Chapter 78

{Ryanna POV}

I didn’t cry.

Not when I picked up the dagger. Not when my fingers shook around the hilt. Not even when I pressed the blade gently against the soft flesh of my neck.

There was only silence.

And a single bead of blood.

It rolled down slowly, tracing the hollow curve of my throat.

My hand trembled, but the blade stayed still.

I could feel my pulse, steady, stubborn, alive. The same pulse that had defied multiple life-or-death scenes before.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

I was still alive.

Even after everything.

Even after Aurelius's attempts. After nature's cruelty.

After… after Casper.

After my whole world stopped moving and left me behind.

I clenched the dagger harder, breath catching, but I couldn’t press it any deeper.

Couldn’t follow through.

My body just… wouldn’t.

My knees suddenly became weak as I hit the floor, still holding the dagger. My breath was ragged.

And then I fell into the sweet embrace of sleep.

×××

The air hit me first.

It was a familiar fragrance.

Immediately I opened my eyes, and I knew exactly where I was.

The Wilds.

How could I be back in the wilds when I was just in the…

That dream.

Again.

I groaned. “No, no. Not this again…”

Everything around me was exactly as it had always been in this loop.

Unlike the last one, this one used a familiar place.

A place I used to love, now played back in my subconscious like some cruel joke.

I might’ve forgotten it for some reason… but my dread of it never reduced in intensity…

But now, I wasn’t so sure.

If I meant to die just now… why was I still fighting?

Maybe I had done it.

Maybe this wasn’t a dream anymore.

Maybe this was whatever came after.

I floated forward, more like a ghost. People walked past me, talking, laughing, moving as if nothing was wrong. Familiar faces. Familiar sounds.

All things I’d seen before, countless times.

But this time felt different.

The colors were clearer. The wind had weight. The soil held firm under my bare feet.

My skin tingled.

My breath fogged the air.

This wasn’t just a memory.

It felt more real than reality itself.

And then I saw it.

The hut.

My steps faltered on sight. My throat dried up.

Tyrion’s hut.

Same as always. Slanted roof. A little curl of smoke climbing from the makeshift. The familiar scent of his herbs and mixes overwhelmed me.

My feet wouldn’t move.

A montage made of the sweetest poison flooded my mind, as I relived every moment that led up to…

And then the door creaked open.

Tyrion stepped out, squinting toward the light.

He glanced around, slowly. His eyes skimmed across the trees… and landed right on me.

He wrinkled his brow.

He turned and stepped back inside without saying a word.

I blinked.

Was he ignoring me?

Could he see me?

Or was this just another memory caught in my head?

I stared at the door, almost afraid it would disappear.

Then it creaked open again.

Tyrion leaned out, eyes slightly amused.

“Well? Don't stand out there like a ghost, Ryanna, or are you waiting for me to invite you in?”

My heart skipped as I ran towards him.

Exactly as it always had. The warmth welcomed me in, tugging at memories I hadn’t touched in years.

Even the shelves were just as he left them.

Books stacked sideways. Trinkets hanging from the ceiling like he'd forgotten them there. Small maps and other things were scattered across the table.

But it didn’t feel like a memory.

It felt real.

Tyrion moved with purpose. He didn’t feel like a figment of my imagination, this felt like the Tyrion I had always known.

He was here.

He went to the stove, and poured water into two mugs, then dropped a few leaves into each. The aroma was rich, heavenly.

He handed one to me. “You still take it without honey?”

I nodded before I even realized I had.

He sipped, slow, and exhaled with a small smile. “It’s been a long time, Ryanna.”

I wrapped both hands around the mug, too stunned to drink. “What… is this? Why are you here?”

He didn’t answer right away.

He looked at me with eyes softer than I remembered. “The real question is… why are you here so soon?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

His head tilted slightly. “You made it here before your son.”

I froze.

My eyes widened, almost couldn't breathe.

‘No… it couldn't be.’

“W—what are you saying?”

Tyrion smiled gently. “Relax, you're not dead… but that feeling. Hold on to it.”

He said that to scare me. Classic Tyrion.

My fingers wrapped tightly around the mug. It felt too hot all of a sudden.

“Casper… he’s dying. He’s not moving. He’s not responding to anything. I don’t have anything left.”

He nodded slowly. “Which is exactly why you came here. You were looking for an end.”

I lowered my gaze.

The words settled heavily in the room, but especially on me.

“But that’s not why you stayed,” he added, reaching out and placing a hand over mine.

“You could’ve gone through with it. You had the blade in your hand. But you passed out before it touched deep enough. Maybe part of you isn’t ready to leave him.”

“I don’t know how to fight for him anymore,” I whispered. “He’s the reason I ever fought for anything.”

Tyrion sipped his tea again, calm as ever.

Then he asked, “Do you remember when you almost gave him up?”

My breath caught.

He nodded.

I swallowed hard. “I was scared. He was Aurelius’s son. I didn’t want to carry his blood inside me.”

“And yet you did. And look at what he became,” He said, gently.

I laughed. Bitter. “He became a corpse.”

“No,” Tyrion said firmly.

“He became yours. And you loved him so much that losing him nearly broke you in half.”

I stared into the tea as steam curled up slowly.

“Did you ever think, back then, that you’d love him this much?”

I shook my head.

His smile came back, faint.

“Good.”

The room quieted again.

Then, his voice dropped low. “Casper is alive.”

My head shot up.

“You’re sure?” I asked, desperate.

He didn’t answer. Just smiled again, sipping his tea.

“I know.”

But something inside me shifted.

Not certain. But… warmth. A seed.

Reassurance.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded.

But then his smile faded. A shadow passed over his face.

“What is it?” I asked, watching his expression change.

“There is nothing else to say,” he murmured.

I opened my mouth, confused.

But he was already standing, dropping his mug down with a soft clink.

“Someone else is waiting for you.”