Chapter 7
The moment the warlock walked into the room, he didn’t even need to check for a pulse.
One glance toward the bed was enough.
“She’s barely more than an empty shell.”
Alaric’s expression froze. For weeks, he’d spent a fortune scouring the realm for the most skilled physicians. This wandering sorcerer was his last hope.
“What do you mean?
The sorcerer explained, “There are cursed parasites inside her–dark, writhing things that have gnawed away at her from within for years. Her organs are all but destroyed.”
“She wouldn’t be suffering like this… You’ve been feeding her tonics of heat and flame for years,
haven’t you?”
Alaric stiffened, jaw clenched. His fists balled at his sides–but after a moment, he gave a small, reluctant nod.
The sorcerer sighed. “And the curse inside her–it’s born of shadow, bred in cold and night.”
“You forced two opposing forces to battle inside her. Light and dark. Fire and frost. Her body became the battleground–ripped apart from within, again and again,”
Alaric stood there, silent, his gaze distant,
It all made sense now. The blood she kept coughing up. The way she clutched her chest in
And yet, how many times had he called her weak? Accused her of playing the victim? Of feigning illness for his attention?
How many times had he forced her to swallow those so–called “remedies,” convinced he was doing her good?
His nails dug so deep into his palm that blood began to pool between his fingers.
At last, Alaric spoke his voice hoarse: “What kind of affliction is this…? Where did it come from?”
“In Duskwither,” the sorcerer answered simply. “I was the one who gave it to her.”
The first word stunned Alaric into silence.
But before the second half of that sentence had finished echoing in the air-
-a cold flash of metal sliced forward.
Alaric’s dagger pressed hard against the sorcerer’s throat, the blade biting into his skin.
“How dare you stand here after cursing her yourself?”
The sorcerer didn’t even flinch. “She took it willingly. I didn’t force her.”
“Liar!” Alaric snapped. The dagger dug deeper. A thin line of blood bloomed beneath the blade.
“I know Seraphina. She hates pain, fears suffering and she loathes Insects. There’s no way she would’ve chosen something like that. No way she would’ve agreed to such vile things.”
The sorcerer let out a quiet laugh. “You think you know her? Then tell me–do you know how deeply she loved you?”
The tremor in Alaric’s eyes was near Imperceptible–but it was there.
Of course he knew. He had always known.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked. But his hand, once so steady, trembled around the hilt
The sorcerer noticed. With effortless calm, he reached up and pushed the blade away from his neck.
“So you do know,” he said softly.
“She did it to save your life.”
And then he told Alaric everything. Every detail of what had happened in the depths of Duskwither.
The room was utterly still. Not a sound.
And yet I felt it. Something cold fell on my face.
Like raindrops.
But it wasn’t rain. Alaric was crying.
Even when his people had been slaughtered and his homeland burned, he hadn’t shed a single tear. Only rage had filled his eyes- bloody and burning
But now,… He wept for me.
ΤΗ
“Is there any of that potion left?“, His voice was ragged. “Anything–anything at all that could bring her back. I don’t care what it
costs.”
The sorcerer shook his head. “There’s nothing that can undo it. Once the parasites take root, the host is doomed.”
Alaric snapped. With a sudden shout, he drove the blade downward-
but this time, into his own hand.
The dagger buried deep into his palm, blood spilling freely.
Only pain could clear his mind now. The agony grounded him. Forced breath back into his lungs.
“Then what… what can I do to wake her?”
