behind him. “You want to know what I feel, Calista?”

She didn’t answer.

“I feel used.” His voice cracked around the word. “You knew how broken I was. You saw what was left of me after Luca fell. After the rebellion. And you still—you still chose that moment to pull me under.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he cut in, sharp and wounded. “Don’t lie to me. Not now. You used me when I had nothing left to give, and you knew I would follow you anywhere. You knew I still loved you, and you twisted that into something... poisoned.”

Calista’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Cyrus’s hands balled into fists. “I told myself you didn’t mean to sabotage the rituals. That maybe you were misled. Or scared. I defended you to the Elders. To Emilia. To myself. Even when they whispered that you’d gone too far, I tried to believe you hadn’t.”

He looked at her then, truly looked—and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he saw the woman who once held him like a lighthouse in a storm… or the shadow of her.

“I loved you, Calista,” he whispered. “But all you ever did was manipulate me.”

The silence between them stretched.

Then, Calista slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed, rising shakily to her feet. “I deserve every word of that,” she said. “Every single word.”

She walked to the window and pressed her hand against the cold glass. “When I lost my place in the Circle, when I felt power slipping from my hands, something inside me fractured. I was blinded by vengeance, Cyrus. I thought if I could control the rituals, if I could rewrite the bonds, I could bring balance again. I convinced myself it was justice.” She turned to him. “But it wasn’t. It was fear. And pride.”

He said nothing.

“I knew how fragile you were then. I saw it. And I still…” Her voice broke. “I still leaned on you like a crutch. I told myself you were choosing me because you wanted to. But the truth is… I cornered you. I took advantage of your grief.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “You were the only light left in me, and I—I used it to burn everything down.”

Cyrus looked at her, breath caught in his chest.

“And now…” she whispered, placing her hand on her stomach, “I carry something I never expected.”

He stared.

Calista blinked slowly, then whispered, “The child… is yours, Cyrus.”

The words fell like stones into the room.

For a long time, Cyrus didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

He simply stared at her, the woman who had betrayed everything he stood for… and yet… she held his child.

His legs buckled, and he dropped to the floor, his back hitting the edge of the wall. “No,” he said. “No, no, no…”

Calista moved forward, but he held out a hand.

He was crying.

Not the quiet, restrained tears of a warrior but raw, ragged sobs that clawed their way out of his chest.

“All this time…” he gasped. “All this time, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” she said. Her own voice was thick. “How do you tell the man you destroyed that you carry a part of him?”

Cyrus buried his face in his hands. His whole body trembled. “I don’t know if I should hate you… or thank you.”

Calista knelt before him, slowly, painfully. “Then do both. I deserve both.”

For a moment, they just sat there—two broken people on the cold stone floor, with nothing but their past and an unborn child between them.

Then, without warning, Cyrus reached forward and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened in surprise—but then melted into him, burying her face in his shoulder.

“I can’t go back,” he whispered. “I can’t forget everything. But I can’t pretend I don’t love you either.”

“I know,” she said.

“I’m terrified.”

“So am I.”

“But this child… they didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No,” Calista agreed. “But maybe they’ll be the reason we stop repeating it.”

Cyrus pulled back just enough to look at her. “Will you let me stay? With you? Until we figure this out?”

She nodded. “I was afraid you’d never ask.”

His hand trembled as he touched her stomach, palm flat against the thin fabric. There was nothing to feel yet—but he imagined something there, growing. A life not marked by blood or betrayal, but hope.

“I won’t let you go through this alone,” he said.

Calista let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

For the first time in years, there was no anger in his eyes.

Only grief, and love—and the beginning of something that could become peace.

Together, on the floor of that cold room, they stayed—no longer enemies, not yet whole, but choosing to begin again.

For the child.

For themselves.

For the chance to be more than what they had destroyed.