Chapter 49: Unforgiveness: What The Morning Could Not Mend

Chapter 49: Unforgiveness: What The Morning Could Not Mend The night stretched endlessly. Aramith sat in the dimly lit hall, his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely intertwined. His thoughts, tangled and heavy, churned with everything that had happened. He had meant well—he always did—but meaning well had never been enough. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind that made every breath feel like an intrusion. Then, he heard footsteps. Light but deliberate. Jade descended the stairs. She wasn’t looking for him—probably just restless—but the moment her eyes met his, she froze. Aramith saw the recognition flicker before her expression twisted. Disgust. She clicked her tongue, her lips curling slightly. "Tch." Then she turned, ready to walk away. "Jade," he croaked, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make her pause. He took in a slow, unsteady breath. "I just... I just want to apologize." She remained still, her back to him but her grip on the rails tightened. "I know you don’t want to hear anything from me," he continued, voice raw, "but I swear, I’m not like them. I never—" "You think you understand," she interrupted, her voice quiet but sharp. "You don’t." Aramith flinched. Jade tilted her head slightly, just enough that he could see the side of her face. "No matter how much you try, no matter how sorry you feel... You’ll never understand what it’s like to be us. You can’t be sorry." Then she walked away, her steps softer now, yet each one struck deeper than any wound. Aramith sat there, staring at the spot she had been. He exhaled shakily, fingers clenching. A voice cut through the silence. "You should give up." Aramith stiffened. From the farthest corner of the room, Lydan stepped forward, his face expressionless, eyes cold and unreadable. A dagger gleamed in his hand, its edge catching the faint light. "I was ready to use this if you tried anything," he murmured, his voice devoid of warmth. "But you didn’t." Aramith didn’t react. He just stared at the dagger, then at Lydan. "You’re wasting your time," Lydan continued, tone flat. "Trying to make us see you as different. Trying to make her understand you." His gaze sharpened. " If we’re to be fair, it’s wrong to hate you. You did nothing to deserve that, and you’re certainly not the same people who caused harm. The hatred we have for you is irrational, wrong even. But even with that in mind, forgiveness has been removed from our plans. If that’s what you’re looking for, then you did nothing wrong, but still though, if you ask for forgiveness, she won’t. And neither will I." Aramith swallowed, his throat dry. Lydan took a step closer. "The only way we’ll stop hating your kind," he said, his voice so calm it was chilling, "is if all of you disappear." Silence. Aramith could feel the weight of those words pressing into him, suffocating him. Then, without another glance, Lydan turned and walked away, the dagger slipping back into its sheath. Aramith remained there. He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, motionless, his mind trapped in the spiraling echoes of everything that had been said. At some point, the darkness began to wane. But he didn’t move. He just sat there. Stiff. Unmoving. Unfeeling. His body felt heavy, his limbs like stone, but his mind felt... empty. Like something had been hollowed out inside him. He felt a light tap on his shoulder. Aramith barely reacted, only slowly turning his head. Lynnor stood over him, arms crossed, her head tilted as she studied him. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "You look like you haven’t been alive for months," she said casually. Aramith blinked sluggishly as if it took an effort to process her words. She held out a folded letter. "Give this to the old man Gebreth when you return." He didn’t take it immediately, and he didn’t even think to ask how she knew Gebreth. Lynnor sighed, pressing the letter lightly into his hand. "That’s not a suggestion, by the way." Aramith barely noticed the weight of the paper in his fingers. It was only when she turned to leave that he finally realized— The sky wasn’t dark anymore. The first light of dawn had crept in, the sun was rising. "...So it’s morning," he murmured, voice hoarse. He pushed himself up, his movements slow and mechanical. Then, without another word, he walked toward Mozrael’s room. Knock. The door opened, and Mozrael looked up at him. She blinked, then frowned. "You don’t look well, what happened?" She murmured. Aramith tried to smile, but it faltered. "...Let’s go." She didn’t move. Her gaze searched his face, concern flickering through her tired eyes. She knew something had happened. She knew he wouldn’t talk about it. With a sigh, she stepped out. There was nothing to pack. Nothing to say. As they left the house, the group was waiting for them. Deadlock. The entire group stood there, ready to escort them home. No words were exchanged. Just quiet, lingering looks. Then, without another glance back, they walked. And the morning swallowed the night behind them. The morning air was crisp, yet Aramith barely registered it. The world around him felt muted, drained of its usual sharpness. Each color was dull. His footsteps were steady, but the weight in his chest made each step feel heavier than the last. Mozrael walked beside him, silent, glancing at him every so often. His mood was unreadable, but she could tell—he was barely present. Ahead of them, the rest of Deadlock stood in formation, waiting. Their presence was always imposing, but today, there was an eerie stillness to them. No unnecessary words, no exchanged glances—just quiet efficiency as they led the two towards their means of travel. Then, Mozrael saw it. The Nether Serpent. A massive, sinuous form coiled around itself, its body made of dark, shifting scales that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it. Its head rested low, massive yet unnervingly still. The eyes were losing slits that seemed to see right through them. It exuded an unnatural presence, one that whispered of depths unseen and places unknown. Atop its back, a hollowed space—smooth, curved, and shaped like a chamber—waited for them. An entrance gaped open, like a door carved into the beast’s flesh, leading into a dimly lit interior lined with a material that pulsed faintly, almost as if the beast itself was alive in more ways than one. It had a frightening presence, but she’d read of it before- the means of transport used by the Deadlock. She expected a comment, wanted to say something- of awe, fear, and respect for such a great being, but when she looked at him... Aramith barely reacted. Mozrael hesitated at the threshold, casting one last glance behind her. The house stood quiet, its walls holding the weight of everything that had happened. And at the doorway, Lynnor stood, arms crossed, watching them leave. Mozrael met her gaze. Lynnor smirked slightly and lifted a hand in a casual wave. Without thinking, Mozrael gave a small wave back. Then she turned to Aramith again. He didn’t even look back. His expression was set in stone, his posture stiff. It wasn’t just his worst mood—this was something deeper. Like something inside him had fractured, and he was still trying to piece it together. Wordlessly, she stepped inside. Aramith followed, and the moment they settled into the chamber, the serpent moved. A low, reverberating hum pulsed through the air as the massive beast uncoiled. With a powerful, fluid motion, it lifted itself from the ground, its entire form slipping through the air. The world blurred. Wind howled outside, but within the Nether Serpent’s chamber, there was only a strange stillness. Back at the house, Lydan watched them disappear into the distance. Then he turned to Lynnor. "We need to talk." Lynnor let out a long sigh, stretching slightly. "So impatient." He didn’t react. She smirked, shaking her head. "Fine. But let me just say—I miss riding that thing." Lydan’s expression remained unreadable. "Inside. Now." " Can’t believe I forgot to ask about the wolf." She sighed again and followed him inside. Meanwhile, within the Nether Serpent, the silence stretched. Aramith sat still, staring at nothing. Mozrael fidgeted slightly, unsure what to say. And then, the leader- Deadlock 1, seated across from them, finally spoke. "Well," he mused, voice low and unreadable. "It seems a lot more happened since the last time I saw you." Mozrael tensed slightly, watching Aramith’s reaction. He barely moved. The leader leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze, sharp and observant, flickered between the two. "Tell me," he said. "Do you regret coming here?" The question lingered in the air.