Chapter 102 – Dain
DAIN
Iwalked straight to Myrin’s office, my composure hanging by a thread. The light under the door was brighter than the corridor. I paused, hand already halfway to the latch, and pushed inside.
Magic hung thick in the air, shimmering like heat.
Myrin stood at Azaria’s side, hands glowing with the soft white-gold of a recovery spell.
Azaria lay back on the cot, skin waxy, eyes half-closed.
Kalias hovered beside her, his usual patience worn thin, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he watched the healing work.
Myrin didn’t look up as I entered. She pressed her palms harder against Azaria’s chest, pouring power into her until sweat stood out on her brow. Kalias stepped close to me, his voice pitched low. “She is holding on.”
I swallowed. “Will she?—“
Myrin finished with a shudder and let the magic fade. She fixed Azaria with a look that left no room for argument. “You will tell him now, or I will.”
She swept past me without waiting for a response, shutting the door with a click.
Confusion twisted through me. My gaze darted from Kalias to Azaria. “What’s happening? Tell me what?”
Kalias’s eyes lingered on Azaria, unreadable. He set a hand on her shoulder for a moment, then stepped past me. “I shall wait outside.” The door clicked shut behind him, leaving us alone. Azaria stared at the wall, silent.
Sick dread twisted in my gut. “Azaria—what is it? What aren’t you telling me?” My voice came out rough and desperate. She didn’t answer. Fear and frustration flared hot, and I nearly snapped at her, but her voice cut through me, steady and low.
“I’m dying, Dain.”
The world stopped.
My thoughts went white. “What?” I croaked.
Azaria’s breathing sounded thin, like it scraped across broken glass. For a moment, all I could hear was the faint crackle of Myrin’s fading magic in the air.
She didn’t look at me when she spoke. Her eyes were fixed somewhere past my shoulder, jaw tight. “There’s a void inside me, Dain. It’s pressing into my organs. Every time I had those pains, those fevers, it grew. And?—“
“No.” The word ripped out of me.
She swallowed. “It’s gotten… too big to handle.”
“No…” My voice broke, softer, almost a plea.
Azaria’s eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them, I could see it—the truth eating at her from the inside. “I won’t survive another fever, Dain.”
Static roared in my ears. My chest seized. Pain hollowed me out. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—that word spiraling—no, no, no, no?—
The room closed in. My legs nearly gave out.
Azaria stepped closer. I didn’t even notice her moving until her hands were on my face, fingers trembling as she cupped my jaw. Her thumb stroked the tears I hadn’t realized were on my cheeks.
A sob broke from her lips. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice splintered and raw.
I stared at her, helpless, grief and denial warring inside me. My whole body shook. Pain clawed at my chest—the same pain from an hour ago, but sharper. Deeper.
Her forehead pressed to mine, her breath warm and ragged. “I’m so sorry, Dain,” she said again, her voice shaking.
I clung to her, arms desperate, crushing her to me as if I could hold her together.
“No,” I gasped. “No, Azaria. No. You’re not—You can’t?—“
But she only held me tighter, as if she knew there was nothing left to say.
The ache in my chest throbbed until it drowned out everything else.
My knees buckled. I went down. A cold wall pressed against my back.
We were on the floor, Azaria curled in my lap, both of us shaking.
My arms wrapped around her with desperate force.
Like if I held her tightly enough, I could force the void out, steal her pain into me.
Breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. Panic hammered in my chest. I couldn’t get enough air. My vision blurred at the edges, the room shrinking to her, and the heat of her tears against my neck.
“Please,” I begged, though I didn’t know who I was begging—her, the gods, fate itself. “Please, Azaria. Don’t leave me. Please?—“
Her fingers tangled in my shirt, holding on as fiercely as I did. Something inside me shattered. The pain tore through my chest. I pressed my forehead to hers, tried to memorize the shape of her, the scent of her hair, the sound of her breath.
Every memory flashed behind my eyes—her laughter, her fury, the stubborn fire that kept us all going. All of it slipping away, out of my grasp, no matter how hard I held on.
“You can’t,” I sobbed, voice cracking. “You’re my Captain. My best friend. You’re the reason I became more than what they made me. You can’t go. I won’t let you.”
We rocked together on the hard floor, caught in a grief neither of us knew how to name. I felt her breath stutter; her body so fragile in my arms. The world outside faded to nothing. All that was left was the ache, the desperate, helpless love, and the terrible truth pressing in from every side.
If I could have traded places with her—if I could have torn the sickness out of her with my bare hands—I would have. Anything to keep her here. Anything. But all I could do was hold her as tightly as I could, refusing to let go, even as hope bled out of me and left only agony behind.
“I’ll stay with you for as long as I can, Dain. You’re my heart and soul—remember that. And I love you,” she whispered, her voice shaking but certain.
“I love you too, Az,” I managed.
I couldn’t move. Moments ago, I’d been rallying the squad, ready to face the next disaster, to fight for our lives against whatever Torven threw at us.
Now, none of that mattered. None of it. Nothing mattered except the woman in my arms and the truth she’d given me.
I clung to her, refusing to let the rest of the world in.
Let the wards fall, let the sky burn—none of it mattered if I lost her now.
“Dain,” she whispered.
Her hands came up, cupping my face, gentle but insistent, forcing me to look at her. My eyes burned with tears I couldn’t hide. Hers shimmered too, bright and wounded, but she held my gaze.
“We need to join the others,” she murmured. “They’re waiting.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
She pressed her palm to my cheek, smoothing my hair, her thumb tracing the line of my jaw, calming me the way you’d soothe a child after a nightmare.
“I know, Dain.” Her voice was soft and unwavering. “But we have to. We need to stop that spell. Our friends are waiting for us.”
I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. My breath shook. “I… I need a minute.”
She nodded, her hand never leaving my face. “Take all the time you need. I’m right here.”
After a few minutes, we pulled ourselves up, slow and shaky. My knees wobbled. At the basin, I splashed cold water over my face; the shock of it barely cut through the fog of grief. Azaria did the same beside me, but there was no washing heartbreak from either of us.
We left Myrin’s office. Myrin and Kalias waited in the corridor. Myrin’s gaze met Azaria’s, understanding passing silently and swiftly between them.
Azaria’s voice was steady, but I could hear the cost. “Where are the others?”
Kalias answered, calm as ever. “They are waiting at the stables.”
She nodded. “I need to get my sword. I’m right behind you.”
She turned and walked away, her steps unsteady but determined. I watched her go, helpless fury building in my chest. All that power—Kalias’s fae magic, Myrin’s healing—and none of it could save her.
The thought snapped something inside me.
A sudden rush of anger and desperation pushed me forward. My hand landed hard on Kalias’s chest, pinning him to the wall before I even realized what I was doing.
“Can you do something? Anything? You’re a shifter and a fae—your magic is mountains stronger than ours. There must be something you can do!”
Kalias didn’t flinch. He held my gaze, calm and immovable. “I cannot. Not without risking ending her life on the spot. I will not do that, Dain. Not even if she begs me herself.”
My fist clenched, but I let him go. The frustration burned in my veins, but there was nothing left to do.
Breath shaky, I pressed on. “Your magic touched that thing. Tell me everything you’ve sensed.”
Kalias’s voice was quiet but unyielding. “They called it the void, but it is the binding spell—that man, Torven, placed on her. He set it when her magic was first blooming. Over time, her magic grew, stretching the space around the spell. Eventually, it started cracking and causing leaks.”
My heart hammered. “What? You’re saying?—?”
He nodded, grave. “Yes. Her own magic is spilling outside the boundaries of the spell, in raw form, straight into her body. Her own magic is what is killing her.”
The words landed like a hammer blow, leaving me hollow and shaking.
Kalias’s mouth tightened, regret and worry etched into every line of his face. “It should not have happened. A spell like that—it should have held. The fact that her own magic managed to crack through it means…”
My mind raced, piecing it together. “…Her magical power is far beyond normal levels.”
He nodded, gaze heavy. “Yes. And if we somehow manage to remove the spell from her—even if she survives the dissolving of the binding—the sudden exposure to that level of magic could kill her. She has lived her whole life without that kind of power, Dain. Her body is not accustomed to it. She will suffer badly when her magic is finally released. It might even affect everything around her. The backlash could be… catastrophic.”
The words hit me like a stone wall. My knees almost buckled again.
“She dies anyway,” my voice broke. There was nothing left but hopelessness curling cold through my veins.
I stared at Kalias, fighting for air, my hands fisting at my sides. “Kalias, I can’t… I can’t watch her die. I can’t lose her.”
He held my gaze, and for a moment, I saw real grief flicker through his eyes. Kalias, who never broke, looked as helpless as I felt. Kalias’s hands tightened on my shoulders, grounding me. His voice was low, steady, with nothing gentle or condescending about it.
“Dain, there is nothing I can say to make this easier. I wish there was, but you are not alone in this. We are going to walk through this together, whatever comes. That is all any of us can do.” His eyes met mine, fierce and unyielding.
“Hold on to her as long as you can. Make it matter. That is all the time any of us ever get.”
He squeezed the back of my neck. It wasn’t hope, but it was real, and in that moment, it was enough to keep me standing.