Chapter 1 #2
Hayat was one of the few who still treated Aeryn and me like people instead of a problem to be managed.
Over the years, he had become my closest friend—my only friend, if you didn’t count my little brother.
Most people kept their kindness tucked away where it couldn’t be spent on us.
Hayat, for reasons I’d never asked him to explain, spent his freely.
Officially, he served as personal protector to Synnex’s town leaders—a job that required patience enough to stand by while spoiled men congratulated themselves in warm halls.
Unofficially, he made a habit of stepping in when trouble found us.
Most were smart enough not to cross him.
The town leaders let him stay close only because they’d tasked him with keeping an eye on us.
They’d meant him to be a leash on the Moirae siblings.
Instead, they’d handed me a friend. We left Colette’s shop and stepped into the heart of the market.
The apothecary was built into the old seawall, its stone threshold forever dusted with remnants of the sea and petals that drifted in from the flower stall nearby—a narrow shopfront wedged between vendors selling fruit, candles, and salted fish.
Outside, the noise of the market pressed close again: vendors calling last prices, carts creaking over cobblestones, gulls shrieking above the harbor. The scent of brine and spice clung to everything.
Lantern light spilled gold over pale stone buildings and the climbing vines that wound their balconies. A single stall lingered open near the square, its table crowded with tallow candles, jars of lemons, and wine dark as blood.
“Three coppers for the wine,” the vendor said, gesturing lazily to the bottles lined up beside his candles. “One for the candles, two for the lemons. Or five for the lot.”
“Two,” I countered lightly, tilting my head as though it were a game. “End of day discount. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Hayat? Plus, your lemons will be black by tomorrow.”
The ones near the edge had already begun to spot—soft patches darkening beneath the yellow skin. Another day and they’d sour in their jars.
I could almost taste them warmed into water—mixed with monk fruit and honey, sharp and sweet against the evening chill.
The man’s mouth twitched, ready to argue—until his eyes slid past me. Hayat stood just behind. Whatever retort the merchant had been shaping died in his throat.
I smiled and let my hand settle near the dagger at my hip, expression never faltering.
He looked down first. I paid him two coppers, not five, and thanked him.
Hayat said nothing, but I felt his amusement in the silence between us.
We passed the square. The Patron Ceremony would take place there in a month’s time—Darkfrost’s last night, when those who had turned eighteen this year would stand before the goddesses and speak their vows before the new year claimed them.
Banners in crimson and gold already draped the columns, fluttering like veins of flame against the dusk.
At twenty-three, I had yet to be granted permission. My bloodline was too tainted—the polite word for unworthy. Synnex still whispered my parents’ names like a curse, their deaths a reminder of what faith does to those who question it.
The priests called it divine justice. The rest called their fate proof that corruption ran in blood.
That shadow of judgment had followed Aeryn and me since childhood, written into our skin in a language only this city could read.
Somewhere, a lute played a sad song. My stomach turned. I fixed my stare on the cobblestones until the square was behind us.
Hayat’s fingers closed around mine, grounding me before I could slip too deep into thought.
“Look at me, Aurelia.”
He pulled me to a stop and tilted my chin up with his free hand. I met his warm brown eyes—eyes that could comfort or kill depending on the mood you found him in. I had only ever known the comfort.
“They may let Aeryn participate,” he said. “I’ve been speaking to Draven. He’s willing to grant it… if certain conditions are met—”
I cut him off before hope could grow roots. We’d been down this path before. “No, Hayat. Draven betrayed my family—why would anything he promises be good?” My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t soften it.
“I appreciate you trying, truly. But I won’t let them mark him.
We’ve seen what the vows have become—blessings twisted into bargains, offerings demanded not out of love but ownership.
I remember when the goddesses gave freely, when they loved the people and places their Mother built.
Now every vow feels like a transaction. Once you bleed for them, there’s always a price. ”
The wind pulled at my hair, carrying the faint sound of the harbor bells. “I’d burn before I’d see that happen to him.”
The look he gave me was part resignation, part something else—an old kind of grief that didn’t belong entirely to him.
He let go of my hand.
“Elli,” he said quietly, “I know you. I know you’re probably planning something. You don’t have to chase this alone.”
I met his gaze, steady. “He is my brother. I will do anything to help him.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line, a muscle feathering just below his cheek as if the words wanted out but he bit them back.
“I know. Just remember it isn’t something you have to do alone.” He smiled, nudging my shoulder with his. “And gods help anyone who stands in your way.”
As we walked on, the streets narrowed. Pale stone gave way to moss-slick walls and low lanterns. Salt wind from the cliffs tangled my hair. Somewhere beyond the streets, the sea beat the rocks—slow, deliberate—Synnex’s heart still thudding under all its cruelty.
The path home cut through the woods, where the market noise gave way to the hush of frost-crisp branches. By the time we reached the Moirae home, night had fully fallen, and firelight glowed through the kitchen windows.
Inside, the air was warm with spice and woodsmoke. Aeryn stirred at the hearth, the leather tie in his hair losing its hold as errant curls slipped free to shadow his face.
“You’re just in time,” he said. “And I made extra bread.”
“I brought wine,” I said, setting the bottle down beside the lemons and candles I’d picked up from the last stall.
For a moment, his smile was easy.
We gathered around the long table, hand-carved by my father from dark wood, its surface scattered with cubes of yellowed bone.
Each die was etched with ring-and-dot pips, the carvings worn smooth from years of play, edges imperfect from the maker’s knife.
They clattered across the wood in quick, uneven tumbles, chased by cards slipping deftly between hands.
Laughter wove through the scent of stew and bread.
We played two rounds. Aeryn won both.
Hayat groaned dramatically, face in his palms. “This is rigged.”
“You’ve just forgotten how to bluff,” Aeryn said, lips twitching.
Round three began. The wind howled faintly through the chimney, and the candle nearest Aeryn flickered. His fingers twitched.
“You alright?” I asked casually.
He nodded. Too fast. “I’m fine.”
But his pupils began to swallow the blue of his eyes. The cards slipped slightly from his grasp.
We kept playing. I won a hand. Then Hayat. The next round, Aeryn stared at his cards too long. The shadows behind him deepened. The air shifted.
“Aeryn?” I asked, heart skipping.
His lips parted. The sound that emerged was a rasp. A groan. Like something ancient trying to force its way through too-small lungs.
The candle beside him extinguished.
“Aeryn—hey,” Hayat said, rising. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”
Aeryn’s eyes snapped upward.
But they weren’t his.
Where ice-blue should’ve been, there was only black. Bleeding from pupil to sclera. His mouth opened wider and a garbled, guttural whisper slid from his throat. “The last light you follow will lead you into the deepest dark.”
The table jolted; cards scattered across the wood.
Aeryn flung himself backward from the table, knocking his chair over with a crack. He backed into the far wall, panting—his body trembling as he gripped his skull and sank to the ground.
“GET OUT,” he gasped.
I rushed to him. He didn’t seem to see me. Hayat circled behind, hands raised.
“Don’t touch him,” I warned, kneeling low. “Aeryn—hey. Listen to me.”
He thrashed once, then stilled—eyes wide, breath rattling. I touched his arm gently. The blackness receded, slowly, like ink pulling back into the bottle. And then—
He crumpled.
Not collapsed. Just… folded in on himself. Head bowed. Body shaking. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t look at me.”
I reached for him again. He flinched. “Don’t, Aurelia. Please. I can’t.”
I sat beside him. The firelight brushed his hair, turning the black to copper at the edges. His hands were trembling, the knuckles white from holding on to something I couldn’t see.
We didn’t speak for a long time. The only sound was the hiss of the hearth and the sea pressing faintly against the cliffs beyond the walls.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded small, like it had to crawl its way out of him. “I’m losing pieces of myself every day,” he whispered. “I feel it—like something gutting me slowly.”
I watched his profile in the flicker of the fire, the way his jaw trembled, the way his chest rose too fast. My throat burned with everything I couldn’t say. “I’m trying,” he said, barely audible. “But gods, I’m so tired. I just… I just want it to stop.”
His eyes drifted to the fire, unfocused, the way they did when his mind went somewhere I couldn’t follow. His hand flexed once against his knee, then stilled.
I didn’t need him to say it. I could feel the wish in the air between us, quiet and terrible—not a wish to live, only to stop hurting.
“No.” My voice was fierce. Immediate.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered, tapping his head. “If I stay, it spreads. Whatever’s inside me—it’s not just hurting me. It’s watching you. Through me. I always feel it.”
I stared, horror blooming in my chest.
“You ever wonder what the point is?” His voice was flat. But his hands shook.
“I wake up,” he continued, “and I count the things I don’t want to do. Breathe. Eat. Smile. Pretend.”
My throat closed.
His voice cracked. “Do you know what it’s like… to live just so someone else doesn’t die from losing you?”
He looked at me. No spark. No anger. Just a tired boy in a world too heavy. “I’m not strong like you. I’m not brave. I’m just surviving, and most days, I don’t even want that.”
I tried to speak. “Aeryn—”
“No.” He stood. “I don’t want to be here most days, Aurelia. And the only reason I am… is you. I stay for you. And that’s not fair.”
I rose slowly. My voice was soft. Steady. “Then let it be unfair.”
His eyes fixed on the floor. His mouth opened, then closed again, the words trapped somewhere between his chest and his throat. He didn’t need to say them. I already knew.
The way his shoulders caved, the tremor in his jaw—it was all there. He didn’t want to be here. He just didn’t know how to leave without breaking me too.
I stepped toward him, the space between us filled with everything we couldn’t say. “Then let it be unfair,” I whispered.
His head turned slightly, not quite meeting my gaze. The firelight made his face unreadable.
I took a breath. “Let me carry it,” I said, the words trembling even as I forced them steady.
“If you can’t stay for yourself, then stay for me.
I’ll bear it. I’ll drag it behind me if I have to.
Because I love you. And if you can’t believe that your life matters, then let me be selfish enough to believe it for you. ”
Tears blurred my vision. He didn’t look at me, but his breath hitched, a single sound that felt like both apology and surrender.
“You matter, Aeryn. You’re not just surviving. You’re enduring. And even when you feel like there’s nothing left, you’re still here. That is a kind of strength that no soldier, no goddess, no one can ever claim.”
He stared.
“And maybe one day,” I whispered, “you’ll find a reason within yourself. But until then, let me be the one who needs you. Let me be selfish, Aeryn. For both of us.”
His chin quivered. A tear slipped free.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he choked.
“I know,” I whispered, pulling him into my arms. “You’re not alone. I’ll find a way to stop this. I don’t care if I have to climb into Hell and rip the answer out with my teeth.”
The words left me before I could think them.
For days, I’d been circling the same truth—the one I didn’t want to name, only feel closing in around me: Aeryn was dying.
The herbs wouldn’t work. Colette’s warnings had been mercy, not fear. Synnex had taught its people to survive by pretending not to see the dying.
And gods, I was so tired of watching him fade by inches while pretending there was still time. My throat burned. My heart did too—not with hope, but with something harsher.
Love, when it’s real, is a kind of violence. It devours reason first. Then it whispers move.
I’d sworn I would never kneel to the gods who took everything from us. But for him, I would crawl through their fire. I would trade anything—blood, faith, even myself—if it meant keeping him breathing one more day.
The thought struck like a blade. I didn’t fight it.
The moment fractured. And I knew, as his stare fixed on me, that I had already chosen.