Chapter 42 Get. Lost

Chapter 42 Get. Lost
🌜 Seraphina🌛

The expression on Elias's face was one carved from stone. His brows drew together, not in confusion but in that quiet, simmering fury he wore when the world shifted too abruptly for his liking. His eyes were fixed ahead, cold, narrowed, calculating the chaos unfolding in the village as though he could pull it apart with sheer will.

I’d seen Elias angry before — at me, at fate, at the road we’d been forced to take.

But this…

This was a different kind of anger.

Controlled. Contained. Waiting. And waiting to unleash…on me? I'd forced him to take the simple way. Would he put the blame on me again? Elias has always been ridiculous with his thinking. He'd say if we didn't time travel, this might not have happened. This might have passed before we got here.

Should I move over to explain to him that what's meant to happen is going to have to happen no matter what?

Before I could speak, the elderly woman stepped forward, her voice surprisingly firm despite her frail appearance. They'd known this, haven't they?

“All of you,” she said to her family, “go inside. Help the men pack what they can.”

Liora nodded and ushered the children in. Garin followed silently. And his frame told me he wasn't hesitating to leave. Even if they know, there should be some reluctance of some sort. This is all weird and it's making my heart race faster. The woman turned to us briefly, her gaze softening for just a breath.

“It will be all right,” she whispered.

We entered the house, and the door closed behind us with a dull thud that felt too final. I'd be hearing this same sound again when Elias leaves.

The moment we were inside, Elias’s hand shot out in a way I didn't see coming. His fingers closed around my wrist. Not harshly — Elias never touched me harshly — but firmly, with urgency.

“Come,” he muttered, dragging me toward the room.

Before we reached the hallway, the elderly woman’s voice cut through the air again, stopping us in our tracks.

“Young ones,” she said, her tone no longer gentle but sharp, commanding, “instead of wasting time arguing about how things are turning out, you should focus on finding a permanent solution.”

A permanent solution.

The words hit like a thrown stone. What's a permanent solution? A permanent solution to this predicament that was meant to happen? How can I go about it in this strange land that knows of my existence even before I was born. That knew I'd be here even before I had any idea of the land called the Still City?

She stepped closer, lowering her voice as though she feared the walls themselves might betray her.
“In a short while, the king’s enforcers will arrive. They will take the males away. If you do not create your way out… no one will create it for you.”

My heart dropped. She was giving me a way, I know that, she was giving me a lane to walk on,but my head was stuffed with thought and blockage that prevents me from getting her.

Elias’s grip on my wrist tightened, but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he yanked me away again, heading straight for the room with strides far too long and far too angry.

Wouldn't this angried action of Elias leave off a bad impression on the people who had given us a roof? Elias didn't think about that and I get why he's angry.

He shut the door behind us and turned on me, chest rising and falling with barely controlled rage.

“Seraphina—”

But I didn’t let him get any further.

“Stop.”

I stepped into him — close, too close — until only a foot of air lived between us. Elias froze, as if shocked I’d move toward his anger instead of away from it.

“I know,” I whispered.

The room felt smaller suddenly. His breath brushed my forehead. My heart hammered, traitorously loud.

“I know,” I repeated, raising my hand and pressing my fingertip to his lips before he could speak again. “So don’t criticize me. Not right now. Please.”

His eyes flickered — anger to confusion to something unreadable.

“I will come up with a plan.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
He just stared down at me, his breath steady but sharp, like he was fighting every instinct he had.

Then, slowly, he turned his face away from my touch.

His hand came up — not to hold mine, but to gently push it back.

As if he couldn’t bear it.

Or couldn’t trust himself.

He took a step back. Looked anywhere but at me.
And without a word, he turned and walked toward the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And I was left alone in the room, staring at the space where he’d stood. I didn't know what to make of the tension just now, he'd let me have the moment like I wished. That was so rare of Elias.

While Elias bathed, the room was quiet. Just the level I want it to be.

I moved to the chest, lifting out clothes one by one and folded them into a small bundle. My hands worked, but my mind drifted far from the walls around me.

We needed to stay together.

The ritual required it — every part of it had to begin with unity, proximity, and timing.
But how were we supposed to do that when the king wanted males and females separated into different houses?

That was such a ridiculous rule to be made. Who is the damn king? He needs a brain reset.

My heartbeat thudded harder with each thought.

We can’t start the ritual apart. We can’t end the loop apart. Every rule screamed the same thing: together, always.

And then there were the town crier’s words. His voice echoed in my memory like a warning bell:

A consort… and a sacrifice.

Why?

What kind of king sought a sacrifice? What did he intend to gain? What magic required blood — specifically a woman’s blood? Why is the sacrifice the same time he needed a Consort? Why is their king being weird?

My skin chilled. I wasn't a female of this land, so I should avoid their rules in whatever way.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the bathroom door open.

Elias stood there.

Fully dressed.

But his brows… they were pulled down so tightly, so deeply, like frustration had carved lines into his face I had never seen before.

My breath caught.

“What—” I started, but he cut the air with a look.

I swallowed and reached for the lamp, wanting to place it in his bag — at least that part of our burden could be shared.

I had magic I could use on my own and he should have the lamp he can call on anytime.

But his voice dropped down on me like a blade.

“Drop that,” he snapped. “I have nothing to do with the lamp.”

I froze.

He didn’t stop.

“I’m done carrying that thing around. I’m done with all this stupid Fae nonsense. Your people and their twisted magic — nothing ever ends well.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

Like he had taken something invisible inside me and crushed it with his bare hands.

I didn’t speak at first. I barely breathe.

Instead, I stared at him and silently asked myself why I thought… even for a moment… that he and I were on the same side.

Why I felt sympathy.
Why I believed we could be a team.

Foolish.

The word echoed in my chest.

He had already turned away when I found my voice — harsh and sharp from the hurt I had swallowed.

“Get lost,” I snapped. “Truly. I must have been stupid to think I could work beside you.”

Elias turned to me slowly, confusion flickering across his expression — like he didn’t understand where my anger was coming from.

But that only made it better. I don't want to be understood by him. The more he knows about us, the less he thinks of us. Why must I always be his anger target? I won't take this…not today of all days.

“You don’t get it?” I pushed. “You insult me, insult my people, the very magic that’s trapped us here — and you still expect me to stand beside you? To not feel anything?”

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing, and we were seconds from another explosion when—

“Elias,” Garin’s voice called from outside the room, tense and urgent. “It’s time to go.”

My hands shook as I grabbed the folded bundle — the small cloth bag locals carried — and marched toward him.

“Here,” I hissed.

I slammed it against his chest.

“Get. Lost.”

His eyes widened a fraction — at my fury, or the hurt beneath it, I didn’t know. And I didn’t care.

I turned away before he could speak, before he could soften, before he could harden again.

And I left him standing there with the bag still pressed against his chest.

I had thought Elias would be remorseful and find a way to appease me,but his arrogance got the better of him again.

Elias scoffed — sharp, disbelieving, almost mocking.

Then his footsteps hit the floorboards, hard and quick.
One step.
Another.
Each one louder, angrier.

And then—

SLAM.