I was exhausted. The days blurred into one another, and I was losing track of time. Nate was already guessing that something was wrong with me.
"My prince, please rest. I'll take care of everything," he kept insisting, covering my duties and sending me away. The problem wasn't a lack of willingness on my part—I simply couldn't do it. My thoughts refused to settle, even though the chamber was utterly silent.
Sleep… even for a moment, I told myself, rubbing my face and sighing.
The mirror caught my eye.
Something was wrong with her again.
Losiela.
She looked worse than I remembered. No matter how hard I tried to ignore her, it was impossible to overlook what I saw.
Darkness wrapped around me, its cold touch swallowing me whole as I slipped into her room.
I stepped out of the shadows pooling in the corners. My footfalls dissolved into the gloom; to everyone else, I was invisible.
Losiela Dalenau had darker circles under her eyes than I did—something I'd thought impossible. I hadn't slept for months, and my angelic magic was running on fumes; what little strength I normally regained through rest I had long since denied myself. She was different. Angels her age needed sleep the way mortals needed bread.
I moved closer, studying her carefully. There were no injuries on her body. In fact, she looked better than she ever had. The bruises I'd left untreated were gone.
What's wrong, Losiela? Can't fall asleep?
Nonsense! The way she propped up her face, how she forced her eyes open every so often—she did it on purpose. Just like I did. We were both afraid to sleep.
Ah, Losiela… does the whole weight of Noxalora rest on your shoulders too?
Foolish adolescent—she didn't understand her body's needs. Thank heavens I was here to order her to stop the theatrics.
I was about to slip into her mind and command her to lie down when footsteps sounded to my right.
A second girl entered—hair the same copper tangle, arms full of blankets. I stepped aside at the last instant so she wouldn't crash into me, leaned against the wall, and scowled while my evening plans unraveled.
Now, begone… or you'll regret crossing me.
"You have to lie down!" the newcomer ordered, touching Losiela's back.
Losiela shook her head, raising a hand.
"I can't sleep," she whispered in a voice so drowsy it nearly made me yawn.
"This can't go on! I'll stay with you the whole time. If anything happens, I'll wake you immediately. You have to trust me."
"Jeliss, you don't understand… I can't sleep. I just can't. I'd rather die than go back there."
I listened, still none the wiser.
"You won't dream right away. Even half an hour would let your body rest."
"I will not sleep!" she snapped.
"For my sake, please. Try it once. If it fails, I'll think of something else."
I pressed against the wall, impatient. I waited for Losiela to move. My curiosity had limits; I couldn't stay longer than necessary. One girl wasn't worth the entire world. If it came to it, I would use brute force.
It wasn't needed. After a moment she rose, bone‑weary, skirted her sister, and collapsed into bed.
So much drama for nothing. It amused me. Young people were so foolish—she just proved it. I never let myself be melodramatic; Sarlan would have flayed me. Losiela needed a firm hand, or she would end badly.
The more I watched her, the clearer it became that all this was pointless. She was not special. Not a single trait justified my attention. Why her? What was supposed to change so drastically that the mirror had marked her as important?
Thanks to Prophetam, five minutes were enough for her to sink into a deep sleep.
I pushed off the wall, lifted a hand, ready to melt into shadow and leave them be.
And then it happened.
From nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the night. The hair on my arms stood on end; my body snapped into combat, darkness almost surging free on its own.
I turned. Losiela's peaceful slumber twisted into a nightmare. She writhed, clawed her face, shrieked so loudly it tore the air.
Jelissa had been expecting something like this and lunged toward the bed—but I was faster. Instinctively, thoughtlessly, I dove into Losiela's mind to see what was happening.
One glance was enough.
Her mind… was shattered.
I slipped inside far too easily—no shield barred me. Her entire subconscious lay in my palm; I could have done anything, and I hadn't spent a shred of effort to seize her thoughts or reshape them.
Even the weakest angels, those who'd never studied the mind, possessed a natural barrier, a survival reflex shielding the soul from outside tampering. For me, a scholar of the mind, such shields were easy to bypass, yet they still mattered: they mended, helped forget pain, and above all, prevented suicide.
Losiela had no such protection.
Her psyche was utterly exposed. Nothing stopped her from destroying herself. Someone had broken her, brutally.
And that someone had cursed her—forcing the subconscious to relive pain and suffering endlessly. Awake, she could repress it by sheer will, but while asleep, she had no control.
This girl didn't suffer only in dreams; she suffered while conscious, merely hiding it.
I had never tried to mend a shattered shield. I had no idea how to repair damage this extensive without causing worse harm.
I tried grabbing one of her memories and shoving it into awareness—useless. The instant I pushed it forward, the memory twisted into something monstrous, hurting her even more.
Good heavens! Whoever cursed her had to be a total madman, someone without a trace of mercy.
At this rate, she would be gone within days—no, hours. I seized the memory that tormented her most and tore it away.
I only wanted to buy her a few minutes of calm. It lasted a single heartbeat. The curse leapt to the next memory. Faster than I'd thought. She had less than a day.
I left her mind. The other girl still tried to wake her, but Losiela was buried too deep.
I sent a thought to Nate.
Can we talk?
I had no idea where he was or what he was doing. If he was on mission, distracting him could cost a life.
We can, my prince.
How would you stop a mind‑curse that causes progressive collapse?
Mind‑collapse? Nate's confusion didn't surprise me.
There's a girl. Her memories are being dragged into nightmares and warped. Fascinating, but I must stop it or she'll end up a raving corpse.
You need a master of the mind, my prince. I only had basic training.
No time.
What about keeping her dark and light psyche separated?
Absolutely not, I rejected. I'd have to do it myself—too much trouble, and it's temporary.
It might buy time to fetch a master.
True, but even that was impossible; such intervention would drain angelic energy I no longer possessed.
Perhaps wipe her memory entirely and starve the parasite? Without memories, the curse would have nothing to anchor to.
She'd become unable to speak, feed herself, or understand the world, Nate replied bluntly, an infant.
Hmph, that's rubbish. Better dead than useless.
I'll keep searching, my prince. In the meantime, you could at least ease her mind a little.
Fine. Report soon.
I slipped back into her mind. I weighed every option. If I erected an artificial shield with angelic magic, I'd collapse into deep sleep the instant it finished. My power reserves were already dust; recovering would take days.
Unthinkable—Darlek would exploit it at once.
I stared at the girl who had brought me nothing but trouble and wondered: Is she truly precious? Worth risking my position and strength?
No. I already possessed everything I'd ever wanted.
So I did nothing. I withdrew, cast one last glance at the copper‑haired nuisance, and melted into shadow, leaving her to her nightmares.
* * *
I needed to fly. The chamber was stifling, my head starting to pound. A night flight always helped. Since I had no intention of sleeping, I stepped onto the balcony, summoned my massive wings, and launched into the black sky.
I skimmed above the sentries—none noticed me—and headed straight for the one place that pulled me.
Within minutes, I landed before Darlek's private residence. I strode through the front entrance, ignoring the bowing guards, and made for the main hall.
"Where is your master?" I barked at a steward who was tidying up.
A brief answer sufficed. I didn't wait for niceties and marched to Darlek's personal chambers. I didn't care if he was asleep, naked, or otherwise occupied—I burst in without knocking.
Fortunately, my brother was sitting in an armchair, balcony doors open as always, gazing at the sky.
I dispensed with greetings. "How would you stop the spread of a mental curse that's dismantling its victim's mind?" He knew more about this field than I did.
Darlek slowly turned. He was already in his nightclothes. Seeing him without jewelry or his polished façade was unusual. As ever, he betrayed nothing, but in his eyes I glimpsed sorrow mixed with anger. Jaw clenched, dark rings beneath his eyes—aura taut like a drawn bowstring.
"Good evening, Reilan," he said stiffly. "Forgive me for not welcoming you—I didn't know you were coming." He rose, stood ramrod‑straight, hands clasped behind his back. "Please, sit. I'll ask the servants to bring tea."
Without answering my question, he walked past me to summon refreshments.
I held my tongue, though I felt like snapping at him. His pallor made me rein it in.
I sat and waited. He took too long but returned at last.
"Refreshments will be here shortly," he said. He kept his distance, hands hidden.
"I don't care for refreshments. Will you give me an answer?"
"How long does the victim have? How severe is the damage?" He turned his back, pacing; at least he was willing to talk.
"Not long. The curse is spreading fast and the victim is still a child."
Darlek stopped, motionless, breath held, lost in thought—the speed of his mind was one reason I feared him.
After a moment, he spoke. "Either give the victim a spiritual artifact that reverses the curse, or enter her mind yourself and carry the parasite into your own. There's also a slower yet surer route—find a mind‑master. He can heal the damaged sections gradually, but the process is agonizing and long."
"Why do I feel your second idea would cripple me?"
"You wanted answers. I told you everything I thought of."
"You haven't helped."
Securing such an artifact in this time frame was impossible; I knew from experience I'd need centuries. As for engaging a master to save a mere servant girl—absurd.
"Mental curses end ninety‑nine percent of the time in death," he went on. "The one percent survive through miracles or masters who sacrifice their own cultivation to destroy the parasite. Hence, such curses are strictly forbidden, and whoever cursed your victim should be summoned and executed immediately."
"You always have a solution!" I snapped.
"Summon a master and command him to help. No one defies you," he replied, stepping closer; the room grew noticeably colder. "Your orders are the highest law."
He was playing his game. I had no patience for it.
"Drop the act and be honest with me," I said, standing tall to meet his gaze.
"Was it necessary?" In his right hand he held a once‑white handkerchief, now stained with blood, lace edging delicate, the name Ciela embroidered in one corner—his newest concubine.
Was—because I'd ordered Nate to remove her, to remind Darlek that everything he had or ever would have belonged to me.
"I did it for your good. I heard you'd been treating her… poorly."
"Poorly?" His voice dropped a note. The epithet hardly fit him: to his subjects, he was the flawless prince.
"It's unseemly to call an expendable concubine 'Princess'. That title belongs only to our sister and my future bride. Not even your lawful wife will merit it. Remember—you're merely my understudy. Your line will never be worth even half of mine."
"When will you realize I don't want to replace you?" he asked, weariness in his voice.
"Nor will you," I said coldly. "It's my duty to think, so you needn't. Stop chasing miracles. Sit your luxurious backside down, take whatever women you like, and stay out of my way."
Darlek shook his head sharply, surprisingly holding my gaze. It had been ages since we talked this long. Usually, a few words and we parted, but tonight it was time to speak my mind.
"After all these years, you still haven't forgotten," he murmured, voice slipping inside me. "You fear me just like when we were children."
How I hated him for that. Our childhood… a nightmare. Doubtless many wondered why he hadn't been born first: Darlek was perfect at everything, the embodiment of a future ruler. And I? I was not like him—unable to keep calm, emotions too loud, unwilling to pose as an indestructible heir. I liked getting dirty—Darlek never did. His entire presence was a perfectly worn mask of power.
I was turning to leave when one word stopped me. "Wait."
I faced him, surprised by the directness of his tone.
"Whom are you trying to save?" he asked quietly.
"I'm not trying to save anyone," I answered coolly. "Just a hypothetical question."
"All right. I'll believe you," he said, surprisingly sincere. "But as an almost mind‑master, I must warn you: mental wounds are far worse than physical ones. Flesh heals with time. Wounds of the mind stay until death."
He paused, stepped closer—so near I felt his breath. Concern and authority mingled in his eyes.
"My spies are right…"
"About what?" I barked, fists clenching.
"…you haven't slept in a long time. You need rest or you'll collapse. Your body is running on fumes."
"Studying medicine now?" I sneered, voice a bit too tight.
"One look into your eyes is enough," he replied calmly.
I didn't want to continue. Whether I denied it or argued changed nothing: he was right, and he knew because he spied on me as I on him—our agents unmatched. And those eyes? Nonsense. My eyes were the same as ever.
Yet I wouldn't leave without the last word. I turned toward the balcony. "Love has no place here. You should be grateful for my help."
I myself never intended to love—seeing what love had done to our father. Once the most powerful of men, son of the very god of angels, after losing our mother, he merely endured. The only thing that could destroy him wasn't the Light Prophecy but simple love for a mortal.
"Surely you don't think I'm still capable of love," he retorted. I searched his words for dishonesty and found none. After all this time, perhaps he was as hollow as I.
I understood. The truth was, the world had ceased to be fascinating. I could no longer love—not even myself, much less another.
"Please," he added, surprisingly. Yet his tone wasn't desperate; it was calm, composed, as always. "Stay out of my private life, Reilan."
I turned to the balcony. Huge black wings unfurled from my back. Without another word, without a farewell, I soared into the night sky drenched in darkness.
I had no reason to look back.
Yet I did.
I hovered, glancing through the open balcony. Darlek stood where I'd left him, still clutching the blood‑stained handkerchief. I watched him press it to his lips, planting a kiss, then, with the same quiet composure he'd shown while begging me to stay out, he folded it in darkness and let it vanish.
I hesitated only a heartbeat. Should I return to him?
I shook my head. It was too late to salvage a brotherhood long broken. Darlek didn't understand me, and I didn't understand him. We might share blood, yet we were two of the most dissimilar souls ever born.
I turned away and flew off into the night.