Chapter 172

Chapter 172
Freya‘s pov.

The first rays of dawn brushed against my cheeks, warm and inviting. I blinked slowly, allowing myself a moment to register where I was. The ache in my muscles was dulled by a surprising sense of peace. I hadn't expected to sleep so soundly, especially not in the middle of a forest with only Arius for company. But I had. And I felt... rested. Recharged. Ready.
Yet, the space beside me was empty.
I sat up quickly, my heart skipping. "Arius?" I called out softly, though part of me already knew I wouldn't receive an answer. He wasn’t nearby. I frowned and stood, stretching out the stiffness in my back and shoulders. A soft breeze kissed the clearing, carrying with it the faint sound of water. A stream, perhaps.
I moved through the woods, each step light and cautious, the morning dew soaking into my boots. Then I saw him.
Arius was sitting by a shallow stream, his back turned to me. His shirt lay discarded on a rock nearby, and water glistened on his bare shoulders and hair. Drops slid down the curve of his spine, catching the morning light. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. He looked so still, almost... melancholic. Lost in thought. A man carved from marble and shadow.
Then a twig snapped beneath my foot.
His head turned instantly, that signature smirk already curling on his lips. The mask returned in a blink.
"Going to keep staring, little bird, or finally say something?"
I rolled my eyes, stepping into view. "Oh, please. Like I haven’t seen better. And honestly? I have."
He raised an eyebrow. "That so?"
"Absolutely," I said, kneeling to splash some cold water on my face. It felt good. Grounding. "So, what's with the broody expression? Planning something devious again?"
"My plans are far too elaborate for that pretty little head of yours," he replied smoothly.
"You deflect too well, Arius," I murmured, studying him. "You looked... sad. Just for a moment. I saw it."
His eyes narrowed, then he stood and reached for his shirt. "You’re imagining things. Emotions and I are barely on speaking terms."
But something in his voice betrayed him. A flicker. A tremor. Something real. I didn’t push it.
We returned to the horses. The fire had long since burned out, the ashes cold. As we rode through the trees, Arius fell into an unusual silence. I wasn’t used to him being quiet. I didn’t like it.
"Seen any signs yet?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Two, actually. We passed them hours ago."
"What? Why didn’t you say anything?"
"Because I’m not in the habit of narrating everything I do," he said. "We’re on the right path. But we’re barely halfway."
Halfway. It felt like we’d been riding for days, through forests thick with shadow and across fields of silence.
Eventually, we stumbled upon a village—or rather, what remained of one.
The houses were burned, broken, reclaimed by nature. The streets were eerily quiet, and something in the air felt... wrong. Familiar.
"Where are we?" Arius asked, dismounting cautiously.
I stayed frozen in my saddle, my throat tight. "Ravenhold," I whispered. "This was Ravenhold. After Alaric and I... after we came here. This is what’s left."
Arius looked around, his eyes darker now. "Your home?"
"One of them," I said. "This place held memories. Good ones, once. Now... it’s just a graveyard."
He approached a crumbled building and ran his hand along the scorched wood. "There’s still energy here. It hums."
"This was the armory. The weapons used to choose their hunter. They were sacred. Living. They sang. Mine don’t sing anymore."
I looked down at the blades strapped to my thighs. Their warmth was gone.
Arius moved toward the entrance.
"Wait! You can’t just—"
"Who's going to stop me?"
I sighed and dismounted. My legs trembled as I stepped inside. The interior had weathered time, but faint echoes of life clung to the stone. Weapons remained mounted in perfect order, untouched. Waiting.
"This legacy must be protected," I said.
"And how do you intend to do that?"
"Tiberius," I said without hesitation. "He’ll know what to do."
Then a sudden thought hit me. My stomach twisted.
"We need to leave. Now. If I figured it out, so will Tiberius. He’ll come. With Dante, maybe more."
"They might already have been here," Arius said. "We shouldn’t linger."
We mounted and took off quickly. The silence between us was no longer comfortable.
"Ravenhold will rise again," Arius said softly. "Stronger. The past can be rebuilt."
I nodded, but couldn’t speak. The shadows of old lives haunted me. The guilt.
"They’re just memories, Freya. Don’t let them consume you."
I didn’t answer.
We rode hard until Arius finally signaled for a stop. We were at a crossroads. A literal fork in the forest path.
He dismounted and gestured for me to do the same.
"Why?"
"Just do it. Give me your hand."
I hesitated. "Why?"
Before I could resist, he grabbed my wrist and with one swift motion, sliced a shallow cut across my palm.
"Hey! What the hell, Arius?!"
"Shut up and watch."
He held my bleeding hand over both paths. On the right, the blood pooled in a stagnant drop. On the left, it streamed forward, drawing a crimson line.
"Left," he said, wrapping my hand gently. Then, to my surprise, he pressed a kiss to the bandage. I stared at him.
"What... was that?"
"A little blood magic. Helps when you're hundreds of years old and bored."
I blinked. "You’re such a weirdo."
He smirked. "You love it."
We rode for hours in silence, the moon overhead casting silver across the forest.
That night, as we set up camp, I poked at the fire. "Still time for your lessons."
He choked on his food. "What lessons?"
I shifted closer to him with slow, deliberate steps, my breath catching slightly as I crossed the last bit of space between us. With a soft sigh, I sank down beside him, curling my body against his warmth. My head came to rest gently on his shoulder, my temple brushing against the curve of his neck. The contact was quiet, careful—an offering, not a demand.
My arms found their way around his waist, tentative at first, then tighter as he didn’t resist. I felt the rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breath grounding me.
"You know what I mean," I whispered, barely audible, as if the words were a secret meant only for the silence and his heart.
He tensed. "Freya... what are you doing?"
"Do you not like being touched without permission, Arius? Does it make you uncomfortable when someone steps into your space without warning? What stirs in you right now—tension in your shoulders, unease in your chest? Or... something else? Something softer? Warmer? Don't think—just feel. Let yourself notice it. Let yourself be in it. What are you feeling, Arius? Truly?"
He closed his eyes, breathing slow.
At first, he chuckled and turned his face away. "What kind of question is that?" he muttered, clearly trying to deflect.
"A real one," I said gently. "Try. Please."
He let out a long, reluctant sigh and closed his eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. For a while, he said nothing. Then, in a voice so soft it barely rose above the fire's crackle, he spoke—like a child unsure of their own truth.
"I feel... warmth. Right here," he said, placing a tentative hand over his ribs, just beneath where my arms held him. "It’s like something quiet... something humming. Like when the sun hits your back on a cold morning."
He paused, gulped, then added in a whisper that trembled slightly, "And I don’t want it to go away. I want it to stay... because it’s the first thing in a long time that doesn’t feel like a memory or a lie. It just... is."
My breath caught.
Arius blinked fast, then quickly stood up, brushing imaginary dirt from his clothes. "Forget I said that. I was joking. Obviously. You're in my space, and I’d like it back."
But even as he turned away, I saw the truth etched in his profile—the raw, unguarded truth he hadn’t meant to reveal.
Was he lying? Or was he scared?
I stared into the fire, heart pounding.
Arius was starting to feel something real—something delicate and raw, like the first ember of a long-forgotten fire flickering back to life in the ruins of a frozen heart.
And maybe, just maybe, I could help him understand it. I could be the one to guide him through the shadows of emotions he’d long buried, to show him that vulnerability wasn’t weakness but a different kind of strength. He wouldn’t have to learn alone. We would walk this unfamiliar path together.
I made a silent vow then, beneath the quiet stars and beside the dwindling fire: I would help Arius make sense of what he was feeling. We were two souls with jagged edges, but maybe those edges could align—imperfect, but whole.
It is about choice.
And I had made mine.
I would help Arius. And he would help me. And that... that felt right.