Julian
My joints ached as if they had turned to stone, and my head throbbed with fragments of the night before. Flashes of light and screams burst behind my eyelids, tangled with rain and chanting. Exhaustion had overtaken me completely, pulling me under without permission. I must have collapsed on the leather couch, the same one where Asteria had lain before.
The last thing I remembered was her still body being carried away from me, swallowed by the dark. I heard her cries long after that, echoing in my head through the night. Sometimes they sounded close, sometimes far, as if I were drifting through layers of a nightmare I could not escape. Each time I fought my way toward consciousness, Orin's low, steady voice pulled me back into sleep. I could no longer tell what had been real and what had not.
When I finally opened my eyes, they stung at the sudden brightness in the room.
"Asteria." The name tore from my throat before I could think. I sat up too quickly, the room spinning around me.
"Easy now," Orin said gently, pressing a hand against my shoulder. "You need to rest. Asteria is fine."
Her voice was soft, but there was authority beneath it that made me stop. Her green eyes searched my face carefully, the kind of look that measured both strength and sanity.
"Where is she?" I demanded, the memory of her blood and the storm flooding back. "I need to see her."
"She had a rough night. She is resting." Orin's tone was calm, too calm, as if that could explain everything.
"I need to see her," I repeated, sharper this time. "Now."
Orin hesitated. Her expression tightened just enough to betray thought. She studied me for a few seconds before she spoke again, her voice low and deliberate.
"I know you have been through a great deal," she said. "And I know you are afraid. But right now, you need to calm yourself. You will see her soon enough. She needs quiet. So do you."
She handed me a cup of tea and a plate of bread and fruit. "Eat something. You will think more clearly after."
I pushed the tray away, frustration rising inside me.
"I do not want your tea."
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"So you do not want me to answer your questions," she murmured, almost amused, and began to rise from her chair.
I caught her wrist before she could leave. My grip was not strong, but it was desperate.
"Do not toy with me," I warned through clenched teeth.
To my surprise, she laughed softly, a quiet sound that almost carried kindness.
"You are in no condition to harm anyone," she said, her eyes glinting with something between amusement and pity. "But that is not what I am doing."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Trying to keep you from falling apart," she said simply, and for a fleeting moment her tone was genuinely gentle.
I held her gaze, refusing to back down. She sighed, her shoulders softening.
"I promise you, she is safe," Orin said at last. "You will see her soon."
She sat back down in one of the armchairs across from me, folding her hands in her lap. "My name is Orin, as I told you before. The other woman who survived the ritual is Ignes. And the man who brought you here…" She hesitated, as if the name itself carried weight. "His name is Lucien."
I repeated it slowly. "Lucien." The name burned on my tongue. It sounded like a curse.
Orin nodded, watching me carefully. " I know what you saw. And I know it must be hard to make sense of any of it. I know how it sounds. But I promise, we meant no harm to you or to her."
"No harm?" I snapped. "You call that no harm? She was bleeding, screaming. Whatever you did to her—"
"She is better now," Orin interrupted, not unkindly but with the weariness of someone who had said those words too many times before. "Last night was not meant to hurt her. It was meant to bring something back. Something she lost a long time ago."
I stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. "Bring back what?"
Orin's gaze fell to the floor. "A part of herself," she said softly.
I did not believe her. Or perhaps I did not want to.
"And the others?" I asked quietly. "The ones who did not survive?"
Her throat tightened. She looked away, and for the first time, her composure cracked.
"They knew the risks," she said. "We all did."
Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hiss of the fireplace.
Then she looked up again, her voice gentler. "Do you care about her?"
"She is everything to me," I said without hesitation. The words came from somewhere deep, beyond thought.
Orin nodded slowly, as if she had known the answer but needed to hear it aloud.
"Then stay," she said. "You are free to go if you wish. But she cannot leave this place. Not yet."
"What do you mean she cannot leave?"
"She belongs here, for now." Orin rose, smoothing her dark dress. "When she wakes, she will need you. That much I am sure of."
And with that, she turned and left the room, leaving me trembling by the fire, surrounded by the faint scent of smoke and the quiet hiss of the rain outside.
The steam from the untouched tea curled upward, twisting like ghostly fingers. I watched it fade, unable to move. My mind kept circling back to Orin's words, to Lucien's name, to Asteria's still face. None of it made sense.
Now, in daylight, the place looked entirely different. The shadows that had once clung to the walls were gone, replaced by a strange, heavy calm. The room felt larger, almost peaceful. Dust particles drifted lazily in the air, catching the muted sunlight that filtered through the tall windows draped in heavy velvet curtains. The rain still fell against the glass, fierce and relentless.
Beautiful paintings lined the walls: landscapes, tempests, and portraits of faces too vivid to forget. Beneath them stood shelves carved from dark mahogany, filled with rows of fragile books and crystal bottles that glimmered faintly in the light. A desk sat near the window, its legs carved with intricate designs that told stories I did not recognize.
Two armchairs rested by the fireplace, their cushions worn but inviting, with a small wooden table between them. I noticed details I had missed before: the faint scent of lavender in the air, the low hum of the fire's last embers, the lingering warmth where Orin had sat.
Then my eyes caught something in the far corner. A statue, nearly life-sized, standing in still silence.
A woman carved from marble, her form frozen mid-motion, as if she had just turned toward someone who had spoken her name. Her face was serene, almost peaceful, her lips parted in the faintest suggestion of breath. The sculptor had captured a grace so lifelike it sent a chill down my spine.
I stepped closer. The craftsmanship was extraordinary: the folds of her gown, the strands of her hair, the tilt of her chin. But what caught me most was her resemblance to Asteria. Not identical, but close enough to steal my breath.
The same quiet strength in her expression. The same softness at the corner of her mouth. Even the way her hair fell across her shoulder felt familiar.
I stared at her for a long time, unable to look away. My chest tightened painfully.
Of course it was not her. I knew that. Yet the likeness was enough to make my heart stumble, enough to make the air around me feel thinner.
My fingers hovered just above the statue's arm, afraid to touch it, afraid that doing so might make it vanish or crumble to dust.
Asteria, my beautiful love...
What have they done to you?