Chapter 35: THE GOLDEN PATH

Aria could feel her heartbeat quicken, pounding against her ribs like a warning drum. She clutched her chest, each breath growing shallower as she walked the shimmering golden path that wound endlessly through a land suspended between life and something far stranger.

The air shimmered with magic and menace. Each step glowed faintly underfoot, but the beauty of the path was a mask—an illusion veiling the lurking horrors. Shadows danced along the edge of her vision. She heard them: the low growls of unseen beasts, guttural and primal, like they belonged to a time before language, before mercy.

They wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze the life out of her.

But she didn’t come this far to falter.

She pressed forward.

The trees lining the golden trail were ancient and twisted, bark etched with runes and eyes that blinked when she passed. Her stolen blade hung at her hip, now darkened by blood and use. Around her neck, a charm she had made from the bones of the first creature she’d been forced to kill here—a crow with silver feathers and a voice like a child’s whisper. The charm glowed faintly as a protective ward.

She came upon an altar carved from obsidian, and beside it, a faded scroll lay open with glowing runes she somehow understood. "Blood opens the gate. Sacrifice feeds the flame. Balance must be paid."

She gritted her teeth and pulled a trembling rabbit from her satchel. The creatures here came to her willingly, as though understanding their purpose. With a whisper of apology, she slit its throat and spilled its blood on the altar. The ground trembled. A spirit emerged, cloaked in silver fire and grief.

It attacked without words.

Aria spun, barely dodging. The spirit moved like smoke, striking from all angles. Her blade met it again and again, but only when her blood joined the offering did it begin to fade. Her left arm burned from a long gash, but she stayed standing.

Three more altars lay ahead. Three more sacrifices.

Three more battles.

And somewhere at the end of this cursed path was home—but would she survive the battles here?

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Meanwhile, in the human world...

The hospital room was quiet, save for the steady beep of the monitor beside Damien’s bed. He sat up now, healing, though the exhaustion lingered in his eyes. He hadn’t spoken much since waking. Not even to the healers. Not even to his brother, who had been visiting him regularly.

His door swung open—a face everyone dreaded. Not a single soul wanted to be close to her, and it didn't move her a bit.

She had always been despised by others from the onset, so she felt normal about it.

The only person who dared associate with her was someone with the same mindset as hers.

It was no other person than Damien. They reasoned alike, and they were both incredible manipulators, which made them really close.

But when Elira entered the room, silence cracked. She stood behind the closed door, watching Damien like a laboratory experiment.

“You’re bold to come here,” Damien broke the silence without looking at her.

Elira walked closer, paying deaf ears to his words.

Damien furrowed his brows. “What are you doing here?” he asked sternly.

Elira laughed. “Oh, now you hate me!” she replied.

Damien gibed and turned over, backing Elira on purpose.

Elira stood in front of him, robed in black, her eyes unreadable. “And you’re alive. I suppose your stubbornness worked. Maybe I should have told her the truth when I went to see her,” she said blatantly.

Damien shook in fear. “What’s your problem? Why did you say that loud?” he fired.

Elira stood there with her arms folded without saying a word, her eyes still unreadable.

Damien turned his head slowly. “Why did you send her there? I told you, I just wanted to know if she was the immortal moon goddess, and you said she needed a test,” he whispered.

Elira furrowed her eyebrows and smirked.

“Is that the test, huh? Nobody ever survived after going in there,” Damien muttered.

“You suggested it. Has your illness made you lose your memory?” she snapped. “Don’t pretend your hands are clean,” she said.

“She trusted me.” His voice was low and dangerous.

“I’m sorry—you have lost that, because she will definitely know the truth later,” Elira shot back. “Your greed and revenge had the best of you. She was going to find out the truth anyway,” she murmured.

“You caused all this. I just wanted to be sure—suggesting it doesn't mean I wanted you to send her there,” he hissed. “And we threw her into a world of monsters, where we aren't sure she was going to come back alive,” he snapped.

Elira moved closer, her boots silent on the tile. “We needed to know the truth. If we had told her everything, she wouldn’t have gone. And she has to go. You don’t want to get your revenge?” she convinced.

“I don’t care about no fucking revenge. She is also important,” Damien growled. “I care that I can’t feel her anymore. It’s like she’s fading—like she’s dying in a place I can’t reach,” he whispered.

Elira’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t tell me you have fallen in love with Aria,” she said, shocked.

“That’s not what matters now. All we need is to know if she is coming back home,” Damien said while trying to sit erect.

Elira's gaze flickered. For the briefest moment, regret softened her expression. “Then you’d better pray she makes it through the golden path. Because if she doesn’t…” She looked out the window, her voice dropping, “we’ve doomed everything.”

Damien clenched his fists. “You should have brought her back the moment you could find,” he said softly.

“You would’ve followed her anyway!” he screamed.

A bitter silence fell between them—one built fr

om years of secrets and sacrifices.

Outside the hospital, storm clouded up in the sky