Chapter 82 Warnings

Chapter 82 Warnings

The Lunaris Stronghold Evening

Aria found Rhyssa alone in the training yard, running through combat drills with an intensity that bordered on reckless.

She'd been doing this for days pushing herself to exhaustion, barely sleeping, barely eating, avoiding everyone. Especially avoiding Aria.

"You're going to hurt yourself," Aria called out, stepping into the yard.

Rhyssa didn't stop. She struck the training dummy again, her movements sharp and precise but lacking the fluid grace that usually defined her fighting style.

"I'm fine," Rhyssa said through gritted teeth.

"You're not fine," Aria countered, moving closer. "You've been distant for weeks. Ever since the curse"

"I said I'm fine!" Rhyssa spun around, her amber eyes flashing. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Aria stopped, hurt flickering across her face before she could hide it. "Because I care about you. Because watching you destroy yourself is killing me."

"Then don't watch," Rhyssa said coldly, turning back to the training dummy.

"Rhyssa.."

"What do you want from me, Aria?" Rhyssa's voice rose, frustration and pain bleeding through. "You want me to pretend everything's normal? That I wasn't cursed? That I didn't spend weeks feeling Morgana's darkness crawling through my veins?"

"I want you to talk to me," Aria said, her own voice rising to match. "I want you to let me in instead of shutting me out like I'm the enemy."

"You don't understand what it was like!" Rhyssa threw down her practice weapon, the clatter echoing across the empty yard. "You weren't there. You didn't feel it. The curse... it changed me, Aria. It showed me things, made me feel things I never wanted to feel."

"Then tell me," Aria pleaded, closing the distance between them. "Help me understand."

"I can't!" Rhyssa's voice cracked. "Because talking about it means reliving it. And I'm trying so hard to forget, to move past it, but I can't when you keep looking at me like I'm broken."

"I don't think you're broken," Aria said softly.

"Yes, you do," Rhyssa said bitterly. "I can see it in your eyes. The pity. The concern. Like you're waiting for me to shatter at any moment."

"That's not..." Aria stopped, forcing herself to take a breath. "Okay. Maybe I am worried. Maybe I am watching you too closely. But that's because I love you, Rhyssa. And I almost lost you."

The words hung in the air between them.

Rhyssa's eyes widened slightly. "Aria.."

"I know we've never said it," Aria continued, her voice trembling. "I know we've been dancing around it for months, maybe years. But I can't keep pretending. I can't keep watching you pull away and not tell you that it's tearing me apart."

Rhyssa's throat tightened. "You shouldn't love me. Not after everything I've done. Everything I've become."

"You haven't become anything except a survivor," Aria said firmly. "The curse didn't change who you are, Rhyssa. It tested you. And you're still here. Still fighting. Still you."

"You don't know that," Rhyssa whispered. "Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't recognize myself. Sometimes I feel the darkness still there, whispering, waiting for me to let my guard down."

Aria stepped closer, reaching out to cup Rhyssa's face gently. "Then let me help you fight it. Let me be there when the darkness feels too heavy. You don't have to carry this alone."

Rhyssa's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know how to let you in anymore. I don't know how to be vulnerable when being strong is the only thing that's kept me standing."

"You don't have to know how," Aria said softly. "You just have to try. One day at a time. One moment at a time."

Rhyssa closed her eyes, leaning into Aria's touch despite herself. "I'm scared."

"I know," Aria murmured. "So am I. But we can be scared together."

For a long moment, they stood there in the empty training yard, the distance between them finally beginning to close.

Then Rhyssa pulled Aria into an embrace, holding her tightly, desperately, like she was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting beneath her feet.

"I'm sorry," Rhyssa whispered against Aria's shoulder. "For pushing you away. For shutting you out. I just... I didn't want you to see me like this."

"Like what?" Aria asked, her arms wrapping around Rhyssa just as tightly.

"Weak. Damaged. Less than what I was."

Aria pulled back just enough to look Rhyssa in the eyes. "You are not weak. You are not damaged. And you are certainly not less than anything." She brushed a tear from Rhyssa's cheek. "You survived something that would have broken most people. That makes you stronger than you've ever been."

Rhyssa's lips trembled. "I don't feel strong."

"You don't have to feel it for it to be true," Aria said. "And until you believe it, I'll believe it enough for both of us."

Something in Rhyssa's chest cracked open the wall she'd been building brick by brick since the curse was broken and she felt herself breathing properly for the first time in weeks.

"I love you too," Rhyssa said quietly. "I should have said it before. Should have said it a hundred times. But I was afraid that if I did, I'd lose you. That the curse would take you from me like it almost took everything else."

"You're not losing me," Aria promised. "Not to a curse. Not to a war. Not to anything."

Rhyssa pressed her forehead against Aria's. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Then I'll keep this one," Aria said. "Watch me."

They stood together as the sun set, holding each other in the gathering darkness, finding strength in the connection they'd almost lost.

It wasn't perfect. The fear was still there. The doubt. The lingering shadows of what Rhyssa had endured.

But for the first time since the curse, Rhyssa felt like maybe just maybe she could find her way back to herself.

With Aria's help.

Together.

Blackmar Manor — Draven's Study

The old woman stood before Draven's desk, her weathered hands trembling slightly as she pointed to another passage in the spell book.

"This incantation," she said, her raspy voice filled with warning, "is one of the most dangerous in the entire tome. It grants the caster immense power, yes. But the cost..."

"What cost?" Draven demanded, leaning forward intently. They'd been working for hours, translating spell after spell, and his patience was wearing thin.

"The cost is your essence," the old woman said gravely. "This magic doesn't just drain energy or require sacrifices. It consumes pieces of the caster's soul with every use. Continue long enough, and there will be nothing left of who you were."

Draven waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not concerned with philosophical consequences. I need power. Results. The ability to destroy my enemies."

"And you shall have it," the old woman said, her pale eyes fixed on him. "But heed my warning, child. The book that could grant all your desires might also destroy you. Magic like this doesn't distinguish between friend and foe, between wielder and victim. It corrupts. It consumes. It takes everything until there's nothing left but hunger and darkness."

Draven stood, his crimson-black eyes blazing with impatience. "I didn't ask for a lecture on morality. I asked you to translate the spells. That's all."

"And I have," the old woman said calmly. "But translation without understanding is worse than ignorance. You must know what you're invoking, what forces you're calling upon.."

"I know enough," Draven interrupted. "I know the Varex need to fall. I know the Moonborn stands in my way. And I know this book gives me the tools to accomplish both." He moved around the desk, looming over her. "Unless you're telling me you can't finish the translations?"

"I can finish them," the old woman said, unflinching despite his intimidation. "But finishing them doesn't mean you should use them. Some spells were forbidden for a reason. Some magic was buried because the cost of wielding it outweighed any possible benefit."

"That's my decision to make," Draven said coldly. "Not yours."

The old woman studied him for a long moment, something like pity crossing her weathered face. "You remind me of someone I knew long ago. A young man filled with ambition and rage, convinced that power was the answer to all his pain." She paused. "He's dead now. Consumed by the very magic he thought would save him."

"I'm not some cautionary tale," Draven growled. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" the old woman challenged. "Or do you simply think you know? There's a difference, child. A vast difference."

"Make haste with the translations," Draven commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I don't have time for your warnings or your stories. The Moonborn grows stronger every day. My enemies fortify their positions. I need these spells completed. Now."

The old woman sighed, a sound filled with resignation and sorrow. "As you wish."

She turned back to the spell book, her gnarled fingers tracing the ancient symbols with practiced care.

"This section here," she said, pointing to a particularly complex passage, "details the Severance Ritual for the Moonborn. It will cut her connection to her ancestors, to her pack, to the source of her power. She'll be vulnerable. Human, essentially. Easy to kill."

Draven's eyes lit up with dark satisfaction. "Perfect. What does it require?"

"Blood from her lineage," the old woman replied. "Something connected to her bloodline a relative, an ancestor's remains, anything that carries the Lunaris essence. And it must be performed during the new moon, when her power is at its weakest."

"The new moon is in three days," Draven calculated. "Can it be prepared by then?"

"If you have the necessary components," the old woman said. "But I must warn you one final time.."

"Enough warnings," Draven snapped. "Just tell me what I need."

The old woman's lips pressed into a thin line. "Very well. You'll need wolf's bane, harvested under moonlight. Silver from a Lunaris blade. And the blood component I mentioned."

"I can acquire those," Draven said confidently. "What else?"

"A circle of binding, drawn with ash from sacred ground. Incantations spoken in the old tongue I'll write them out for you. And..." She hesitated. "A vessel to contain the severed power."

"What kind of vessel?"

"Anything that can hold magic," the old woman said. "A crystal, a specially prepared stone, even a living being if you're desperate enough. Though using a living vessel is... inadvisable."

"I'll decide what's advisable," Draven said. "Just make sure the translations are complete and accurate."

The old woman nodded slowly, returning to her work.

But as she transcribed the ancient words, her hands shaking slightly, she whispered under her breath—too quietly for Draven to hear.

"Foolish child. You have no idea what you're about to unleash. The book grants wishes, yes. But it always, always collects its due."

Draven didn't hear her. He was too focused on the translations, on the power within his grasp, on the vision of the Varex estate burning and the Moonborn kneeling before him, powerless and defeated.

He didn't know the repercussions.

Not yet.

But he would.

Soon enough, he would understand exactly what he'd traded for power.

And by then, it would be far too late to turn back.