Chapter 107 Aria’s Rage at Failure

Chapter 107 Aria’s Rage at Failure
The forest felt wrong on the way back.

Too quiet.

The battlefield had already begun to empty, bodies dragged away, healers working under flickering torchlight, warriors moving in stunned silence. The chaos that had filled the night only an hour before now hung like smoke—thick, bitter, clinging to every breath.

Aria walked ahead of everyone.

She did not speak.

She did not look at Rowan.

She walked like someone holding something inside her that could not be allowed to break loose.

Rowan followed three steps behind, shoulders lowered, hands still faintly stained despite the impossible healing. The gold beneath his skin had dimmed to a dull pulse, like embers beneath ash. His head remained bowed.

They reached the inner compound.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Aria stopped.

Lila’s quarters stood open.

The door hung crookedly from one hinge. The scent of foreign magic lingered in the air—sharp and metallic, cutting through the familiar scent of Nightborn territory like a scar.

Aria stepped inside.

The room was small, simple. A folded blanket on the cot. A wooden comb was left on the table. A cup knocked sideways, water dried into faint streaks across the floor.

Signs of struggle.

But not much.

Kael had been efficient.

Rowan stepped into the doorway behind her and immediately dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The words hit the silence like a stone thrown into still water.

Aria did not turn around.

“I should have stopped him,” Rowan continued, voice shaking but controlled. “I should have broken that barrier. I should have—”

“You should have obeyed my order,” Aria cut in.

The words were not shouted.

They were worse.

They were cold.

Rowan flinched.

“I know,” he whispered. “If I had stayed back—if I had control—”

Aria’s hand slammed into the wooden table.

The wood splintered under the force.

“No,” she snapped, finally turning toward him. Her eyes were burning—not gold, not soft. Silver. “Do not make this about your control.”

Rowan froze.

Aria stepped forward, the air around her tightening as her emotions sharpened to a blade’s edge.

“This is my territory,” she said. “My responsibility. My failure.”

Rowan shook his head violently. “Kael baited us. He used me to pull you to the front. He knew I would react. I gave him exactly what he wanted.”

“And I let him,” Aria replied.

The admission cut deeper than anger.

The room seemed to shrink around them.

Aria moved slowly to the broken door, fingers brushing the warped wood as if it might answer her.

“He knew the border would hold,” she said quietly. “He knew I would commit forces there. He counted on it.”

Her voice hardened.

“And I let him distract me.”

Rowan lowered his gaze further, fists pressing into the floor.

“I should have protected her,” he said. “She called my name. I heard her. And I still couldn’t—”

His voice broke.

Aria’s chest tightened painfully.

She hated that sound.

She hated that he carried guilt like it was his to own.

“You were fighting an army,” she said, though her tone remained sharp. “And you were barely holding yourself together.”

“That’s the problem,” Rowan shot back suddenly, lifting his head. “I’m always barely holding myself together.”

The truth of it rang painfully in the air.

Silence followed.

Aria stared at him.

He did not look defiant.

He looked exhausted.

“I don’t want to be the reason people get hurt,” he said quietly. “Lila trusted me. She thought I could save her.”

Aria closed her eyes briefly.

So did I.

The thought came unbidden.

And that was what twisted inside her.

Because for a moment on that battlefield, when Rowan had stood drenched in blood with gold blazing in his eyes, she had believed he could stand against anything.

Even Kael.

She had let that belief soften her vigilance.

She opened her eyes again.

“This is not on you,” she said firmly. “Kael did not take Lila because you failed. He took her because he wanted leverage.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Then he has it.”

Aria stepped closer.

“No,” she said. “He thinks he does.”

Her voice lowered.

“But he made a mistake.”

Rowan frowned slightly.

“He believes Lila is your weakness,” Aria continued. “He believes your emotions will drive you into recklessness.”

Rowan did not deny it.

“He’s not wrong,” he muttered.

Aria crouched in front of him.

“And that,” she said evenly, “is where we change the rules.”

Rowan looked up at her slowly.

“I don’t want to lose myself chasing him,” he said. “But I won’t stand still while she’s in his hands.”

“You won’t,” Aria agreed. “And you won’t do it alone.”

The air shifted suddenly.

Aria inhaled sharply.

Pain exploded up her spine.

Silver fire surged violently beneath her skin, no longer contained. It felt like frozen lightning crawling through her veins, splitting her from the inside out. She staggered backwards, gripping the edge of the broken table for support.

Rowan was on his feet instantly.

“Aria—”

“Don’t,” she hissed, holding up one shaking hand.

The curse was reacting again—but not to proximity this time.

To emotion.

To fury.

To something cracking inside her restraint.

Silver light burst visibly beneath her skin, thin lines tracing up from her collarbone toward her throat like fractures spreading through glass.

Rowan stared in horror.

“Your neck,” he whispered.

Aria’s breathing grew ragged.

The silver lines continued to spread, spiderwebbing upward along her skin, glowing faintly in the dim room.

The curse was not flaring in response to Rowan.

It was erupting from her.

Rage.

Guilt.

Failure.

They fed it.

She clenched her fists, forcing the energy back through sheer will.

“I will not break now,” she snarled under her breath. “Not when he thinks he’s won.”

Rowan stepped closer despite her warning, hands hovering uncertainly.

“Let me help,” he pleaded.

“You can’t fix this,” she snapped, though the edge in her voice was directed inward more than at him.

The silver cracks reached the base of her jaw.

Pain lanced through her skull.

For one terrifying moment, Rowan saw something else flicker in her eyes—something ancient and cold.

The curse was not just reacting.

It was escalating.

And if it broke fully free now, in the middle of grief and fury, there would be consequences neither of them could control.

Aria forced herself upright, breathing hard.

“We are not losing this war,” she said through clenched teeth. “And we are not losing her.”

Rowan swallowed.

“But first,” Aria continued, voice dropping lower as silver light flickered across her throat, “I need to understand why my curse is no longer waiting.”

The cracks pulsed brighter.

And for the first time, Rowan realised the truth was worse than Kael’s strategy.

The enemy was no longer only outside their borders.

It was waking inside her.