Chapter 133 Empty dark pit
Ira's POV
The brush moves through my hair in careful strokes, each pass tugging gently at my scalp until the sensation softens into something almost soothing.
The teenagers from yesterday stand on either side of me, their hands steady. Laughter drifts easily between them, sounding light and unforced, filling the quiet room with a warmth I did not expect to feel here.
“Your hair is the most beautiful we have ever seen,” the girl says, her voice laced with honest wonder. “It shines like it's made of pretty jewels.”
The boy nods quickly. “And it feels alive too,” he adds. “We are lucky to even touch it.” He smiles gentler.
I lift my hands without thinking, gathering the strands to tie them back, needing the comfort of hiding them in a way. But before I can, the girl gently closes her fingers around my wrist.
“Please don't,” she says, her tone soft but firm. “We were taught that a sempyr’s power rests in how their hair moves. If you bind it, you might quiet your ability.”
“And if you cut it, your power will fade.” The boy adds sadly.
I hesitate, then slowly lower my hands. The strands falls freely over my shoulders again, heavier now that I am aware of it.
Happily they return to their work, their giggles slipping back into place as though nothing had interrupted them.
“You know, everyone thought Sir Bukasvad was being foolish,” the boy says after a moment, his brush moving in an even rhythm. “He kept saying there was another sempyr somewhere out there. No one believed him. They said he was chasing something that did not exist.”
The girl leans closer, “But he never stopped searching, not once. He talked about you all the time, even when people laughed. He claims he's your guardian."
I swallow, my throat tightening.
“I think you mean a lot to him,” she adds.
Her words settle over me.
“At first, people thought you were his linker,” the boy says.
“Linker?” I repeat, the unfamiliar word sounding strange.
The girl nods slowly. “It’s like a mate, but deeper in some ways. We are not complete without our linker. That bond fills the emptiness inside us. It makes everything feel whole.”
“But you are not…” the boy begins, then stops abruptly when a sharp knock cuts through the room.
Bukasvad steps inside, his gaze finding me immediately. “Hey,” he mutters with searching eyes. “How are you feeling?”
I straighten slightly. “Okay,” I say, the lie sitting heavy on my tongue.
Bukasvad doesn't seem to buy it but he lets it go.
“The council would like to see you now. They have been waiting to welcome you properly.” he says, nodding at the children who let out defeated sighs before releasing my hair.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. Their chat had taken my thoughts off Ruel for a while.
They grin, waving as I follow Bukasvad into the corridor.
Our footsteps fall into an easy rhythm, but my thoughts do not. That familiar pull returns, quiet but persistent, tugging at something deep within me.
It leads back to him, to the memory of his deep groan when I'd hurt him, the disbelief in his eyes. He betrayed me, why did he look like he didn't expect me to retaliate?
I push the thought away, forcing my focus forward.
The council hall is already occupied. Four women and three men sit in a wide semicircle, their posture composed, their attention fixed on me from the moment I enter.
The women wear dark flowing robes marked with intricate symbols, while the men carry a stillness that speaks of long years and heavy decisions.
The only one among them with pure black eyes leans forward slightly. “We may soon face war again,” she says without hesitation. “Tensions are rising, and the werewolves are drawing near. If you choose to remain with us, you must begin training immediately.”
The others nod in agreement.
“Your presence brings hope, but hope alone will not protect anyone. The power in your blood must be awakened.” A man says.
The blue-haired woman stands and offers me a thick, leather-bound book. “This was written by your ancestors,” she says. “It contains what they learned, how they fought, how they survived. Study it carefully, it may be of help.”
I take the book, my fingers brushing over the worn surface.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I will do my best.”
They exchange measured looks before dismissing me, their expressions a mix of approval and a quiet doubt I very well recognize.
Outside, the training grounds stretch wide and alive with movement. Energy hums through the air as several people move in pairs, their motions fluid and precise.
Flames of blue and green arc through the sky, and bodies rise into the air with a grace that feels almost unreal.
I watch, stunned. If this is what we are capable of, how were so many of us ever defeated?
Bukasvad leads me to an open space. “We will begin with the basics,” he says gently. “There is no need to rush. And… I thought they were going to be nicer to you in there but… Let's just train.”
I nod, trying to steady myself, not quite understanding how much nicer they should be. They gave me a room and food… that's the most I've ever gotten from strangers in my life.
“Breathe deeply,” he instructs. “Draw energy from the ground through your body. Let it gather, then guide it outward.”
I follow his words, concentrating until my head aches.
But nothing happens.
I try again,
and again…
But each attempt ends in the same empty stillness.
My body feels heavy and unresponsive, as though whatever power I’m meant to hold is locked far beyond my reach.
That's when I hear the voices from across the field.
“So much for being a sempyr.” A guy snorts.
“She is practically useless.”
“She should have stayed gone.”
Heat floods my face as shame overwhelms me, and immediately the effort drains from my body.
Without a word, I turn away, walking quickly across the grass, unable to keep trying under the weight of their harsh judgment.
“Ira, wait.” Bukasvad catches up to me. “What is wrong?”
I spin to face him, anger rising too fast to contain. “Don’t act like you didn’t hear them.”
“Hear what?” He frowns.
“They called me useless,” I say, my voice shaking. “And they are not wrong. I can't do what everyone somehow expects me to be able to.”
He studies me, confusion clear on his face. “How did you hear them from that distance?”
I hesitate, frowning at the odd question.
But his expression shifts almost immediately. “Of course,” he murmurs. “Your werewolf side.”
The realization settles heavily, but it does nothing to ease the hurt still burning inside me.
“It is a relief,” a maid says, passing by with her friend. “The commander will be executed for treason.”
“I hope he suffers a painful death,” the other replies lightly.
My steps falter as my heart sinks, the world around me narrowing to an empty dark pit.