Chapter 38: ARIA APPEARANCE

Damien’s grip on the edge of the gate tightened until his knuckles whitened. Only he and Elira had the power to enter the other world freely.

The swirling portal shimmered like liquid glass, pulsing with faint ripples of silver and blue. It called to him in a way that felt almost alive, whispering promises of answers, of reunion, of ending the gnawing emptiness in his chest.

He could almost see her—Aria’s eyes meeting his, her hand reaching for him through the veil between worlds. His body leaned forward instinctively. One step… that’s all it would take to cross over.

But Elira’s eyes never left his face—cold, steady, calculating. The faintest curl of her lips told him she already knew every thought running through his mind.

She had convinced him enough, but if he was still stubborn and wanted to see for himself, she wouldn't stop him.

But she wasn't going to sit and watch him shatter her plans because of his negligence.

“Go ahead,” she said lightly, though her voice carried an edge. “But don’t come back blaming me when you’re the one who loses everything,” she snapped.

She smirked. “We should be thinking of how to carry out our plan well and successfully, in case she makes it home,” she advised.

Her words slithered under his skin like ice water. Damien’s jaw worked, his breath heavy. For a moment, the pull of the other world roared in his chest like a raging tide. Then, with a sharp exhale and a muttered curse, he forced himself to step back.

“I hate you for making me do this,” he said, the bitterness raw in his voice.

“You’ll thank me later,” Elira replied, maddeningly calm, brushing a speck of dust from her cloak. “Aria’s path is her own. Interference will only… complicate matters. That, I promise you.”

Damien hated his sudden affection towards Aria. It made him look stupid and crazy. He couldn't do things he really wanted to do.

He tapped his face lightly. “Everything must go as planned, Damien. You are ruthless,” he snapped. “I can't forgive Dominic and the Blackthorn pack, and I will do anything to get my revenge.”

Still, Damien’s gaze lingered on the shimmering gate, his heart aching like an old wound torn open. He could almost taste the regret of turning away. But if he couldn’t follow her, he’d prepare for her return. He had to.

Over the next several days, Damien and Elira fell into an uneasy rhythm.

They spoke in clipped sentences, neither sharing more than necessary, yet somehow their plans began to take shape—threads of strategy woven together with quiet precision. Damien’s hands worked tirelessly—mapping routes, securing safe houses, gathering supplies—

While Elira’s movements were more shadowed, as though her true work happened far from his sight. She never revealed the full extent of her knowledge, because she had different hidden agendas, and Damien didn’t ask too many questions; he trusted her blindly.

Damien had not been the type to trust someone. He ran different checks on Elira, but the witch was too good at covering her tracks.

—

The other world spat. Aria could feel an uncontrollable source of strength gushing inside her. She opened her eyes slowly, and she couldn't see anything—just darkness.

She could feel herself being carried and teleported by what felt like a rushing wind. It moved so fast that she couldn't see exactly what it was.

It moved speedily, but Aria was still in the same position. She was amazed by whatever it was.

Aria was back in the mortal realm beneath a sky streaked with crimson clouds that bled into the horizon.

The air here felt different—less dense, yet heavier with scent and sound. She landed hard on her knees in damp earth, mud clinging to her palms as she steadied herself.

For a long moment, she simply breathed, letting the tang of rain-soaked soil fill her lungs.

She heaved a sigh of relief, because she wasn't going back to the world she knew nothing about.

But the moment she caught her reflection in a nearby pool of water, her stomach twisted.

Her eyes—once bright and human—now gleamed like molten gold, almost luminescent in the dim light.

Her skin was pale, nearly translucent, and her lips… stained with the faint memory of blood she had not consciously sought but could still taste. Her heartbeat was slow. Too slow.

And somewhere deep inside her, a hunger—alien and relentless—burned hotter than any flame.

She had no thought or emotion. She was too occupied to remember anyone yet, but she wouldn't forget about the old lady.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, willing it away, but the sensation only deepened. The sound of a bird’s wings slicing the air above made her head snap upward instantly. She could hear its heartbeat. She could smell its blood.

Panic and instinct tangled inside her. Without thinking, she melted into the shadows of the forest, her movements too fluid, too silent. Every tree, every leaf, every scurrying creature seemed sharper now—more alive—yet every whisper of human breath in the far distance made her jaw tighten with an urge she didn’t dare acknowledge.

She couldn’t be seen. Not like this. Not until she understood what she had become.

—

Far away, in the dim glow of candlelight, Elira stood alone in her chamber. Shadows clung to the walls, dancing with the flicker of the flames. In her palm lay a small crystal, smooth and cold, within which a faint red glow pulsed like a living heartbeat.

Her fingers curled around it slowly. She could feel it—Aria’s essence, altered and unstable, like a song played in the wrong key.

A slow smile spread across her lips. “She’s changed,” Elira whispered to the silence. Her voice carried a note of satisfaction… and something darker. “Exactly as I thought she would,” she said.

“She is the one. Time to unleash chaos,” she laughed hysterically.

The crystal’s glow brightened, reflec

ting in her eyes.

And at last, she had the confirmation she’d been waiting for.