Chapter 18 #2
It resembles a circle edged with some kind of design, though I can’t make out the details clearly.
Sigils like this usually bind their bearer to some kind of agreement, an unbreakable contract sealed by magic, much like the bond between a Champion and their Godbeast. And for a moment, I wonder what other obligation my Godbeast is committed to fulfilling.
Then, accepting that it will likely remain just another one of his secrets, at least for now, my thoughts drift as my gaze continues to trace the lines of his sleeping form.
His face, normally hard-edged, is softened in sleep, stripped of its usual severity. In this quiet moment, he looks… almost peaceful.
My heart stammers as my gaze lingers over the chiseled lines of his muscles, the firelight accentuating his carved hollows.
He looks different like this, captivating.
I’ve never allowed myself to look at a man this way, to let curiosity slip its fingers into forbidden spaces. And Kaelzar, least of all.
Not when I know what he is, what he’s capable of. Not when I shouldn’t fully trust him with his true and forced loyalties.
And yet here I am, caught in the thought of reaching out, of feeling his strength beneath his skin. My hand tingles with the urge, and I swallow hard, my breath catching as temptation stirs something deep within me.
Then his voice cuts through the silence, low and edged with dark amusement. “You’re drooling.”
My mouth snaps shut. Was I really staring at him with my mouth open? Mortification twists in my gut at the realization.
I twist to turn away only for pain to lance through my side again, forcing me to curl forward with a strangled breath.
Kaelzar is at my side in an instant, his hands firm and careful as he props the pillow against the headboard and helps me sit upright against it. His touch is gentle yet firm, the rough callouses of his fingers a stark contrast to the surprising care in his movements.
His closeness unsettles me, his scent—leather, earth, something distinctly him—curling around me.
“Where—” I try to speak, but my voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
He reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand, lifting it to my lips when my bandaged hands fail me.
“The cabin is deep within the Birch Forest,” he says as I stiffen. But he is patient, guiding me as I take slow sips, the cool liquid washing over my parched throat.
The intimacy of the moment prickles against my skin, a strange, fragile thing hanging between us.
“I can’t feel my hands,” I murmur, looking down at the thick wrappings.
“Bloodroot and foxglove leaves,” he says, his tone even, though his eyes hold a quiet intensity. “They numb the pain and clot the blood. The feeling will return in a day or so.”
I absorb this in silence, my gaze drifting to the leaves peeking from my bandages, to the meticulous care in their placement. Gratitude flickers in my chest, mingling with the ever-present worry curling in my gut.
Silence settles between us, and I feel the need to push back against the tenderness tugging at my heart, a vulnerability I’m not ready to confront.
I think of Ryker’s hands, steady on my waist as we danced just over two months ago. The warmth of his smile when he looked at me not like a pawn in this Trial, but like a person. That warmth should be enough. It should pull me back.
But no matter how hard I try, his memory feels distant, dimmed in the shadow of Kaelzar’s presence. I try to summon his image, but all I see is Kaelzar. Solid, unwavering, taking up all the space in my mind.
“It was either that or let you lose your hands,” he finally says, most likely assuming my discomfort is stemming from the way he took care of my wounds.
A shiver traces my spine as the memory of the second Challenge resurfaces. The desperate battle, the chaos. Kaelzar defying the rules, risking his life to stop the last Fleshleech. Me, risking my life to save him. My thoughts spiral back, retracing everything before it.
The dinner that had felt more like a buffet of women for Ryker to choose from, my conversation with Eva, the revelation of what those chains do to Kaelzar.
And then me, dancing and singing to distract him.
The two of us kneeling face to face, his palm against my cheek, his thumb brushing along my jaw.
My breath catches, my cheeks flushing anew.
“This lodge is far from the city,” he says in a low voice. “I wanted you to have a place to heal and this cottage seemed to be abandoned long ago when I found it.”
I glance around, trying to imagine how much effort it took him to make this place feel so comfortable, so lived-in.
A quiet breath slips past my lips as I wrestle with the tangle of emotions rising too fast to contain. “How long have I been out?”
He shrugs his cloak around his shoulders, the dark fabric settling over his skin. Just before it covers his chest, I catch the gleam of his chains, shifting from solid to ink in a slow, eerie transformation.
“A day,” he says. “I gave you sleeping herbs to help your body recover.”
“A whole day?” My fingers twitch toward the edge of the bed, searching for my clothes. “We need to get back. The next challenge could begin at any moment, and I can’t afford to—”
“The next challenge won’t happen until after the Bleeding Moon Ball,” he interrupts.
“I was told it’s held around the red moon’s waning.
The gods don’t favor that time, too much blood in the sky, they say.
It’s ill luck to attempt anything important beneath its crimson glow. So the Sphere will wait.”
I go still, my body sinking as his words settle over me. I should feel relief, maybe even gratitude, but instead, that familiar disquiet curls around my ribs, the same restlessness that always comes with the Bleeding Moon. Kaelzar watches me closely, his brow furrowing as if puzzled by my reaction.
“You’ll have enough time to heal and prepare,” he adds, studying me. “You should be pleased.”
A bitter smile ghosts across my lips.
“In two weeks, it’ll be my twenty-first birthday,” I murmur. “The third time the Bleeding Moon has fallen on it. I’m starting to feel like being born under it is just another curse I can’t escape.”
“So the Ball will fall on the day of your celebration?” Kaelzar asks. “Then that’s all the more reason to revel. With your Blood Magic, you could be healed long before the festivities begin.”
“I don’t have any left,” I grumble, spreading my arms to show the bandages covering me, then wincing at the pain the foolish gesture causes.
Kaelzar blinks. “Not now, but once you’re fully rested, we—”
“No.” I cut him off, catching where this is headed. A log snaps in the fire, the sudden pop echoing through the room. “I’m not killing anyone else.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I don’t let him. “I’m awake now. Take me back to Viele and I’ll see a healer. As you said, two weeks should be enough to heal naturally.”
Kaelzar’s expression hardens. “It’s not just your wounds that concern me. Your magic, your Godbound thread, is expanding rapidly. If you refuse to use it, there could be devastating consequences.”
Eva’s words come back to me. When more people pray to the Goddess, the connection—the thread—widens.
An image flashes in my mind. A block of thick chocolate. A steaming cup of tea. The moment the heat touches it, the chocolate melts instantly, widening the tunnel.
My pulse pounds in my ears. More people must be praying to Calista now. That means my power is growing. It means I have an edge in the Challenges.
It means I could win.
A dark thrill ripples through me. And with it, the magic inside me shifts and writhes. A pressure, an itch, crawling under my skin, but my excitement extinguishes just as quickly.
My expanding reserve of magic will only help me win if I use that magic to decay. And I just can’t risk letting it out again. Enough people had died by my hand.
Eva’s warning rings in my ears. If too much magic enters without being used, it festers. It corrupts. It creates something monstrous.
I barely manage to choke out the words. “What… what happens if I don’t use it?” I know the answer, but I have to ask anyway.
Kaelzar’s voice is almost gentle. “Decay magic is… relentless. It devours. It forces rebirth through annihilation. Locked away, it turns inward. And when it breaks free, it won’t come back whole.
And when it finally escapes, part of it won’t return as what it once was.
It will be a shadow of its own hunger, twisted by the dark it was caged in. ”
“Is that what happened to Calista?” The words slip out before I can stop them. I bite my lip, realizing too late I shouldn’t have asked. “You don’t have to answer,” I add quickly, willing the rolling magic within me to settle.
He shakes his head, a small, almost sorrowful movement. “Not as long as I’ve known her. Maybe, when she was young and her powers were new.”
“Young? Gods can be young?” I scoff at the thought, but something about it unsettles me. If they are born and die like mortals, what truly makes them gods? And if we, the Champions, wield their power now… what does that make us?
“I wouldn’t know much about the past,” Kaelzar says. “My people were never allowed to leave the forest or learn Elysium’s history or lore. Everything I know comes from what she told me.”
The ache in my side flares, pulling a wince from me before I can chase the thought any further. “Enough questions for tonight,” Kaelzar says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You should eat.”
I bite back my frustration at his blatant attempt to shut me up, right as my stomach betrays me with a loud growl that echoes through the quiet room.
Kaelzar strides to the corner, where a tray of food waits.