Chapter 138 Making Love in Silverwood

Chapter 138 Making Love in Silverwood
Silverwood Forest had never changed.
The trees reached high into the sky, their leaves whispering as the wind brushed past them. The silver lake still faithfully reflected the moonlight, as if time itself did not dare to scratch a wound upon its surface. The air here was cold, but not piercing—it felt like an embrace that had not been felt for a very long time.
Lyla stood at the edge of the lake, in the same spot where she had first met Lysander. In the same place where she had nearly drowned, where she had nearly died, where she had been reborn as something she never imagined.
She came here alone. Without Mordred. Without Lysander. Without an army, without guards, without anyone.
Initially, she only wanted to walk, to breathe, to try and calm her chaotic mind. But her feet had led her here. To the place where everything began. To the place where she was discarded by her mother—not because she was evil, but because she was unwanted. Because Linda had chosen a stepchild over her own flesh and blood.
Lyla remembered that night. The night the car stopped at the edge of the forest. The night Linda patted her shoulder gently and said in a flat voice, "Get out." Lyla still remembered her confusion. She remembered the foolish question she had asked, "Where are we going, Mom?" and Linda simply replied, "You’re not coming. Get out."
The little girl had stepped out. She stood by the roadside, watching the car speed away, leaving her behind. There were no tears then. Only confusion. Only a fear that froze her entire body. Only the realization that her mother did not want her. That she was alone in the world.
Lyla’s tears fell.
Not because she couldn't hold them back, but because she was tired of holding on. She let the tears flow, wetting her cheeks, dripping onto the earth, the grass, and the calm lake water. She did not sob. She did not scream. She simply stood still, staring at her own reflection on the lake's surface, crying in the deepest silence.
But she did not want to dissolve. She did not want to sink into a sadness that would paralyze her. She had drowned too often already. Now, she wanted to swim. Or at least, to float.
With trembling hands, she removed her cloak. The thick fabric fell to the ground, settling into the damp grass. Then her shawl. Then her blouse. Then the long skirt that restricted her movement. One by one, she stripped away every barrier between herself and nature. She let the cold air touch her skin. She let the night wind caress her hair. She let nature see her naked—not with lust, but with acceptance.
Lyla stepped into the lake.
The water was cold—bitterly cold—but she did not shiver. She let the chill creep over her skin, freezing the pain she had suppressed for so long. She walked deeper until the water reached her waist, then her chest, then her shoulders.
She closed her eyes.
In the silence, she heard only her own heartbeat. Thump... thump... thump... A steady rhythm, reminding her that she was still alive. Still breathing. Still able to choose.
But suddenly, that beat changed.
It wasn't faster or slower. It echoed. It was as if another heartbeat was merging with hers, creating a harmony she did not recognize. Lyla opened her eyes, but what she saw was not Silverwood lake. Not the trees. Not the moonlight.
She saw herself.
Lyla stood in a room she did not recognize—the walls were made of black stone, the floors of cold marble, and in the center of the room, there was a large bed with red silk curtains. On that bed, Lyla—the other Lyla—lay on her back, her hair spread across the pillows, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted in a sigh.
And above her, there was a man.
Lyla could not see his face. The figure was merely a shadow—pitch black, without a clear form, without features. But his movements... his movements were fierce. Brutal. Full of uncontrollable lust. He kissed the other Lyla’s neck, biting, leaving marks. His hands kneaded, gripped, and explored every curve of her body without mercy.
And the other Lyla... responded.
Not with resistance, but with sighs. With moans. With hands wrapped around the shadow's neck, pulling him closer, burying her face in his chest. Her body arched, moving to a wild, primitive rhythm that made the Lyla watching feel nauseous.
"No..." Lyla whispered, taking a step back. "That isn't me. I would never—"
But on that bed, the other Lyla laughed. A soft, raspy laugh full of satisfaction. Her eyes opened wide, and for a moment, those eyes stared directly at Lyla—piercing through dimensions, through space and time—and said, "This is you, Lyla. This is what you want. You’re just not brave enough to admit it."
Lyla hated the Lyla she saw.
Not because she was evil. But because in that other Lyla’s face, she saw her own vulnerability. She saw the desires she had suppressed, buried, and hidden behind the mask of a perfect queen. She saw her true self—the one she never allowed to come out.
She ran.
She didn't know where, she didn't know how; she just had to get away. Away from that room. Away from the shadow. Away from the other Lyla who continued to watch her with a triumphant smile.
When she opened her eyes, she was back in Silverwood lake. The cold water still drenched her body. The night wind still blew gently. And in the distance, a shadow stood at the edge of the lake—not Mordred, not Lysander, but something older, darker, more dangerous.
"I see what you saw," the shadow whispered. "The question is... what will you do after this?"
Lyla did not answer. She simply stood in the water, naked, cold, and profoundly lonely. In her heart, a single question spun relentlessly: Did she truly know herself? Or had she merely been a shadow of what others wanted her to be?
That night, Lyla did not return to the Shadow Palace. She did not return to Atheria. She simply sat at the edge of the lake, hugging her knees, and stared at the stars that could not answer her questions.
And in the distance, Mordred smiled. He didn't need to be physically present. He had already planted the seed. And the seed was beginning to grow.