The chamber seemed even smaller as the tension grew. The candles burned with a flickering light, casting restless shadows on the stone walls, while the scent of burned herbs and dried blood hung heavy in the air. Cerys clutched the egg to her chest, feeling the rough texture of its shell beneath her fingers, and stepped forward. Her eyes, cold as sharpened blades, locked onto Lilith with a piercing intensity.

  — Do you really feel nothing for him? Her voice was firm, but there was a thread of irritation hidden within her words. — During the battle, you seemed worried about him. Now you act as if you don’t care.

  Lilith slowly lifted her gaze, her expression unchanged, but the gleam in her golden eyes hinted at amusement.

  — Perhaps I have developed something for him. She tilted her head slightly, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. — But our relationship has always been clear, Cerys.

  The sorceress rose slowly from the cushions where she had been seated, and as she did, the shadows around her slithered like hungry serpents. She took a step forward, barefoot, the faint sound of her feet meeting the cold stone echoing softly through the chamber.

  — He is the warrior he is because of me. Her voice was a whisper laden with conviction. — I gave him something to call power. I made him more than he was.

  She stopped in front of Cerys, scrutinizing her as if searching for weaknesses. Then, her lips curled into a slow smile.

  — But what about you? Why all this concern, Cerys? Her tone now carried a hint of provocation. — The same woman who tried to take Volcrist. The same one who helped set this war in motion. Now you want to play protector?

  Cerys clenched her fists, her heart pounding with fury. The candlelight reflected in her golden hair, giving her an aura of both light and shadow.

  — You wouldn’t understand. Her voice was low, yet carried something deeper.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  She averted her gaze for a moment, as if searching for words she would never find. Then, without another word, she turned. Her cloak billowed behind her as she walked to the door and left, leaving Lilith behind, alone among the shadows and the scent of ancient magic.

  Lilith remained still for a moment, watching the door slowly close. Her eyes gleamed with an unspoken thought, and then, almost as if speaking to herself, she whispered:

  — Not understand… or understand better than you think?

  The chamber was shrouded in twilight, illuminated only by the flickering glow of scattered candles. The scent of burned herbs and lingering magic saturated the air, dense and intoxicating, as if the very atmosphere was thick with power. Lilith stood motionless for a few moments after Cerys left, watching the dark wooden door still tremble slightly from the movement. Her golden eyes gleamed in the wavering light, reflecting turbulent thoughts unraveling like echoes in the darkness.

  She sighed, walking slowly to a small oak table where a glass vial rested. Inside, a thick dark liquid swirled with threads of glowing gold, as if they were trying to consume each other.

  — You really shouldn’t have done that… she murmured to herself, brushing her fingertips lightly against the vial.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the moment she felt Aemon’s energy spiral out of control on the battlefield. The way his body seemed to tremble with a force that wasn’t his own, as if he stood on the edge of collapse—or something far worse.

  — Cerys injected magic into him… her voice was a grave whisper. — But she couldn’t have. Not with his blood.

  She closed her eyes tightly, forcing herself to rearrange the puzzle pieces. Aemon’s blood was already different, already carried something latent, something dormant. Forcing foreign magic into that was like pouring oil onto fire—and in her recklessness, Cerys had struck the match.

  — His blood must have resisted. Her fingers drummed against the wood. — But… I don’t know if that’s what made him awaken. Or if it was the collision between his blood and Cerys’ magic.

  She stepped away from the table and began pacing the chamber, shadows stretching around her as the candle flames flickered. Her mind worked relentlessly, replaying every detail, every fragment of what had happened.

  — This really wasn’t supposed to happen.

  She stopped abruptly, her heart pounding with an odd unease. Aemon had survived—but for how long? And more than that… what had he truly become?

  Her gaze fell upon a small bronze mirror leaning against the wall. Her own reflection stared back at her, her expression carrying something she rarely allowed herself to feel: doubt.

  Because, deep down, the most terrifying question of all echoed in her mind like a sinister whisper:

  "What if he is no longer the same?"