Chapter 89 – Dain
DAIN
The common room felt too quiet.
I sat in the corner, arms resting on my knees, staring at nothing. The fire crackled low in the hearth. The usual sounds of the barracks—boots on stone, the clatter of weapons—felt muted and distant.
Azaria was safe. Myrin had said so. Stable. Healing. But safe wasn’t enough anymore.
I’d kept her secret for months. Guarded it like it was my own, because that’s what she needed—someone who wouldn’t break, wouldn’t tell, wouldn’t expose the parts of her she’d buried so deep even she couldn’t look at them anymore. But things had changed.
Torven wasn’t playing games anymore. He’d sent a dimensional trap. He’d done this before—beaten her within an inch of her life, and he’d do it again. Keeping her secret wouldn’t protect her now. It would kill her.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. This wasn’t about truth. It wasn’t about doing the right thing or easing my own guilt. It was about her life. And if she hated me for this—if she never forgave me, never trusted me again—I’d live with that. I’d earned worse.
But if silence killed her, I’d never forgive myself. I wouldn’t watch her die because I was too much of a coward to break a promise.
I stood, crossed to the door, and flagged down a runner in the hall. “Gather the squad,” I said quietly. “Common room. Now.”
The boy nodded and took off. I turned back to the fire and waited.
They came in one by one. Kael was first; awake and alert despite the hour. He took one look at me and his expression shifted into something calculating and wary. He didn’t ask, just sat.
Reyna followed, still in her training leathers, hair tied back. She dropped into the seat across from me, arms crossed. “What’s going on?”
“Wait,” I said.
Elias came next, quiet as always. He settled beside Kael without a word. Lyra arrived, still looking half-asleep. Lirael trailed in after, rubbing her eyes. Thorne and Zeph followed, exchanging glances. Quinton was last.
He looked like shit—cleaned up, at least, fresh clothes instead of the bloodstained ones—but his eyes were still red-rimmed and hollow. He didn’t sit. Just leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed tight over his chest.
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at anyone. Kalias padded in behind him, still in wolf form, and settled near the hearth. His silvery-blue eyes fixed on me, unblinking.
The door closed. Silence settled over the room like a weight. Kael broke it first. “How is she?”
“Stable,” I said. “Myrin says she’ll recover. She’s still sedated.”
Reyna exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly. “Good. That’s—good.”
“Then what’s this about?” Thorne asked, frowning. “Why call us all back?”
I looked at each of them. My squad. Azaria’s squad. People who’d bled with her, fought beside her, trusted her with their lives.
People who deserved the truth.
“You’re aware,” I said carefully, “that Azaria has been through a great deal, and that she is protective of her struggles.”
Kael’s eyes narrowed. Reyna leaned forward slightly.
“But with how things have escalated,” I continued, “I think you need to know the whole truth.”
The tension in the room shifted.
“Dain,” Reyna said slowly. “What are you talking about?”
I took a breath. Held it. Then let it out.
“You know Azaria and her family were taken to refugee camps after the war started,” I said.
“Dravareth hit hard and fast. Serathen and everything east of Virethia were destroyed within weeks. She spent nearly two years in those camps. Fighting. Surviving. Sometimes she had to kill—to protect herself, or the children she and Darann were looking after.”
Murmurs rippled through the room, unsurprisingly. Most of them knew this much already, but the weight of it still landed heavily.
“Even after the war ended,” I went on, “it took time before everyone was safely relocated. Noble and council delegations arrived regularly to select people. And Azaria was desperate.”
I paused. This was the part that mattered.
“She was close to seventeen when, during one of those delegations, she approached a councilor and begged him for help.”
Kael’s expression hardened. He knew. He’d already figured it out.
“That councilor,” I said quietly, “was Torven Kaelor.”
The room exploded.
“What?” Reyna shot to her feet. “Torven?—“
“He helped her?” Zeph demanded, disbelief written all over his face.
“He promised to get her family out,” I said, cutting through the noise. “And three weeks later, they were moved to Ilyen, where Torven was serving at the time.”
Silence again. But this time it was different. Darker.
“But he wasn’t done,” I continued, my voice low and steady. “He called in his end of the bargain. He gave her a dagger, enchanted with a bloodletting spell, and he made her kill for him.”
Reyna’s face went white. “No.”
“He threatened her,” I said. “He told her that if she didn’t use the dagger, he would know. And he would hurt her family.”
Lyra’s hand flew to her mouth. Lirael’s eyes were wide with horror.
“So she killed for him,” I said. “Over and over. And each time, the dagger collected more of her blood.”
I let that sink in. Let them feel it. Then I went on.
“Torven used her blood to bind Azaria to him. He mixed her blood with his own and wove a two-way binding spell that connects her to him. He layered it with precautions, too. The main one is this: if Azaria speaks of any element of the binding, it will alert Torven immediately.”
The silence was suffocating now.
“We don’t know the exact details of what he’s done,” I said grimly. “But we have reason to believe he may have the power to control her, or even end her life.”
“Gods above,” Thorne whispered.
Quinton hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But his fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were bone-white. Then, quietly, he said, “I felt something inside her.”
Everyone turned.
“When I healed her,” he continued, his voice rough and hollow. “There was something—wrong. I felt it. Twisted. I wasn’t sure what it was, but—“ He stopped. His jaw worked.
“It was the bastard’s binding,” he finished.
I nodded grimly. “Yes.”
Quinton’s head dropped forward. His hands shook. I forced myself to continue. “But that’s not all Torven did to her.”
Kael’s gaze snapped to mine. “What else?”
“With the blood binding,” I said, “he also bound her magic.”
The room went silent. Not murmurs this time. Not shock. Just pure silence.
Then Reyna said, very carefully, “Azaria has magic?”
“She vehemently told us she hadn’t,” Zeph added, frowning.
“Because she can’t access it,” I said. “Torven bound it at the same time her magic first emerged. She was a late bloomer. All she could do was summon simple orbs of light, and even that took effort. That’s it.”
Kael leaned back in his chair, eyes distant. “Everything about her makes sense now.”
Reyna’s voice was tight. “What affinity?”
I hesitated. Then said, “We don’t know. Torven bound her magic before it fully manifested. She was seventeen. She could create simple light, but?—“
“Anyone can create orbs of light,” Kael cut in. “It could’ve been anything.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Reyna’s brow furrowed. “Is that why Malphyr wants her dead? Because she’s tied to Torven?”
“We don’t know for sure,” I admitted. “Torven tried to kill her for years after this, but he never succeeded. He’s obsessed with her. He’s claimed multiple times that she belongs to him. But we’ve never gotten close to the real truth of why she’s so important—to both Torven and Malphyr.”
“She’s a weapon,” Kael said flatly. “That’s what they see her as.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or something worse.”
The fire crackled in the silence that followed.
Zeph leaned forward, voice tight. “How do we get rid of this binding?”
It was Quinton who answered, his voice rough and cold. “It’s a blood binding. Either Torven releases her willingly, or one of them dies. There’s no other way.”
The room went silent again.
Reyna’s face drained of color. “You’re saying?—“
“I’m saying she’s trapped,” Quinton cut in, his voice raw. “Unless we kill him first.”
“Or he kills her,” Kael added quietly.
No one spoke. I let the weight of it settle over them. Let them understand what we were facing.
Then I said, my voice hard and steady, “That’s why we protect her. We hunt Torven down before he gets to her again. And we make damn sure she doesn’t face this alone.”
Kael’s eyes narrowed. “You said speaking about the binding triggers it. So how do we?—“
“You don’t,” I cut in sharply. “You do not speak of this to anyone. Especially not in front of Azaria. If you mention the binding, it could trigger the spell. And we don’t know what will happen if it does.”
I let that land.
“She could die on the spot,” I said quietly.
Horror rippled through the room.
Lyra’s voice was barely a whisper. “You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
Reyna sank back into her chair, face pale. Thorne cursed under his breath. Zeph looked like he’d been punched. Kalias, still in wolf form, let out a low, mournful sound.
I looked at each of them again. “I need you to swear. All of you. Not a word to anyone. Especially not her.”
One by one, they nodded. Quinton didn’t. He stood there, staring at the floor, trembling.
Finally, he said, “She should’ve told me.”
“She couldn’t,” I said quietly. “The binding wouldn’t let her.”
His fists clenched. “Then you should’ve.”
“I know.”
He looked up at me then. His eyes were hollow. Furious. Broken.
“I could’ve helped her.”
“I know,” I said again. “And I’m sorry.”
He turned away, shoulders tight, and walked out without another word. The door slammed shut behind him.
No one spoke. I exhaled slowly, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “She’s going to hate me for this,” I said quietly.
Reyna’s voice was soft. “Maybe. But you did the right thing.”
I wasn’t sure about that. But I’d made my choice.
Azaria’s life, over my place in it.
And I’d live with that.