Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Light pooled soft and gold across the canopy, hazy and flickering like candlelight through water. Emily stirred, barely—her body heavy, distant. Her limbs didn’t quite belong to her. The world felt muffled, like she was underwater. Or asleep inside a memory.

The bed beneath her was too soft, too warm. Sheets like clouds. A canopy arched above, its carved edges blurred at the corners of her vision. She blinked, but even that felt slow. Detached.

A shape stood at the foot of the bed.

Dark. Still.

Her eyes struggled to focus. The details wouldn’t hold—there was a man, tall, unmoving. She thought—dark robes? Pale eyes? He didn’t speak. Just watched her. Like he’d been there a long time.

She wanted to ask—where am I? who are you? why are you watching me?—but her mouth wouldn’t work. Her thoughts slipped sideways.

The room swayed. Or maybe she did.

The man didn’t move.

And then the gold light dimmed, soft as breath, and the world pulled her back down.

The second time she woke, it was to sunlight.

Not golden and flickering like before, but sharp and bright—pouring in through tall windows, chasing shadows from the corners of the room. It was midday, judging by the way the light struck the stone floor in angled bars.

Emily blinked, squinting against it. Her body felt sore, heavy in places she couldn’t name. Her back ached with a deep, raw throb. Her arms, her legs—tender and stiff. Someone had changed her. She wears a soft light long shirt.

But she was awake. Really awake this time.

The room was the same one she'd half-remembered from before: the enormous four-poster bed with thick velvet curtains, the carved headboard, the faint floral scent of clean linens.

No canopy light.

No watching figure.

No drifting sensation like she was floating through someone else’s dream.

Only the weight of her own pain, the pulse behind her eyes, the distant sounds of footsteps in some far hallway.

She sat up slowly, muscles stiff but functional. Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed her hair back—and then she looked down.

The ember sigil was still there. Glowing faintly on her hand.

Emily let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Second life. Still active.

She hadn’t died.

She swallowed and stared at it for a long moment, her thoughts catching up with her.

The gashes. The pain. The blood. The way it had all vanished like it had never happened.

But it had. She remembered the way Varis had looked at her. The way her body had folded under that final wound.

The handle turned with a soft click.

Varis stepped in, head bowed, her steps silent over the stone. She didn’t look up, not even once, until she reached Emily’s bedside.

Caelan followed just behind her. He didn’t approach. Just stayed by the door, arms folded, expression unreadable. Watching.

Varis finally lifted her gaze. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently. “Any residual pain?”

Emily cleared her throat, her voice rough. “Mostly just my back.”

Varis nodded. “Can you roll over for me?”

Emily hesitated, then shifted slowly, biting down a wince. The movement tugged at something deep and sore.

When Varis lifted the hem of her shirt, Emily felt a breeze across her spine—and the healer drew in a soft breath. A long pink line still marked the skin, raised and fresh like it had only just closed.

Varis raised a hand, and a soft shimmer of green light began to bleed from her fingers. It pooled gently across the wound, spreading warmth as it soaked into the skin.

Emily let out a long breath. The ache receded, fading into nothing. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Varis gave a quiet nod, letting the hem fall back into place.

“You’re excused,” Caelan said behind her, voice low but final.

Varis bowed deeply at the waist. Then she turned and exited without another word, the door shutting behind her with a click.

Emily sat up slowly, pressing a palm to the mattress to steady herself. The ache in her back was gone, but the memory of it still hummed beneath her skin.

Caelan stood just inside the door, silent as a statue.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowing. “What happened to me?” Her voice was raspier than she’d expected. “Did you feel it?”

He took a slow step forward. “Yes.”

His voice was low. Quieter than usual.

“I figured.” She rubbed at her temple.

A long pause.

“I know.”

She blinked at him, then studied his face. His eyes looked tired. Hollow around the edges.

“What happened?” she asked. Not accusing. Just trying to understand.

“We tracked the cultists to a ravine near the eastern ridge,” he said. “They were waiting. More than expected. Shields, blood runes. It wasn’t supposed to be a fight like that.”

Her brows drew together. “You had a squad.”

“I did,” he said. “But we were outnumbered. They were ready for us. I thought we could handle it. I was wrong.”

Emily didn’t say anything for a while. The light from the window caught in the folds of the blanket.

She spoke softly. “You got hurt.”

“I did.” His voice dropped lower. “I wasn’t fast enough. I let one of them past my guard. And I felt it echo into you. The first hit. The second.” He looked at the floor for a beat. “When you dropped, I felt that too.”

She inhaled through her nose. Her chest ached.

“You could’ve died,” he added, almost like he wasn’t speaking to her—like it was still replaying in his head.

Emily studied him. Not angry now. Just… unsettled. “You’re not used to this, are you?”

He looked up, caught off guard by the question.

“Someone else being tied to what happens to you,” she said, quieter now. “Having someone else’s life depend on yours.”

He shook his head once. “No.”

Emily let that sit between them.

Then, quietly: “You don’t have to act like it didn’t scare you.”

That got him.

His jaw tensed. His posture shifted. And then, like something unspooled inside him, his shoulders dropped a fraction.

“I felt guilt the second it happened,” he said. “The second your pain hit me. And I hated it. Because I caused it. Because I knew you didn’t choose this.” He paused, then added, “Because I never wanted to hurt you.”

Something in his voice cracked a little at the end—not broken, but… exposed.

Emily looked away, the silence stretching.

After a while, she said, “Just don’t make me go through that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” he said. The words came out low. Steady. “You have my word.”

Emily’s voice was quiet, but steady. “What about the family? The couple and their daughter.”

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Caelan’s expression shifted, tightening. His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before he answered.

“The parents didn’t survive.”

Her breath caught. “But… their second life. They should’ve come back, right?”

“They couldn’t,” he said. His voice was low. “The cultists took it.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending. “Took it? You mean—they stole their second life?”

He nodded once. “It’s possible. Through certain kinds of blood magic.”

Emily shook her head slowly. “I thought the mark was permanent.”

“It is. But with the right rite—if done quickly after death—the tether can be severed and claimed.”

She swallowed. “But why? Why steal someone’s second life?”

“Because some of them already burned through their own. And they want another.”

Her stomach turned. “That’s monstrous.”

“It is,” he said quietly.

A silence fell between them.

Then Emily’s eyes lifted again. “And the little girl? The daughter?”

Caelan didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked away for a moment.

“She’s alive,” he said finally. “But she… she burned through her second life.”

Emily’s breath hitched. “She died?”

He nodded. “She did. But she came back.”

“And now that’s it?” she asked. “No second chance left?”

“No more second life,” he confirmed. “Just the one she has now.”

Emily looked down, heart aching. “She’s just a kid. Where is she?”

“She’s safe,” Caelan said. “Asleep. Varis has her in her quarters.”

“She’s watching her?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “The girl took to her quickly. I think… it’s because Varis looks a great deal like her mother.”

Something in Emily cracked at that.

“She won’t be alone,” he added. “Not while she’s here.”

Caelan’s voice lingered in the air long after he'd finished speaking. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then he shifted his weight, gaze drifting toward the door. “I should go,” he said quietly. “I haven’t slept.”

Emily blinked. “Are you… okay?”

He hesitated, just a fraction. “Just tired. I was up all night.”

A flash of memory.

A figure at the foot of her bed—dark robes, pale eyes, watching her through dim light. She’d thought it a dream, something made up by her pain-fogged brain. But now…

She didn’t ask. Didn’t press.

“Okay,” she said softly instead.

He nodded, lingering one heartbeat longer before stepping toward the door.

The latch clicked shut behind him.

Emily exhaled slowly and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

Alive. The girl was alive. One slip now—one wrong step, one fall—and that would be it. No second life. No safety net.

She lowered her hands and stared at her palm.

The ember sigil still glowed faintly, warm and soft, like a pulse beneath her skin. It didn't flicker or fade. Still there. Still hers. She flexed her fingers, watching the lines ripple.

It should’ve brought comfort. It didn’t.

Her thoughts drifted back—flashes of the pain, the blood. The way her body had collapsed under a wound Caelan had earned.

She’d felt it all.

Having someone else’s life tied to hers—no, not just tied. Entwined. A thread that tugged when he bled, that punished her when he got too reckless—it made her stomach twist. He’d looked guilty. Regretful. But that didn’t undo the fact that it had happened. That it could happen again.

She looked toward the tall windows. Sunlight streamed through them in broad, angled shafts, turning dust into gold. She could hear birds faintly, somewhere outside. A breeze stirred the velvet curtains.

Too calm. Too beautiful for how wrecked she felt.

She thought about the girl again—small, alone, scarred by something she wouldn’t understand for years. A child who had no idea how close she’d come to vanishing forever.

Her back still ached faintly, a ghost of the pain that had lanced through her earlier. She shifted carefully, curling her knees to her chest beneath the covers.

She wasn’t ready for this world.

But it didn’t seem to care.

Emily glanced around the room—and paused when her eyes landed on the nightstand.

There it was.

That same thick, square-shaped book she’d found in the library. The one with the ridiculous smiling sword on the cover. Little Souls, Big History! The painted leather binding looked even more absurd in daylight, like it had no business existing in a place like this.

She hadn't seen it earlier.

Varis must’ve brought it earlier, and Emily simply hadn't noticed.

Emily reached for it, her hand still a little unsteady. The weight of it was oddly comforting—solid, familiar in a place that was anything but.

Emily flipped ahead a few pages, the illustrations shifting from whimsical to slightly unsettling. She paused at a page depicting an extravagant throne room filled with colorful banners and a grim-looking king on a throne, surrounded by an absurd number of women wearing identical crowns.

The heading, scrawled in cheerfully bright letters, read:

“The King Who Couldn’t Count His Wives!”

She blinked and leaned in closer.

“Once upon a time, in a grand kingdom high above the clouds, there was a King who desperately wanted a son. He married a beautiful Queen—but, alas, a princess was born. And the Queen? She disappeared. Poof! How strange!”

Emily frowned and kept reading, discomfort tightening in her chest.

“Did he give up? Nope! Another marriage, another baby—and another princess! And another Queen vanished. Over and over, it went—ten times! That's right, kids! Ten wives, ten princesses, ten mysterious disappearances!”

An illustration showed ten sad-looking queens floating up into cartoonish clouds, waving goodbye as a smiling king waved from below, a single tear on his cheek clearly drawn as fake.

“But then—at last!—wife number eleven gave birth to a boy! A prince named Caelan!”

Emily’s breath hitched sharply.

The page showed a woman smiling gently, holding a tiny dark-haired baby. Beside them stood the same grim-looking king, eyes wide and triumphant. But there was something ominous about the way the shadows were drawn around them, the happiness exaggerated and hollow.

“The King finally had his heir! But then, just after little Prince Caelan turned five, his Classification appeared, and it was very, very scary. Too scary for a king! Soon after, Queen Number Eleven vanished too—just like the others!”

The next illustration showed the boy alone in a darkened tower, staring at his glowing mark—drawn stark and bright on his small arm—while the King closed a heavy door with a cheery wave.

“And not long after, little Caelan also disappeared from the castle! Where did he go? Who knows! But the King, never one to give up, married again—and again, and again, three more times so far! But no luck. No new princes. Maybe fourth time’s the charm?”

The last illustration showed the King looking comically annoyed on his throne, with question marks floating above three new wives.

Emily stared at the page, nausea creeping into her throat.

It was horrible—disguised as funny, painted with bright colors and cheerful smiles, but horrible. And it was Caelan’s life, twisted into a mockery for children.

She lowered the book slowly, pulse thumping hard in her temples.

No wonder the author had been exiled.

Emily carefully set the book down, the painted smile of the sword suddenly feeling grotesque beneath her fingertips. Her throat felt tight, the colorful images burned into her memory.

She swung her legs slowly over the side of the bed, muscles protesting slightly. Carefully, she stood, testing her balance. She was weak, but determination pushed her forward. She needed answers—from Varis.

Emily crossed the room to the vanity, where her bright orange robes had been neatly folded and placed beside her small brush. She picked up the robes with a sigh, the fabric both soft and unwelcome in her hands. It was a reminder—of who this place said she was, whether she wanted it or not.

She slipped them on, the cloth settling lightly around her shoulders. Emily sat at the vanity, studying her reflection briefly before reaching for the brush. Her hair was tangled from sleep, waves of dark and chocolate-brown cascading in unruly knots. Slowly, methodically, she brushed them smooth, grounding herself in the rhythmic strokes until her reflection looked calmer, steadier.

When she stood again, she felt more like herself—or at least closer to the version of herself that could face whatever waited outside her door.

She opened the bedroom door quietly. Outside, the two guards stood motionless, impassive and silent as ever. Emily glanced between them, her voice low and careful.

“I need to see Varis.”

Without a word, one guard inclined his head slightly, then turned and began walking down the hall. Emily followed, her steps slow but steady, the second guard trailing silently behind.

The corridors felt empty, filled only with the faint hum of the bright, orb-like lights suspended within delicate glass spheres. The pale glow cast clean, sharp shadows on the stone walls, making the castle feel both ancient and starkly modern at once.

The guard halted near a familiar door, then stepped aside silently. Emily moved forward, pushing the door open carefully.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by a single floating orb that hovered gently above the bedside, its light softened to a gentle glow.

Varis sat quietly near the bed, a small figure curled beneath heavy blankets next to her. The healer's face softened as she brushed careful fingers through the child’s hair. Emily’s chest squeezed painfully at the sight—the girl looked impossibly small, fragile in sleep.

Varis turned at Emily's approach, surprise quickly replaced by concern. She stood quietly, moving a few steps from the bed.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” Varis asked gently.

Emily hesitated, glancing toward the sleeping child, then back at Varis. She kept her voice low, controlled.

“Why did you bring me that book?”

Varis’s eyes flickered with understanding. “You dropped it when... when you were hurt. I thought you might still want it.”

Emily exhaled sharply, frustration rising again. “Did you even read it, Varis? Did you know what’s in it?”

Varis’s expression shifted, her gaze steady but guarded. “I know exactly what’s in it. Everyone does. The author wasn’t exiled because he lied, Emily. He was exiled because he told the truth.”

Emily crossed her arms, gripping her elbows tightly. “The king had eleven wives vanish. Eleven women—and Caelan’s mother was one of them. This book treats it like a twisted joke.”

Varis glanced away, quiet for a moment before speaking softly. “The author wanted people to see what was happening, Emily. The king hid the truth beneath layers of deception. Mockery was the only way the author thought people might listen, especially children. It cost him everything.”

Emily shook her head slowly, a heavy feeling settling in her chest. “Does Caelan know?”

“Yes,” Varis murmured quietly. “He knows. He keeps the book himself—as a reminder.”

Emily opened her mouth, but before she could respond, the child stirred beneath the blankets, dark eyes opening slowly. She blinked sleepily, looking up at Varis.

“Varis?” she murmured softly.

The healer turned immediately, smiling gently at the girl. “Yes, little one. I’m here.”

The girl’s eyes found Emily, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her small face. Varis placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“This is Emily. She’s a friend.”

The child watched Emily carefully. “Are you hurt too?”

Emily moved forward gently, crouching beside the bed, offering a soft, reassuring smile. “I was. But Varis made me better, just like she did for you.”

The girl nodded slowly, eyes growing heavy once more. “Varis is nice,” she whispered sleepily.

Emily smiled gently. “Yes, she is.”

Within moments, the child’s breathing softened again into sleep, peaceful and steady. Emily stood, eyes meeting Varis’s in quiet understanding.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Varis murmured gently. “I just thought you would want to know.”

Emily’s shoulders relaxed, her voice quieter now. “I know. It’s just... a lot.”

Varis nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at her mouth. “Everything here is. But you'll find your way through it. We all have to.”

Emily sighed softly, her gaze drawn back to the sleeping girl. Varis was right. This world was filled with harsh truths, difficult realities she couldn’t avoid. But standing here, in this quiet room, beside Varis and the small child who’d already survived far too much, Emily felt a fragile flicker of resolve.

She wasn’t ready. But she would be. She had to be.