Chapter 5
1417 Words
"You still survived" Zareth said sternly.
"Listen here child, no matter how you do it. If you survive, you get to see another day. Because in this world, survival means strength."
I stared at her, my small hands trembling at my sides.
Survival means strength?
What kind of ridiculous reasoning was that?
My nanny was strong—stronger than me, at least. But she died. She died protecting me, and all I did was run. Did that make me strong? Just because I survived?
It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like cowardice.
I wanted to scream at her, to tell her that survival meant nothing if the ones who mattered were left behind. But the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because deep down, I knew she wouldn’t care.
I looked into her eyes—calm, unwavering, and completely certain. She truly believed it.
And maybe, in this world, she wasn’t wrong.
But if survival was all that mattered, then why did my chest feel so empty?
"What is your name, child?" she asked, as if everything that had just happened was of no consequence.
I hesitated. "...Vaelith. Vaelith Nightbloom."
For a moment, something flickered in her gaze—an emotion I couldn’t quite grasp.
"Nightbloom?" she repeated.
I knew that name carried weight. The cursed child. The daughter of the king’s mistress. The wretched omen who stole her mother’s life the moment she was born.
People never looked at me as just a child. To them, I was something to be shunned, a stain upon the royal bloodline. Even those who didn’t speak it aloud let their silence speak for them.
But my nanny had never looked at me that way. She had held me when I was cold, hummed lullabies when I couldn't sleep. She was the only one who had ever chosen to stay by my side.
But she was gone now.
I braced myself for the same coldness, the same veiled contempt I had come to expect.
Instead, Zareth placed a hand on my head. Her touch was light, but it didn't waver.
"You are too young for this cruel world," she murmured.
It wasn’t meant to comfort me. It wasn’t an apology, nor an excuse.
It was simply the truth.
"Listen here, Vaelith. Would you like to stay with me?" Zareth asked, her smile warm yet unwavering.
A flicker of hope sparked within me.
Maybe… maybe all the people around me had died because they were too weak. But Zareth was strong. She was different. Maybe, just maybe, if I stayed by her side. I wouldn't have to lose anyone again...
How foolish of me.
How utterly mistaken I was.
Soon after that incident, I began living with Zareth.
She taught me everything I needed to know—how to read, how to hold a dagger, and most importantly, how to survive. In my eyes, she was the strongest person in the world.
It was through her that I learned about magic.
There were eight tiers of mages, each one stronger than the last, the same went for monsters. Tier 8s were barely considered mages at all, while Tier 2s were the closest beings to gods. But no one dared to reach Tier 1. Only one person had ever achieved it, and in the end, their own power consumed them. It was called cursed magic.
Zareth was a Tier 5 mage, the strongest in all of Morvathia. That alone was proof of how rare mages were in this world.
She once told me that I had mana in me, though barely enough to matter.
"Mana is the essence of life," she had said. "The source of magic within every living being. But just because you have it doesn’t mean you can wield it."
Back then, I thought little of it.
After all, what use was a tiny flicker of mana to someone like me?
But I should have known better.
Because fate had never been kind to me.
And that small flicker… would one day set the world ablaze.
A decade had passed since I began living with Zareth.
For the longest time, I started to believe that maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t cursed after all.
But fate had a cruel way of proving me wrong.
It happened during a monster hunt.
A Tier 4 monster appeared out of nowhere. It should have been impossible—Tier 6 monsters were already a rarity, but a Tier 4? That was unheard of.
The kingdom’s forces barely lasted a few minutes. The weaker ones dropped like flies, their bodies convulsing under the sheer agony of the creature’s venom. But Zareth… Zareth held on.
She didn’t die.
But she never stood again.
The poison coursed through her veins like a slow-burning fire, stripping her of everything that made her strong.
Morvathia’s greatest mage, the woman who stood above all, had been reduced to a fragile existence.
Bedridden. Helpless.
And all I could do was watch.
Something in me shattered that day.
I blamed myself for the state she was in.
It had to be because of me.
Because I was cursed.
That’s what they always whispered. That’s what they always believed.
And maybe… maybe they were right.
Zareth lay motionless on the bed, her once radiant presence now withering away. The woman who had stood stronger than anyone, who had taught me what it meant to survive—now she couldn't even lift a finger.
"Vae..."
Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it struck me harder than any blade ever could.
A tear slipped down my cheek before I even realized it.
"Yes?" My voice broke as I took her frail hand in mine.
"I'm sorry... It's all my fault..." My sobs spilled out, raw and unrestrained, like a child again.
"Stupid…" Her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, though her voice was weak. "It's not your fault."
But how could she say that?
How could she still smile when she had lost everything?
I bit my lip, staring at the fragile hand in mine. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.
If I was cursed… then why was she the one paying the price?
For the first time in my life, I hated how powerless I was.
Just as I thought the curse had been lightened… it came back to take everything from me again.
"Vae… I'm afraid… this is my end," she said, each word a struggle, her breath ragged.
I froze.
What?
Her end?
No… no, no, no, no.
My mind refused to accept it. She couldn’t die. Not her. Not after everything.
"Could you do me a last favor, Vae?"
I wanted to break down. To scream, to sob. But that would only show her how weak I was.
Instead, I bit down on my trembling lip, forcing back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume me.
I looked down, watching as my tears soaked her frail hand. Then, slowly, I nodded.
"Can you please… call me your mother… just once?"
Her voice was so faint, yet it struck harder than any battle.
I could feel it—her life slipping away.
Zareth had always told me… that it was better my mother died giving birth to me than the other way around.
At first, I never understood why.
But then, little by little, I came to understand her.
Zareth had lost her baby during childbirth.
She had lived with that pain ever since.
And now… she was asking me for the one thing she never got to hear from her own child.
"Mother..." The word slipped from my lips, fragile, uncertain—like a prayer left unheard.
My breath hitched. My chest ached.
"Please don’t leave me… I beg you… please…"
My fingers curled around her weak, lifeless hand, gripping it as if my touch alone could anchor her to this world.
But it was slipping.
She was slipping.
A faint smile graced her lips. "Ah… how I wished… I could have heard that sooner…"
"Don't say that," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Just hold on! I’ll find a way—I swear, I’ll find a way to save you!"
But her eyes… those kind, unwavering eyes, were already losing their light.
"Vae… you were never cursed," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "You were… my greatest blessing."
I could see that she wanted to die but couldn't.
The pain was eating her slowly.
The only thing I could do was...
- Writer
