Chapter 40 Connections Of The Heart
Fernanda sighed as she dropped the book she was reading on the table with a slight slam. Frustration had been eating away at her all morning, gnawing at her patience until it felt raw. The pages before her were filled with elegant scripts and ancient illustrations, stories of moonlit rituals, celestial alignments, and a faceless figure referred to only as the Catalyst. She had read the same paragraphs over and over again, yet the words refused to settle into meaning.
She rose from the chair and began pacing the length of the room, bare feet brushing against the cold stone floor. The chamber was too quiet, too controlled. Everything about her confinement was polished and intentional, from the neatly stacked books to the single narrow window that let in a shaft of pale light. Damon had thought of everything. Everything except how suffocating it felt to be trapped with nothing but unanswered questions.
“This is pointless,” Fernanda muttered, stopping abruptly and turning toward the door. “Absolutely pointless.”
As if summoned by her irritation, the door opened and Damon stepped in, calm and composed as ever. He took one look at the abandoned book and sighed softly.
“You are progressing faster than most,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Halfway through the First Prophecy is no small feat.”
Fernanda let out a humorless laugh. “And yet I am no closer to understanding anything. Damon, I am tired of reading about the Catalyst as if she is some distant legend. If I am truly her, then why does none of this make sense to me?”
Damon approached the table and picked up the book she had dropped, flipping through its pages with careful fingers. “Knowledge does not always arrive with clarity,” he replied. “Sometimes it comes as confusion first.”
She shook her head, anger flaring in her chest. “No. You said these books would help me understand who I am. But all I see are stories, myths, metaphors. I want real evidence. Something tangible. If I am the Catalyst, then prove it to me. Otherwise, you are wasting my time.”
Damon’s expression did not harden, but something deeper flickered in his eyes. Concern, perhaps, or restraint. He placed the book back on the table and met her gaze.
“You are asking for certainty where faith is required,” he said quietly.
Fernanda scoffed. “Faith is easy when you are not the one locked in a room, being told your entire existence revolves around a prophecy you never asked for.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I know you are angry,” Damon said at last. “And you have every right to be. But impatience will not awaken what lies dormant within you.”
Fernanda folded her arms. “Then tell me what will.”
He studied her carefully, as though weighing how much truth she could bear. “Your powers will reveal themselves when you truly believe you are the Catalyst.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “That is your answer? Believe harder?”
“It is not that simple,” Damon said, his voice firm now. “The power you carry is not like the elemental magic of the Lycans or the shadows my Order commands. It is bound to emotion, to conviction. It requires a heightened state of feeling. Love powerful enough to shatter fear. Anger fierce enough to burn away doubt. Even grief, if it is deep enough.”
Fernanda’s breath caught. “You are telling me that I need to suffer before anything happens.”
“I am telling you that you need to feel,” Damon replied gently. “Truly feel. You have spent so long protecting your heart, Fernanda, even from yourself. The Catalyst cannot exist behind walls.”
She turned away, blinking rapidly. His words struck too close, peeling back layers she had carefully built over years.
“You are not broken,” Damon continued. “You are not ordinary. You were chosen because you can change Lunareth in ways no one else can. But first, you must accept that this destiny is yours.”
She swallowed hard. “And if I cannot?”
Damon hesitated. “Then the world will continue toward ruin, and you will remain here, safe but unfulfilled.”
The word safe tasted bitter in her mouth.
Damon shifted, then spoke again, his tone softer. “Sebastian is searching for you.”
Her heart skipped violently, the reaction immediate and uncontrollable.
“What?” she whispered.
“He has not stopped,” Damon said. “He has crossed borders, challenged kingdoms, and unsettled forces that have remained hidden for centuries. He believes you are alive.”
Fernanda pressed a hand to her chest as if to steady her heart. Images flooded her mind. Sebastian’s stern gaze. His commanding presence. The rare moments when his guard slipped and she caught glimpses of something tender beneath the armor.
Her husband.
Despite everything. Despite her anger, her fear, her desperate need to escape him, she missed him. The realization struck her with painful clarity, and tears welled in her eyes.
“I wanted to hate him,” she said shakily. “I told myself leaving was the only way to breathe. But now all I want is to see him again.”
Damon watched her closely. “That longing you feel is not weakness.”
Fernanda turned on him sharply. “Then let me go.”
His expression hardened, just slightly. “I cannot.”
Her chest tightened. “You said he is looking for me. If he finds this place…”
“I will not allow that,” Damon interrupted. “Not until you understand your purpose. If keeping you away from Sebastian is what it takes, then so be it.”
Her eyes widened. “You would separate us deliberately?”
“Yes,” Damon said without hesitation. “Because if he reaches you before you awaken, you will cling to him for safety. And the Catalyst cannot be sheltered. She must stand on her own.”
Tears spilled freely now, sliding down Fernanda’s cheeks. “You do not get to decide what I need.”
Damon’s voice softened again. “I am trying to save you from a fate far worse than heartbreak.”
She laughed bitterly through her tears. “You are already breaking my heart.”
Damon held her gaze for a long moment, then turned toward the door. “Rest,” he said quietly. “Feel what you need to feel. It will come.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Fernanda alone.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her body. Guilt weighed heavily on her chest. Guilt for running. Guilt for hurting Sebastian. Guilt for being too afraid to face what she was meant to be.
“I am sorry,” she whispered into the empty room, unsure who she was apologizing to. Herself. Sebastian. The goddess who had chosen her without consent.
Far away, beneath the canvas roof of the royal tent, Sebastian stood hunched over a table littered with maps and markings. Secret routes, forgotten paths, places where shadows could hide. He traced them relentlessly, searching for a lead that refused to reveal itself.
His jaw tightened as a sudden ache bloomed in his chest, sharp and unyielding. He pressed a hand over his heart, breath hitching.
“Fernanda,” he murmured.
He did not know why the pain struck him so fiercely at that moment, only that it felt wrong. As if something precious was slipping further from his grasp.
Anger surged through him, hot and relentless. At the enemies who dared take her. At the world for keeping her hidden. At himself for failing to protect her.
“I will find you,” he vowed to the silent tent. “No matter what it takes.” He kept repeating it like a mantra he must not forget.