Chapter 15
Elara
His words lingered in the quiet library, threading into the silence like threads of smoke. Perhaps it was waiting for you.
I tightened my grip on the book. "What does it mean? This talk of bridges... of bonds between realms."
Hades's gaze swept over me, sharp yet contemplative, as though measuring how much truth to give. At last, he moved closer, resting one hand lightly on the table's edge.
"It means you are not here by accident," he said. "Your presence is... rare. You are a soul that ties worlds together. A bridge. And bridges are not easily ignored."
My heart stuttered. "So... that's why I'm here? Because I'm some—some link?"
"Not some," he corrected softly, his voice a low rumble. "The link. Mortals stumble into this realm at times, but none linger unless bound by essence. And you..." His eyes darkened, but not unkindly. "You are bound."
I drew back a little, my pulse quickening. "Bound to you?"
The admission seemed to weigh on him. His jaw tightened before he inclined his head. "Yes."
I shook my head, confusion swirling with fear. "Then how do I go back? To my world? To my life?"
Something flickered across his face—pain, swiftly hidden. He folded his hands behind his back, his posture regal, controlled. "You can return. But not yet."
My throat tightened. "What do you mean, not yet?"
"There is a threshold," he explained. "A passage that opens only once in a great span. You may cross it... but only when the time comes. Until then, you remain here."
The weight of his words sank into me like stone. Weeks? Months? Years? He didn't say, and dread curled in my stomach.
"So I'm trapped." My voice cracked, even though I tried to keep it steady.
His gaze softened, shadows ebbing like tidewater around him. "Not trapped. Waiting. It is your choice when the time comes. To stay, or to go. No chains bind you here, Elara. Only time."
I closed the book, unable to look at the faded ink any longer. "But what if I don't want to wait? What if I want to leave now?"
His silence was answer enough.
A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. My eyes burned, and I quickly looked away, not wanting him to see.
He didn't reach for me, though a part of me sensed he wanted to. His voice came low, gentle, almost reverent.
"I will not keep you against your will. When the passage opens, you may choose your freedom. But until then..." His gaze lingered, steady and unyielding. "...this is your home."
The word home pierced me. I hated it. I wanted my world, my life, even if it had been imperfect. And yet... when I dared glance at him again, something in his eyes made my resolve tremble.
I was terrified of him. Yet a piece of me wondered — what if home was not where I came from, but where fate had led me?