"You implied it," Aurelia snapped. "Your words sound like all humans are the same. Like because you suffered, the rest of humans deserve to suffer too."
Sorana's nostrils flared, fury and old grief twisting beneath her usually calm exterior.
Her jaw clenched, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet—too quiet.
"Humans ruin lives without hesitation," she said, each word pressed out like it cost her something. "I know what they can do. I lived it."
Aurelia stepped closer, heat rising to her cheeks.
"And I know what dark creatures can do."
Her voice trembled—not from fear, but from the unfairness of being judged for a world she never chose.
"You take whatever you want. You destroy families. You buy and sell people like objects."
Her chest rose sharply. "So tell me—who here is innocent?"
The room fell into a tense stillness, like the walls themselves were listening.
Sorana swallowed, her throat tightening. She didn't look away—but something in her eyes faltered, a crack in the armor she always wore.
Not weakness.
Memory.
Aurelia's voice softened—not gentle, but honest.
"I'm not asking you to love humans," she said. "But don't use your pain to decide that all humans are monsters."
"Excuse me, my lady."
Sorana's voice was tight—polite only because it had to be.
She bowed quickly, stiffly, the movement sharp with anger she couldn't hide.
Her fists trembled at her sides, nails digging into her palms, jaw clenched so tightly Aurelia saw the muscle twitch.
Before Aurelia could say another word, Sorana turned on her heel.
The door swung open with a hard shove—
Dub!
just loud enough to reveal the storm boiling inside her.
Her steps echoed down the hallway—fast, clipped, furious.
Aurelia stood there, breath uneven, watching the empty doorway.
The argument still crackled in the air like static.
And Sorana…
Sorana left like someone who couldn't stand another second in that room without breaking.
-------------------------
Aurelia had already taken breakfast and lunch, the hours slipping past almost unnoticed. The sun was dipping lower, painting the palace in long, golden streaks, and the day was slowly folding into night.
She sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers pressed to her temples as her head throbbed—slow, heavy pulses that made the room tilt for a moment.
Aurelia would swear that Tenebrarum's estate… as terrifying as it had been, as suffocating as the shadows felt… might have been better than this place.
Here, everything spiraled too fast.
Just one single day, and she felt more worn down than she ever had in her life.
Her plans—her little dreams of fighting, of keeping herself sane—gone.
Her mind felt bruised from everything she'd learned, everything she'd lost.
Tenebrarum had killed her brother.
Kaelen had called her something she would never believe she was.
Sorana—someone she had begun trusting—had tried to poison her.
Every piece of her life felt cracked, scattered.
Aurelia pressed her hand to her chest, as if she could hold herself together by force alone.
"Is there ever going to be peace here?" she whispered, though no one heard.
The room remained silent, offering nothing.
Her lungs tightened.
"I miss home…" The words escaped before she could swallow them.
She missed waking up in her small bed, hearing her stepsister Fira laughing in the kitchen.
She missed the safety of those tiny moments—ordinary, warm, simple.
Here… everything was wrong.
Even, Sorana thought humans were wicked.
How on earth could she believe that?
Yes, humans had done her terrible things—but dark creatures had done worse.
There is always bad on the good side. Always good on the bad side.
Why couldn't she just see that?
She buried her face into her palms.
Sometimes she felt glad Velmara was alive…
but that dream—
that dream still haunted her, its edges sharp, its meaning unclear.
"Maybe I'm nobody," she murmured, voice cracking.
"Maybe I'm too weak."
Aurelia curled forward, hugging her knees so tightly her arms shook.
Her breath hitched.
A few tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Then—
A voice cut through the silence.
"You're more stupid than I thought."
Aurelia's head snapped up.
It was Tenebrarum,she immediately remembered the dark moments they shared.
His touch, his lips, every thing.
Tenebrarum stood inside her room, silent as a shadow, as if he'd been there long enough to hear more than she wanted him to.
She didn't hear him enter.
He was just… there.
His masked face looking straight at her,
"You sit here crying over things you barely understand," he said, voice smooth but sharp enough to make her spine stiffen. "Over things that don't matter."
Aurelia wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, angry he was seeing her like this.
"I wasn't crying," she whispered.
His eyebrow lifted — just slightly.
"Really," he replied, stepping closer.
The air shifted with him, like the room itself was obeying.
"Let's go," he said.
Tenebrarum didn't wait for her answer.
He simply turned, the black fabric of his coat shifting like a moving shadow, and the room's temperature dropped a fraction—just enough to make her skin prickle.
Aurelia pushed herself off the bed slowly, her legs unsteady, her breathing still uneven from crying.
"Why?" she asked, voice soft but tight. "Where are we going?"
"To remind you," he said without looking back, "who you belong to."
She was closer to him now. The air around him carried a scent she couldn't name—rich, dark, and sharp, yet warm in a way that settled into her chest, making her heartbeat thrum faster. It wasn't perfume; it was him.
"Hold me," he ordered. Her fingers trembled as they slid around his hand, and the heat of his skin under her touch made her forget how to breathe.
Every step they took together was heavy with unspoken words. The fragrance lingered, weaving through her senses, pulling her closer without a single move toward her lips.
Aurelia couldn't stop noticing the faint curve of his jaw under the mask, the strength in his arm, or how impossibly steady he made her feel.
She couldn't stop remembering his touch on her back, she couldn't just forget it.
Her pulse raced, a chaotic rhythm in contrast to his calm. Part of her wanted to run, to resist, but the pull in her chest whispered otherwise.
Somehow, the world had narrowed to just the two of them, the scent, the hand in hers, and the quiet promise lingering in the space between them.
------------------------------
To be continued...