Chapter 41 Illusions Of Mercy
Levi grunted as he slowly opened his eyes, a sharp pain coursing through his body from the spot at his back where he was stabbed.
His vision were a blur but he could tell how dark wherever they had put him in was despite the blur. In a bid to move his body he realized he was on his knees with both his hands chained against a wall. “Oh well, isn't this just fun.” He scoffed, raising up his head when he noticed a shift in the darkness.
There was somebody in there with him.
“Who the hell are you?“ Levi gruffly asked. His power might have been dampened by some sort of magical wards meant for Lycans but Levi always had very acute senses and could easily sense when something isn't right even without his Lycan abilities.
“The ice king really does know how to select his soldiers doesn't he?” Damon's voice broke the silence in the darkness. “I think by now that should have made you realize you have taken the wrong one,” Levi replied with a small and almost silent laugh.
Damon's face hardened behind the shadows, ”I'm very much certain that I have who I wanted.“ He said in a determined tone, taking a step closer to where Levi kneeled.
“Your King has no idea what kind of woman Fernanda is, the kind of power she holds. He treated her like a fragile thing that will break anytime soon and she got sick of that. Which is why she tried to run away from him again. I only granted her wish more faster that she would have ever thought.” Damon was smirking as he talked, he sounded so proud of himself.
Levi shook his head, his whole body shaking with mirth despite the stabbing pain in his back. “Moron.“ He stated amidst laughter. He couldn't make any sense of what Damon was saying.
“You really think you can go head to head with Kozlov? For his own wife? Do you consider yourself ready for the cold hell he is about to bring upon you and your shadow empire?” Levi was laughing aloud now. Everything sounded so funny to him.
Was this the leader of the secret great order everyone at the abyss was being secretive about? “What a joke,” He whispered breathlessly. Damon, out of nowhere, diminished the darkness and allowing some form of vision into the cage.
The first thing Levi saw when Damon came into a clearer view was Maya's emerald stone dangling from Damon's right hand. Levi paused for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation. “Looks familiar?” Damon said as he made the pendant swing back and forth in front of Levi's face.
Levi wanted to ask how Damon got it but realized it was probably taken from him when he got knocked out. “Tell me the truth soldier, you are just here to rescue the King's wife, are you?” Damon asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.
Reading the situation to the best of his abilities, Levi shook his head. “I don't know what you are talking about shadow wielder.” He responded.
Damon shrugged and lean back from Levi, ”I'm guessing Eira still stands with us then.“
“Eira?“
“Oh my apologies, she went by the name Maya during her mission which she failed terribly at.“ Damon clarified, studying Levi's unchanging expression carefully. Although Levi gave nothing away, his brain was still calculating.
Maya whose real name was Eira was a member of the order who had initially been sent to capture Fernanda but a fail in her mission led to the order taking matters into their own hands and infiltrating Sebastian's palace which led to the kidnapping of Fernanda.
Everything was starting to make sense except that he still didn't know what they wanted with Fernanda. Levi believes Damon was just talking a whole lot of nonsense.
“She gets executed tommorow at dusk for risking exposure of the order's image and uncertainty of where her alliances lies.” Damon stated and for the first time during their conversation, Levi's face darkened.
Maya had lost track of time.
The stone cell had no windows, no cracks wide enough to tell day from night, and the torches in the corridor outside were lit and extinguished at irregular intervals. At first she had counted the hours by the drip of water from the ceiling, but even that had slowed to a maddening inconsistency. Now all she could measure was thirst.
Her throat burned like sandpaper. Her lips were cracked and swollen, and every breath scraped through her chest with effort. She had long since stopped banging on the bars or shouting. The guards down here did not respond to noise. They responded to orders.
She sat slumped against the cold wall, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped weakly around herself. Her once carefully braided hair had come loose, strands clinging to her face with sweat. The iron collar around her neck hummed faintly, a constant reminder that her power was shackled, dampened, suppressed. Not gone. Never gone. Just held down like a beast beneath a boot.
Betrayal, they had called it.
Maya had almost laughed when she heard the word. Betrayal implied choice. It implied loyalty that had been broken. What she had done was hesitate. What she had done was feel.
The cell door creaked open.
Light spilled in, harsh and sudden, making Maya flinch and squeeze her eyes shut. Footsteps echoed against stone, measured and unhurried. She knew those steps. She would have known them anywhere.
“Nina,” she croaked, voice barely more than a whisper.
The door closed behind the woman with a dull clang. Nina stood just inside the cell, hands clasped behind her back, her dark uniform immaculate as always. Not a hair out of place. Not a flicker of emotion on her sharp, pale face.
“You look worse than I expected,” Nina said calmly. “That is unfortunate.”
Maya forced herself to lift her head. “Did you come to mock me,” she asked, swallowing hard, “or to finish the job yourself.”
Nina tilted her head slightly, as if considering the question. “Neither. I came to inform you.”
Maya’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. Information down here was never kind.
“Inform me of what,” she asked.
Nina stepped closer to the bars, her boots stopping just inches away. “Your execution has been scheduled,” she said. “Tomorrow at dusk.”
The words hit harder than any blow.
Maya’s breath hitched, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping her. Tomorrow. Not days from now. Not weeks. Tomorrow. The room seemed to tilt, the walls pressing in as if the cell itself were shrinking around her.
“For… for what,” Maya whispered, though she already knew.
“For compromising the Great Order,” Nina replied evenly. “For allowing your personal attachments to interfere with your mission. For creating uncertainty regarding where your allegiance lies.”
Maya laughed weakly, the sound broken and hollow. “I gave up everything for this order,” she said. “My childhood. My name. My family. I bled for our cause.”
“And yet you failed,” Nina said. “Intentions do not outweigh outcomes.”
Maya pushed herself up, her legs trembling as she moved closer to the bars. She gripped the cold metal, fingers white with strain. “Please,” she said, the word tearing itself from her chest. “You know me. You trained with me. You know I never meant to expose us. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
Nina’s eyes flickered, just for a moment. Then the steel returned. “Meaning does not undo damage.”
Maya’s vision blurred, tears she refused to shed burning at the corners of her eyes. “If you execute me,” she said quietly, “you lose everything I know. The palace. Kozlov’s patterns. His weaknesses.”
“The Order already has what it needs,” Nina replied.
Maya’s chest tightened. “Fernanda,” she said suddenly. “What are you going to do to her.”
Nina did not answer immediately. She studied Maya for a long moment, as if weighing something. Then she spoke.
“Damon plans to proceed tonight,” she said. “The activator will be injected while she sleeps. There will be no interference.”
The world seemed to stop.
“No,” Maya breathed. “You can’t. Her body isn’t ready.”
“That is not our concern,” Nina said. “If she survives, the power awakens. If she doesn’t, the energy will still be harvested. Either way, the Order benefits.”
Maya’s knees nearly gave out. She pressed her forehead against the bars, her mind racing. “You will kill her,” she said hoarsely. “You will tear her apart from the inside.”
“That is a risk Damon is willing to take.”
Rage sparked through the haze of exhaustion and fear, sharp and blinding. Maya lifted her head slowly, her eyes locking onto Nina’s. “And you,” she said. “You are willing to let him.”
Nina’s jaw tightened. “I am willing to do what is necessary.”
Something inside Maya snapped.
It was not calculated. It was not careful. It was raw and desperate and born of terror. She stopped gripping the bars. Instead, she closed her eyes.
The collar around her neck pulsed, the suppressing magic flaring in warning. Pain lanced through her skull. But Maya pushed anyway.
She reached deep, past training and restraint, past fear, into the wild, untempered core of her power. The part she had been taught never to touch.
The air in the cell vibrated.
Nina’s eyes widened. “Maya, stop,” she ordered. “You will kill yourself.”
Maya opened her eyes.
And released.
The force exploded outward, invisible but devastating. The bars rattled violently. The torches in the corridor flickered and went out. Nina was thrown backward as if struck by an unseen hand, her body slamming into the far wall with a sickening crack. She slid to the floor, unmoving.
Maya collapsed to her knees, gasping, her vision swimming. Blood trickled from her nose, warm and sticky. The collar sparked once, then dimmed, overwhelmed by the surge.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then Maya forced herself to move.
She dragged herself to Nina’s side, checking for a pulse. It was there. Steady. Unconscious.
“I’m sorry,” Maya whispered, though she was not sure if the apology was for Nina or for everything else.
She stood unsteadily and focused again, slower this time, more deliberate. The magic responded, weaving itself into something softer, more precise. An illusion bloomed into place.
When Maya stepped back, the cell looked unchanged. A body lay slumped against the wall, head bowed, hair falling forward. At a glance, it was her. Unmoving. Defeated.
Nina, meanwhile, was concealed behind the illusion, her real form hidden from view.
Maya slipped out of the cell, pulling the door closed just as she had found it. Her heart pounded as she moved into the corridor, pressing herself into shadows, listening for guards. She knew this place. Every passage. Every hidden alcove. This place was like a home to her, but now everything feels cold and empty. As if telling her that the tides have changed.
Still, concealing herself was harder than navigating. Her power flickered unevenly, strained by the collar and her earlier outburst. More than once she had to duck into narrow side tunnels, holding her breath as robed figures passed by, their murmured conversations drifting through the darkness.
Her body screamed for water. Her head throbbed. But she did not stop.
She could not.
At last, she reached the chamber.
The door was guarded, but lightly. Damon trusted his lair too much. A simple distortion, a bend of light and sound, and the guards looked past her as if she were not there.
Inside, the room was warm, lit by soft amber lamps. Shelves of books lined the walls. At the center, seated on a cushioned chair near the fire, was Fernanda.
She was reading.
Maya froze.
For a moment, the sight stole her breath more effectively than any blow. Fernanda looked almost peaceful, her brow furrowed in concentration, her fingers tracing the page of the book Damon had given her. She wore a simple gown, her hair loose around her shoulders.
Alive. Unharmed. For now.
“Fernanda,” Maya whispered.
Fernanda looked up sharply.
Their eyes met.
“My queen,” Maya breathed, tears finally spilling over as she crossed the room in a rush. “Thank the stars.”
Fernanda stood so quickly the book slipped from her hands. “Maya,” she gasped. “How… how are you here.”
They collided in an embrace, arms wrapping around each other tightly. Fernanda laughed and cried at the same time, clinging to Maya as if she might vanish.
“I thought you were gone,” Fernanda said. “They told me you were punished for helping me.”
Maya held her tighter. “I tried,” she said. “I tried to protect you.”
Fernanda pulled back, looking at her properly now. “You’re hurt,” she said. “You look terrible.”
Maya smiled faintly. “I’ve had better days.”
“How did you find me,” Fernanda asked.
Maya hesitated.
Then she took a breath. “There’s something you need to know,” she said. “About me. About why I was ever in the palace.”
Fernanda listened as Maya spoke, her voice trembling but steady. She told her everything. The Order. The mission. The lie of her name. The command to retrieve Fernanda like an object to be claimed.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Maya said. “You were kind to me. You trusted me. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t just hand you over.”
Fernanda was silent for a long time.
Then she reached out and took Maya’s hands. “You were afraid,” she said softly. “I understand that.”
Maya looked at her in disbelief. “You’re not angry.”
“I would be a hypocrite if I were,” Fernanda said. “I’ve been running from my own truth for years.”
Maya swallowed. “You know about the prophecy.”
Fernanda nodded. “I know I’m the catalyst,” she said. “But I don’t feel powerful. I feel… empty.”
“Power comes when it’s ready,” Maya said. “Forcing it will overwhelm you. It could kill you.”
Fernanda’s eyes widened. “Is that what Damon plans to do.”
“Yes,” Maya said. “Tonight.”
Before Fernanda could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room.
Both women froze.
Another knock followed, louder, more insistent. Maya turned toward the door, fear and resolve warring in her chest.
Damon.