The Weight Of Responsibility

The Weight Of Responsibility
Chapter 117:

Lucien’s gaze lingered on the bowl the rogue left behind, steam curling from its rim like smoke from cooling embers. The scent of crushed herbs and bitter roots filled the small shelter. He didn’t reach for it. He just stared.

Aria picked it up, fingers brushing the rough clay. “You should drink,” she said softly. She knelt beside his cot, bringing the rim to his lips. “Come on,” she tried to coax, “Just a little sip.”

Lucien’s eyes flicked toward her. “I don’t need it.”

“You’re still bleeding,” she countered. “That bandage won’t hold forever.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue when she lifted the bowl to him. “If it was poison,” she said quietly, “they would have their time saving us.”

Lucien held her gaze a moment longer, the gold in his eyes faint beneath the shadows, before he finally took the bowl. He raised it, sniffed once, then drank.

The herbs burned down his throat, gritty and earthy. He winced, the muscles in his jaw flexing, but didn’t stop until the bowl was empty. He handed it back, muttering, “Tastes like dirt and regret.”

Aria smiled faintly. “Good. That means it’s medicine.”

Kael snorted from the other cot. “He’ll complain either way.”

Lucien didn’t answer. He leaned back against the wall, the dim firelight carving sharp lines across his face. The storm outside had quieted, leaving only the steady drip of water from the cliff above. Inside, the silence stretched long between seconds.

After a while, Kael’s breathing steadied. His head rolled slightly to the side, exhaustion dragging him under. Aria tucked the blanket higher around him before sitting back beside Lucien. The fire threw their shadows against the stone, two silhouettes side by side, flickering with every breath of air.

“You should sleep,” she reminded him again.

“I’ll sleep when I’m certain no one’s planning to slit our throats.”

“Always the optimist,” she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

He didn’t smile, but his gaze softened a little. “Do you trust them?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But they haven’t given us reason not to. Yet.”

He exhaled slowly, resting his forearm on his knee. “Yet is the word that gets wolves killed.”

From the cot, Kael stirred with a groan. “You two should argue quieter. Some of us are dying gracefully over here.”

Aria rolled her eyes. “You’re fine.”

Kael’s cracked smile widened faintly. “Fine is relative.” His gaze flicked to the door, where moving shadows were reflected from the fire, “You know,” he rasped, turning his head slightly toward Aria, “they won’t stop staring. Every time someone passes that curtain, they’re whispering your name.”

“I noticed,” she said softly.

He chuckled dryly, then winced. “You should get used to it. They’re yours now, whether you like it or not.”

Aria froze. “They’re not mine.”

Kael’s good eye cracked open, glinting faintly with amusement. “They think you’re the Alpha who’ll lead them out of the woods, Aria. The one who’ll make all the packs bow again.”

“I’m no Alpha,” she said sharply.

At her words, the Rune flared brighter beneath her skin, the murmurs from outside quieting at the light. She flinched and pulled her cloak tighter against her.

Kael raised a brow. “Seems to me, like it disagrees.”

Lucien turned toward him, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t push her.”

“I’m not,” Kael said simply. “But she should stop pushing back at reality. That mark chose her. The rogues already decided what she is to them.”

“I didn’t choose this,” she whispered.

Kael’s voice softened, losing its edge. “No one ever does. But that doesn’t change what you’ve been given.”

Lucien shuffled closer to them, his shadow falling over both of them. “Enough,” he said quietly, his tone final. “She’s exhausted. You’re half-dead. Save your speeches for when we’ve all slept.”

Lucien’s voice was quiet but firm, as he faced Aria, “You don’t have to accept what’s being forced upon you.”

Kael gave a low, rough laugh. “Try telling that to destiny.”

“Try surviving it,” Lucien shot back.

Kael leaned back against the furs, smirking faintly. “You forget who stood up for her when no one did, Alpha.”

Lucien didn’t rise to it. He just stayed quiet, until Kael closed his eyes again.

The silence that followed felt alive. The fire popped, scattering sparks across the air. Aria rubbed her arm, trying to will the Rune to fade. It only pulsed brighter, heat spreading through her veins like a slow current. She drew in a shaky breath.

Lucien’s eyes softened. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Her jaw clenched. “You think I can’t handle it?”

“I think you shouldn’t have to,” he said simply.

Something in her chest ached at that, the quiet sincerity buried beneath his exhaustion. She stared at the fire, her voice small as she spoke, “Do you ever wonder,” she began softly, “what happens if we stop fighting long enough to look at what we’ve become?”

Lucien glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then said, “If you woke up one day and realized every kill, every drop of blood, it’d somehow turned you into something else. Would you still be able to find yourself?”

His gaze returned to the fire. The gold in his eyes caught the light, soft and pained. “I ask myself that every day.”

Aria studied him quietly. His bandaged shoulder was bleeding faintly through the cloth again, but he didn’t seem to notice. “And if I became that?” she asked. “If I lost myself to all this… to the blood… If the Rune turned me into something else, something that kills without feeling… Would you still love me?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and fragile.

He didn’t look at her and the silence stretched so long she almost regretted asking. Then he spoke, voice low and rough, and filled with so much honesty, “I’d love you because you’re the only one who hates the blood as much as I do.” Lucien looked at her then, really looked, his golden eyes reflecting the flicker of flame. And for a heartbeat, neither breathed.

The words sank deep into her chest, heavy and burning. She stared at him, lips parted–speechless, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them. She so desperately wanted to believe him, wanted it so badly that it hurt.

For a second, she thought she saw something shift behind his eyes, something fragile, unguarded. Then Kael’s voice, soft and slurred from the herbs, broke through. “Love won’t keep you alive.”