Chapter 47
He was drowning.
A vast, endless pool of cold, black water, thick with the stench of death and blood, dragged him deeper and deeper.
It wrapped around him like a second skin, and he no longer struggled against it.
There was no fighting it. No escape. So he let go.
He let his body drift where the current took him, let the thing inside him, the darkness that was not him, command his limbs, speak with his voice, see through his eyes.
But then he heard it.
A voice, as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. A voice that had filled his childhood with laughter, warmth, and love. Evelyne. She was calling his name, screaming it.
She was here with Vaelora.
Oh, no.
Cillian thrashed against the suffocating black, kicking hard, clawing up toward the surface. The weight of the demon inside him pressed down with crushing force, trying to pull him back under. But now, he fought. He fought until his mind broke through the darkness, until he could see, could hear.
He saw her. Chained. Bloodied. Weak. But not broken.
Evelyne had always been strong. Even now. Even like this. And she was here… for him.
Something inside him cracked.
Vaelora spoke. He heard her voice, heard her admit to killing his father. The words sliced through his mind, through the splinters of whatever was left of his shattered soul.
His father was dead. Murdered by the woman he had kissed. Touched. Loved.
Had any of it been real? Or had it all been a lie, a perfect illusion wrapped in blood and silk?
His vision blurred and his thoughts scattered. Evelyne. Alaric. They were both here, both captured and fighting for him. So he had to fight too.
He reached inward, searching for the real version of himself—the part buried beneath the demon’s grip. It was so close, just within reach. But as soon as his fingers brushed it, the darkness struck. It slammed into him, dragged him back under, and swallowed him whole.
No.
Evelyne’s scream tore through the abyss.
Cillian blinked, but all he saw was black.
She was calling his name again—not just a scream this time, but something pleading, laced with pain and fear.
What was happening? What had he done? Panic surged, but he couldn’t let it rise.
He needed control. He needed to reclaim his body.
But not yet. The demon couldn’t know he was fighting back. Not again.
He stilled himself and waited for the perfect moment.
He knew this darkness now; its traps, its whispers, its lies.
It had caged him, but he remembered the way out.
So he began to climb, with Evelyne’s voice guiding him, anchoring him to the light.
Past the endless black. Past the choking pull of the demon’s hold.
He rose through it all. And as his mind pierced the shadows, he saw it.
His soul.
His real soul. The one that had been chosen. The one containing the light to purify all of her darkness.
Vaelora knew it. That was why she had twisted him and made him forget, made him love her, so she could own him completely. The illusion cracked the moment he heard Evelyne’s voice through the noise. In that instant, he remembered who he was… and what he was meant to do.
His mind, his gift—there was a reason for it. A reason the prophecy had chosen him. He would uncover the truth before anyone else. He would reclaim the power buried deep within his soul and purge the demon she had planted inside him.
But first, he had to pretend. Hide. Let the parasite believe it still had control. Then, when the time was right, he would reach for that small thread of light. And he would take back his soul to end her.
The throne room had descended into chaos by the time Cillian drifted close enough to touch the edges of his soul.
Rage and grief pulsed in the air, thick with the scent of blood.
The men around him had turned feral, primal, their fury radiating like heat from a fire too long contained.
They glared at him with unfiltered hatred, and just beyond their rage, the body he had torn apart lay in two mangled pieces on the cold stone floor.
He had done that.
He had caused this.
He had broken them.
But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t react, not without alerting the demon still nestled inside him. So he stood silently, letting it control his limbs as he watched and waited. All the while, Vaelora’s voice coiled around him like a noose.
“My Cillian has been gifted with such strength,” she purred, her satisfaction clinging to every word. “I feed him with my magic every day, pouring more and more into him so that he may grow strong enough to rule by my side. Just look at him. Look how perfect he is.”
She turned to face him, black eyes locking onto his, and Cillian shrank behind them, behind her magic, behind the monster she had forged, praying she couldn’t see the real him, still buried beneath the surface.
She had done this. Twisted him. Tainted him. Turned him into a killer.
But he would destroy everything she had built.
His gaze flicked to Evelyne. She looked devastated, as though she already mourned him, had already accepted that he was gone. He couldn’t blame her.
She had always fought for him. Now, it was his turn.
Vaelora’s voice cut through the moment like a dagger. “Now kill her,” she whispered. “Kill her, my love.”
And the demon moved.
Cillian thrashed within himself, fighting against the suffocating blackness pressing in from all sides. But the demon was fast and didn’t falter. And Evelyne looked afraid. The fear in her eyes undid him.
He was so close to clawing his way back to the surface, back to himself. In desperation, he jerked back, a wild gamble, a distraction. If he could bait the demon and keep it focused, maybe he could draw it out.
When the darkness lunged, Cillian shoved against it, dragging it further from his core. His body and hands still moved. He felt them, heavy and foreign. So much stronger than they should have been. So cold.
His fingers wrapped around Evelyne’s throat.
Howls filled the air. Somewhere, Alaric was screaming his name. But Cillian couldn’t stop his own hands from killing her.
Evelyne didn’t struggle. She didn’t claw at his arms or plead. She simply looked at him, truly looked, and a single tear slipped down her cheek.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she whispered.
The words struck something deep within him, fracturing what little remained. Everything began to unravel.
The final battle for his soul had begun.