Chapter 96 Rubbish

Chapter 96 Rubbish
 Amara POV
 Azriel.
 The name settles strangely in my mind, brushing against something old enough to ache.
 Not familiar exactly.
 Just heavy.
 Like a word buried beneath centuries of dust finally being spoken aloud again.
 The old man watches me from across the fire with quiet patience, silver brows lifting slightly when I remain standing near the doorway instead of answering immediately. Flames crackle softly inside the hearth beside him, painting warm gold across shelves overflowing with ancient books and loose parchment while the rest of the room drowns in shadows too thick for such a small space.
 “Well,” he says after a moment, voice threaded with amusement, “are you simply going to stand there looking confused, or will you join me for tea?”
 I glance back toward the corridor instinctively.
 No Sebastian.
 No guards.
 No footsteps echoing through the stairwell.
 Part of me expected him to follow anyway despite what happened in the yard. Another part feels strangely relieved he did not.
 I thought killing the witch would make the nightmares stop.
 Instead it feels as though I cracked something open.
 “I have some spare time,” I reply carefully, stepping farther into the room. “A cup of tea sounds delightful.”
 A small smirk tugs at the old man’s mouth.
 “Delightful,” he repeats softly. “It is not every day one gets to enjoy tea with the hybrid Queen.”
 Something about the way he says hybrid unsettles me immediately.
 He gestures toward the chair across from him while reaching for a small iron kettle resting near the fire. His hands tremble faintly as he pours dark amber liquid into two delicate cups that look far too expensive for a forgotten room hidden beneath the castle.
 The scent drifting upward smells unfamiliar.
 Sweet at first.
 Then sharp beneath it.
 Like crushed flowers left too long in winter frost.
 I sit slowly without removing my gaze from him.
 “You know who I am.” I say.
 Azriel chuckles quietly.
 “My dear girl, everyone knows who you are now.”
 “That is not what I meant.”
 “No,” he agrees. “It is not.”
 The fire pops softly between us.
 For a moment neither of us speaks.
 Then he slides one of the cups toward me.
 “You can shadow walk,” he says casually, as though discussing weather. “And you see memories that do not belong to you.”
 Ice slips instantly down my spine.
 My fingers still against the porcelain cup.
 “How do you know that?”
 “Because,” Azriel says gently, “not only do people talk.. but those abilities have not existed naturally in thousands of years.”
 The room suddenly feels smaller.
 The candle flames flicker strangely along the walls, stretching shadows into long twisting shapes before settling again.
 I stare at him carefully.
 “You knew the witch.”
 “I knew many witches.”
 Not an answer.
 He smiles faintly over the rim of his tea.
 “You are wondering whether to run.”
 “I’m wondering whether I should kill you.”
 That earns an honest laugh from him.
 Not offended.
 Almost delighted.
 “Now that,” he murmurs, “sounds exactly like her.”
 My stomach tightens.
 “Like who?”
 For the first time since entering the room, something shifts in Azriel’s expression.
 Is that.. sadness?
 He seems as if he’s thinking back.. memories.
 “The first queen.”
 Silence settles heavily between us.
 The fire crackles softly while distant wind groans somewhere deep within the old foundations beneath the castle.
 I lean forward slightly.
 “There was no first queen.”
 “There was.”
 His dark eyes meet mine fully then, ancient enough to feel endless.
 “And you carry her blood.”
 The air in the room changes.
 I feel it instantly.
 Pressure gathering invisibly beneath my skin while the strange crawling sensation haunting me for days suddenly sharpens into awareness. Magic hums faintly through the stone beneath my feet, old and restless and listening.
 Azriel sets his tea aside carefully.
 “You have questions,” he says. “I imagine quite a few.”
 “You said abilities like mine do not exist naturally anymore.”
 “They do not.”
 “Then explain.”
 He studies me for a long moment before exhaling softly.
 “I suppose honesty is long overdue.”
 The candlelight dims.
 Not fully.
 Just enough for shadows to deepen around the edges of the room.
 “I am him. He is me. The first king.”
 The words hit harder than I expect.
 For half a second I genuinely think I misheard him.
 Then cold spreads sharply through my chest.
 “No.”
 Azriel nods once.
 “Yes.”
 “The prophecy says you died centuries ago. And if brought back you’d bring upon the end.”
 “Prophecies,” he mutters dryly, “are usually written by frightened people with dramatic imaginations.”
 I rise from the chair immediately.
 Power prickles violently beneath my skin.
 Every instinct screams at me to leave.
 To run.
 Yet Azriel remains seated calmly beside the fire like an old scholar discussing history rather than confessing to being the most feared figure ever whispered about in supernatural legend.
 “You’re lying.”
 “If I wished to lie,” he says softly, “I would have chosen something less theatrical.”
 “You started the war between species.”
 “No.”
 The single word lands hard enough to silence me.
 Azriel’s gaze sharpens slightly.
 “I ended one.”
 The room falls deathly quiet.
 “The covens rewrote history after imprisoning me,” he continues. “It is easier to call a man monstrous than admit why people feared him.”
 My pulse pounds unevenly.
 “The witches sealed you away.”
 “They did.”
 “Why?”
 A shadow crosses his face then.
 Old anger.
 Ancient enough to feel carved from stone.
 “Because unity threatens those who profit from division.”
 His fingers tap once lightly against the arm of his chair.
 “For thousands of years the kingdoms existed under one throne. Fae, vampires, Lycans, witches, wolves. Different peoples. Different customs. One realm.”
 I stare at him.
 “That’s impossible.”
 “It was peace.”
 “Then what happened?”
 “The same thing that always happens.” His voice softens dangerously. “Power became selfish.”
 The fire flares suddenly higher.
 Golden light rushes violently across the room before settling again.
 Azriel barely reacts.
 “The covens feared losing influence beneath one ruler. Certain Lycan lords wanted dominion over wolves. Vampire houses wished to expand beyond their borders. Fae courts despised answering to anyone they considered mortal.” His eyes lift toward mine again. “So they fractured the realm deliberately.”
 A chill crawls across my skin.
 “The prophecy..”
 “Was written after my imprisonment.”
 His expression hardens faintly.
 “I was not meant to return.”
 My mouth feels dry.
 “But you did.”
 “No,” he says quietly. “You brought me back.”
 The words strike like ice water.
 My breath catches.
 “The witch,” I whisper.
 Azriel nods slowly.
 “She carried the final seal.”
 The room tilts unpleasantly for half a heartbeat.
 “When you killed her,” he says, “the prison collapsed.”
 Silence crashes between us.
 Every memory from that ritual slams violently back into me.
 The blood.
 The screaming magic.
 The feeling of something tearing open beneath reality itself.
 “Oh Goddess,” I breathe.
 Azriel watches me carefully.
 “You thought something followed you back.”
 Fear coils sharply through my stomach.
 “You felt it too.”
 “My dear child,” he murmurs gently, “that was not something following you.”
 His dark eyes lock onto mine fully.
 “It was me waking up.”
 Cold floods every inch of my body.
 I should leave.
 I should call Sebastian.
 Instead the question escapes before I can stop it.
 “Why come here?”
 Something unexpectedly soft enters his expression then.
 Not manipulation.
 Not cruelty.
 Pride.
 “To meet my great, great, great, great grand-daughter..”
 I freeze.
 “You’re an insane old man. Senile.”
 A quiet chuckle escapes him.
 “Possibly. Immortality tends to loosen a few screws eventually.”
 “I’m serious.”
 “So am I.”
 He rises slowly from the chair, movements careful but steady despite his age.
 “You believe yourself wolf and vampire because those bloodlines remained strongest.” He steps closer into the firelight. “But your lineage stretches much farther than that.”
 I stare at him silently.
 “You carry witch blood,” he says. “Fae blood. Lycan blood. Vampire blood.” His gaze sharpens. “Royal blood from every kingdom.”
 “That’s impossible.”
 “It is merely old. But long ago, we were allowed to mate with other species without consequence. But everyone feared it would create something dark and dangerous eventually. There were many cross species beings. But none of them had both traits. Only ever one. Why do you think it’s no longer allowed?”
 My thoughts spin violently.
 “No,” I whisper. “No, the others would know.”
 “The lines diluted over centuries. Hidden intentionally after the kingdoms fractured.” Azriel tilts his head slightly. “But power remembers itself eventually.”
 The room suddenly feels too warm.
 Too small.
 “You’re saying..”
 “I am saying,” he interrupts gently, “you’re the first true hybrid. Or quadbrid.. that by blood right, you should rule every kingdom.”
 A startled laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
 “You cannot seriously believe that.”
 “I do.”
 “The kingdoms would tear each other apart before accepting one ruler.”
 “They already tear each other apart now.”
 His voice remains calm.
 Certain.
 “You think this world is stable because you were born into its chaos. It is not.” He steps closer slowly. “Every species fears the others. Every border drips blood eventually.”
 “That doesn’t mean I should become queen of everything.”
 “No,” Azriel agrees softly. “Blood rank does not just vanish. My laws of the gods and the rank of your bloodline bestowed to you by said gods.. It means you already are.”
 The fire crackles sharply.
 Outside the chamber walls, distant thunder rumbles somewhere deep beneath the mountain sky.
 I shake my head slowly.
 “The prophecy said you would bring the end with me.”
 Azriel smiles then.
 Not cruelly.
 Almost sadly.
 “Rubbish,” he says.
 The word sounds strange wrapped in ancient power.
 “I only intended to end those who fought against the true nature of things.” His gaze burns strangely bright in the firelight now. “Unison. One ruler above every species.”
 A chill crawls through me as his voice lowers.
 “The way it used to be. The way the gods intended.”