Chapter 205 Seraphine
Chapter 205 Seraphine
We were training... yet again.
The morning sun had climbed high when I finally opened my eyes, but the weight pressing on my chest hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had grown heavier overnight. It wasn’t because the rot had spread or because Thane still prowled somewhere beyond the trees, nor was it because the Death Serpent’s cold, unblinking gaze lingered in the shadows. No, it was something far worse.
I was beginning to understand the truth.
Dante had been holding me back.
The thought settled deep in my stomach like a slow-acting poison, sour and bitter. I stood motionless in the center of the forest clearing, staring at the three threads suspended between two ancient cedar trees. Their bark was rough and weathered, like the bones of the forest itself, and the threads shimmered with a strange energy.
One thread glowed bright silver, healthy, alive, full of strength.
The second flickered weakly, frayed and struggling to hold itself together.
The third was the worst. It looked like rot had taken physical form, a sick, pulsing black mold that crawled along its surface, twitching beneath an invisible skin. This was the rot. The thing I was supposed to burn away. And only the rot.
Beside me, the voidbinder watched in silence. His presence was a constant, cold weight, ever observant, waiting, judging.
“Again,” he said softly.
I clenched my jaw, feeling the ache in my muscles deepen. I had been standing here for hours. Hours under the sun’s slow, unrelenting trek across the sky. My feet throbbed. My shoulders screamed in protest. Every part of my body begged for rest.
But none of that mattered.
What disturbed me most was how disturbingly easy this was becoming.
The first time I’d tried this, I’d failed.
Repeatedly.
Hundreds of times.
But now? Now the answer was almost visible.
The threads no longer looked like identical strands of magic. They felt different. Looked different. Even sounded different.
The healthy thread hummed softly, a quiet song of life.
The damaged thread crackled like fragile glass, on the verge of shattering.
And the rotting thread... it whispered. It begged. It screamed. It lied. It fought desperately for survival.
“Again,” the voidbinder repeated.
I exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling over. “I heard you the first six hundred times.”
“Perhaps the seven hundredth will be the charm.” His voice was calm, almost amused.
I glared at him. The voidbinder looked entirely unbothered. No, more than that, he looked pleased, like this was some cruel game he enjoyed far too much.
Amara sat nearby beneath a tree, arms crossed, glaring at him almost as fiercely as I was. Lucian leaned against another trunk a little farther away, trying to look casual, but every time I glanced over, his eyes were already fixed on me... quiet, calculating, waiting.
The voidbinder pointed to the threads again. “Burn one.”
“Which one?” I snapped.
“The correct one.”
I wanted to throw something at him.
Instead, I lifted my hand.
Black fire curled along my fingers without hesitation. No fear. No resistance.
That should have terrified me.
Instead, it felt natural. Comfortable. Like breathing.
The truth hit me again, sharper than ever.
Dante.
It was Dante.
Not intentionally, not with malice, but being mated to him had forced me into a shape I was never meant to fit.
Since the moment I touched the cosmic egg, every instinct inside me had screamed one thing: grow, expand, become.
But every instinct inside him screamed the opposite: contain, control, reduce.
Not because he was evil. Not because he wanted to hurt me. But because fire consumes. Fire dominates. It demands to be the strongest thing in the room.
I looked down at my hand, at the black flames dancing across my skin, at the power that no longer frightened me.
For the first time since the bond broke, I felt something unexpected.
Gratitude.
Not for losing him. Never that.
The loss still burned. The betrayal still twisted inside my ribs like a cold blade. The memory of him walking away still haunted me.
But now I understood.
If he had stayed, I would never have become this.
I would never have learned to trust myself.
I would never have stopped apologizing for existing.
My chest tightened, not with grief, but with certainty.
I would never do that again.
Never.
Never let another bond dictate who I was meant to be.
Never let another mate convince me I was too much.
Never let another person make me question my own instincts.
If love required me to become smaller, then I wanted no part of it. Ever again.
That thought settled inside me like stone, final and unshakable.
My dragon stirred within me, not in protest, but in approval.
Good.
That surprised me.
For so long, she had craved a mate, a bond, a connection.
Now, there was only silence. Peace. Freedom.
The voidbinder broke through my thoughts. “Seraphine.”
I blinked, focusing on him again. “What?”
“The thread.”
Right.
The thread.
I looked up again.
Three strands.
One choice.
The healthy thread pulsed brightly.
The damaged thread flickered faintly.
The rotting thread screamed in agony.
The answer was clear.
The black fire left my hand in a single, controlled ribbon, not wild or reckless.
It touched the infected strand.
The mold shrieked, curling and blackening.
The healthy thread stayed untouched.
The damaged thread remained intact.
Only the rot burned.
Slowly, the mold withered, then vanished completely.
Gone.
The thread beneath glowed brighter, healthy, whole, alive.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Amara lowered the snack she’d been eating.
Lucian straightened up.
The voidbinder stared.
Then, he nodded once.
Just once.
But somehow, that single nod felt heavier than any praise.
“There,” he said.
I frowned. “There?”
“There.”
I looked at the thread, then back at him. “That’s it?”
“You did it.”
I blinked in disbelief. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
“You did it correctly.”
I stared at him, then glanced at Amara. “Can I hit him?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
The voidbinder looked far too pleased with himself.
Which meant I absolutely wanted to hit him.