Chapter 8
1108 Words
"You'll die..." I muttered.
"What?" Isebella asked, but the question wasn't of fear. It was of curiousity.
"You'll die if you engage with me, just like Zareth."
Isabella didn’t flinch. If anything, her lips curled ever so slightly, as if amused.
"Is that a threat?" she asked.
"It’s a fact."
Zareth had stayed by my side. She had protected me, fought for me. And in the end, she had died for me.
If Isabella thought she could use me, if she thought I could be her answer to saving Morvathia, then she would only meet the same fate.
She would die.
Just like everyone else who tried to stand beside me.
Isabella studied me for a long moment, the golden light of the chandeliers casting sharp shadows across her face.
Then, she laughed.
A quiet, elegant laugh—one that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Oh, Vaelith," she said, her voice laced with something between amusement and challenge. "How cruel of you to assume I am anything like Zareth."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Zareth died protecting you." She tilted her head. "But I have no intention of dying for anyone. Least of all, you."
She took a step closer, and I fought the urge to step back.
"You believe you are cursed," she continued, "that those who stand with you will fall."
She reached out, and before I could stop her, she placed a single finger under my chin, tilting my face upward.
"Perhaps that is true." Her golden eyes burned into mine. "But that is not why Zareth died."
Her lips curved—just slightly, not in a smirk, but something far colder.
"She died because she was weak."
The world around me blurred.
The words hit harder than any blow, ripping through my chest, through my ribs, through my very bones.
Before I knew what I was doing, I swung at her.
I put everything I had into it—every ounce of fury, of grief, of hatred for the woman standing before me.
But she caught my fist with infuriating ease.
As if I were nothing.
As if my anger—my pain—meant nothing.
Her grip tightened around my hand, firm but effortless, like she was holding back. Like she could crush me if she wanted to.
"And so are you."
A sharp, bitter breath left me as I struggled against her hold.
"No… No, Zareth was strong!" My voice cracked, desperation clawing its way out of my throat. My vision blurred—not with rage, but with something worse.
Something I couldn’t afford to feel.
Isabella scoffed, finally releasing me. "Magic-wise. Only magic-wise."
I stumbled back a step, my breath uneven.
"Strength isn't just about magic," she continued, turning away from me. "Zareth was powerful, yes. A Tier 5 Mage, feared and respected."
She walked toward the window, her gaze drifting beyond the glass, toward the war-torn lands of Morvathia. The lands Zareth once swore to protect.
"But magic alone doesn’t win wars," Isabella murmured. "Magic alone doesn’t keep you alive."
She turned back to me, her golden eyes gleaming with something dangerous.
"And tell me, dear Vaelith… what use is magic if the person wielding it cannot survive?"
Her voice was steady, almost casual, as if she were discussing the weather.
But I felt it like a dagger to the chest.
My breath hitched, my pulse quickened.
"She was strong," I whispered. The words felt like a plea.
Isabella tilted her head, amused. "Strong?" she echoed, as if testing how the word tasted in her mouth.
"She was kind to everyone."
Don't you dare disrespect her!
"She was the mos-"
DON’T—
"So weak."
The room seemed to shrink around me.
My nails dug into my palms, my body trembling from the effort to keep standing.
She doesn’t know anything.
She doesn’t know what Zareth went through.
She doesn’t—
"She was strong indeed," Isabella continued, voice calm, detached. "But not where it truly mattered."
I gritted my teeth, my vision blurring with heat.
"Do you think she would have died if she had been a little selfish?"
Her words dripped with mockery, but there was no lie in them.
"If she had run instead of throwing her life away?"
"For a Tier 5 mage like her, escape would have been effortless." Isabella’s eyes gleamed. "But she stayed. For what? The weak soldiers who could barely wield a sword."
I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I'LL KILL YOU!
"And look what it cost her," she continued mercilessly. "Tell me, does your dead mage whisper in your ear at night? Does she assure you it was worth it? That her corpse rotting in the dirt was a fair price to pay for your miserable life?"
SHUT UP!
"Being too kind will kill you, Vaelith," she said, stepping forward, forcing me to meet her gaze. "Slowly. Painfully. And you, of all people, should know that best."
She lifted a hand, her fingers ghosting over the mark on my cheek. I wanted to recoil, but my body refused to move.
"That same kindness led her to take in you," she murmured.
And then, softly, cruelly—
"The cursed princess."
I forgot how to breathe.
Her touch lingered for a moment, cold and deliberate, before she finally pulled away.
"Now look at you," she said, her voice quiet, sharp as a blade. "Dressed in silks. Bathed in perfume. Sitting here at my mercy"
She leaned down, her breath warm against my skin.
"Tell me, dear Vaelith," she whispered, "will you crawl into another grave beside her?"
I could feel my body shaking, but I didn’t know if it was from rage or something far more terrifying.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t speak.
Because I knew…
I couldn’t deny it.
Zareth should have left me.
She should have saved herself.
But she didn’t.
And now she was dead.
And I was still here.
Isabella took a step back, studying me like I was a puzzle she was piecing together.
"Good," she said finally, as if reading something in my silence.
She turned, walking toward the door. But before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder.
"You asked what I wanted from you?"
A slow, deliberate smile curved on her lips.
"I want to turn you into something useful."
She let the words sink in before adding,
"And if you fail me, Vaelith, I will send you back to that dungeon and let you rot. Just like you should have."
Then, without another word, she was gone.
And I was left alone with the weight of everything she had just said.
- Writer
