Chapter 108: They Would Know
[WARNING! Unedited! Don’t buy!]
Daimon would know.
The certainty of it settled deep in my chest, heavier than dread, colder than fear. There were truths in this world that could not be avoided no matter how carefully one moved. Power called to power. It always had. It always would.
I closed my eyes briefly, allowing the shadows in the room to breathe with me.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow painting Iris’s pale features in warm gold and deep amber. She looked fragile like this—too fragile for the forces already circling her fate. Her lashes rested against her cheeks, her lips parted slightly as she slept, unaware of how close she had come to being claimed by monsters far worse than Valerius or Morgana.
Or me.
I rose from the chair and moved closer, my footsteps soundless against the floor. There was something wrong with the air around her. Not corrupted. Not hostile. Simply... altered. As if the room itself had remembered her presence and refused to return to its former state.
Water answered her.
The realization came unbidden.
Not fire. Not shadow. Not the violent arcane that tore reality apart.
Water.
I extended my senses carefully, brushing against the faint residue left behind. It was delicate, elusive—like mist slipping through one’s fingers—but unmistakable. The arcane had not erupted from her in defiance or desperation.
It had responded.
My expression darkened.
That kind of affinity was rare. Dangerous. Water was patient, adaptable, relentless. It did not demand attention the way flame did, nor did it dominate like shadow. It waited. It endured. And when it moved, it reshaped everything in its path.
A fitting power for someone like Iris.
I straightened, my hands clasping behind my back as my thoughts drifted to the academy. To the council chambers. To the veiled eyes that watched every fluctuation of magic within the city.
They would notice eventually.
The wards were designed to detect surges of arcane energy, even minor ones. The only reason no alarm had been raised was because her manifestation had been brief—untrained, instinctive, and suppressed almost immediately.
But instinct sharpened with repetition.
And Iris was not the type to remain ignorant for long.
"She must not awaken alone," I murmured quietly.
The words surprised even me.
I turned toward the door and summoned Sebastian with a thought. He appeared moments later, silent as a specter.
"My Lord?" he asked, inclining his head.
"Double the wards on this room," I instructed. "No one enters without my permission. Not even the council."
Sebastian hesitated. "The council will not appreciate—"
"I do not care what they appreciate."
The sharpness in my voice cut through the room like a blade. Sebastian bowed immediately.
"As you command."
"And Sebastian," I added, my gaze returning to Iris, "if anyone asks... she is recovering from exhaustion. Nothing more."
He studied me for a long moment, his ancient eyes searching my face for answers I refused to give.
"Yes, my Lord."
When he left, the room fell silent once more.
I remained there long after the fire burned low, watching the rise and fall of her chest. There was a part of me—small, inconvenient, persistent—that wondered what she would think if she knew how many forces were already aligning themselves around her existence.
Would she still look at me the same way?
The thought was dismissed as quickly as it came.
Sentimentality was a weakness I could not afford.
Iris awoke to the sound of water.
At first, she thought she was dreaming.
The sound was soft, rhythmic—like rain tapping gently against stone. Her body felt heavy, wrapped in warmth, her thoughts slow and distant. When she finally opened her eyes, the unfamiliar ceiling made her freeze.
This wasn’t her room at the academy.
The air smelled different. Old. Clean. Like stone after rainfall.
She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding, only to feel a wave of dizziness crash over her. She pressed a hand to her temple and winced.
"I wouldn’t move too quickly if I were you."
The voice came from the shadows near the window.
Iris turned, her breath catching.
Vladimir stood there, arms crossed, his presence commanding and unreadable as ever. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows behind him, casting his features into sharp relief.
"What... what happened?" she asked hoarsely.
"You collapsed," I replied calmly. "Your body reacted before your mind could."
Her brow furrowed. "Collapsed? I don’t remember—"
Her words faltered as memory rushed back in fragments. The courtyard. The pressure. The way something inside her had surged outward without permission.
The water.
Her gaze dropped to her hands.
"I felt it," she whispered. "Something moved. Something answered me."
I did not respond immediately.
"Yes," I said at last. "It did."
She looked up sharply. "You knew."
"It was impossible not to."
Fear flickered across her face, quickly followed by something more dangerous.
Hope.
"Does that mean I’m not... useless?" she asked softly.
The question struck deeper than it should have.
"You were never useless," I said, my tone colder than the words themselves. "But power comes at a cost. And yours will not go unnoticed."
Her shoulders tensed. "By who?"
"By everyone who matters."
She swallowed. "And by you?"
I met her gaze evenly. "Especially by me."
Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken truths.
"I don’t want to hurt anyone," she said after a moment. "I just... I didn’t want to be helpless."
I turned away then, moving toward the window. "Helplessness is a luxury mortals cannot afford. Not in this world."
The rain had begun outside, droplets tracing slow paths down the glass. I watched them as I spoke.
"If you manifest again," I continued, "you must tell me immediately. No secrets. No experiments."
She hesitated. "Why?"
"Because if Daimon senses you—"
Her breath hitched at the name.
"—you will become a target," I finished. "And I do not protect what I cannot control."
The words were harsh, deliberately so.
She flinched, but she did not look away.
"Then teach me," she said quietly.
I turned back to her.
"Teach you what?"
"How to control it," she replied. "So I don’t become a liability."
The fire flared suddenly, responding to the tension in the room.
For a long moment, I said nothing.
Then, slowly, I nodded.
"We will proceed carefully," I said. "In secret. If anyone asks, you are simply a she-wolf struggling to keep up with the academy’s demands."
"And if they don’t believe that?"
A faint smile curved my lips, cold and dangerous.
"Then they will learn the cost of curiosity."
Outside, the rain intensified, striking the mansion with renewed force.
