Chapter 53: Broken

Chapter 53: Broken Aramith’s eyes fluttered open to the dim glow of light. The ceiling above him was familiar, yet distant—like something glimpsed through thick fog. His limbs felt heavy, his breaths slow, the warmth of the blankets wrapped around him more of a restraint than comfort. The scent of herbs lingered in the air. Medicine. Someone had been tending to him. A tray sat on the bedside table, a bowl of food long gone cold beside a half-empty cup of water. Had he eaten? He couldn’t remember. Muffled voices drifted through the room, words blurring together. "Has he moved?" someone asked. "Not much." "He needs to eat more. His body won’t hold up like this." A sigh. A chair creaked as someone sat nearby. He should care. He should say something, do something. But the weight pressing down on him was too much. Even blinking felt like an effort. The voices faded. Footsteps moved away. The door shut softly. Alone again. Aramith’s gaze drifted to the window, where the sky outside was painted in the pale hues of dusk. Another day passed. Another day of drifting in and out, existing without truly being present. His fingers twitched beneath the blankets. The only movement he could muster. He closed his eyes. The door opened. Footsteps. Silence. The clatter of plates and bowls. The faint aroma of fresh food. Another set of footsteps. "Did he eat?" someone whispered. "No, nothing. And he hasn’t moved either." "He’s killing himself." "What can we do? Just leave it there and go." They left. He drifted back into that empty, dreamless void. Aramith woke again. How long had he been like this? An hour? Two minutes? A day? A week? He couldn’t tell anymore. This time, he sat up, back pressing against the cold wall. His gaze fell to his hands, fingers curling slightly before tightening into fists. Slowly, he reached inward, searching for the power within him, tracing its presence, trying to guide it— It rejected him. Again, he tried. Failure. Again. Failure. He clenched his jaw, his breathing growing uneven. Again. Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure. His body trembled with frustration, but he refused to stop. He forced himself to keep going. He needed control. He needed to prove—to himself, to everyone—that he wasn’t weak. For a moment, something felt different. Again. This time, he followed the flow more carefully, struggling to rein it in. It felt like trying to pull a pack of wild animals by a dozen fraying ropes. Some broke free immediately. Others slipped from his grasp. The energy kept splintering, diminishing, resisting—until only a tiny fraction remained within his control. A small, flickering ball of darkness formed in his palm. It was fragile. Insignificant. But it was something. He stared at it, empty of emotion. This... this was all he could manage? After everything? The door creaked open. The surprise shattered his focus. The darkness flickered and vanished. Mozrael stepped inside. She hesitated, then, with slow and deliberate movements, walked to the bed and sat beside him. Aramith frowned, his face hidden beneath the curtain of his hair. "You didn’t eat again," she murmured. Silence. Mozrael shifted uncomfortably. She glanced around, desperate for something—anything—to fill the space between them. Her eyes landed on the window. In an instant, she jumped up and rushed to it. She turned back to Aramith with a hopeful smile as she pulled it open, letting sunlight flood the room. Golden beams danced across the walls, warming the cold, lifeless space. She turned to him eagerly— Only to find him curling deeper beneath the blanket, retreating from the light. Her smile faltered. "You... don’t like the light," she realized softly. She closed the window and sat beside him again, biting her lip. Silence stretched between them. "What would you like to do?" she asked, hesitant. Just leave. "I could read you one of your books." Please, just go. "Or maybe Mom could read it to you?" I don’t want this. Mozrael swallowed hard. She shifted uncomfortably, then forced herself to speak again. "Yesterday... we went to see Lia." A faint movement—his fingers twitching beneath the blanket. "She’s just unconscious." Just? You wouldn’t say that if it was your fault. "You don’t have to feel bad about this." I don’t want your pity. "You can talk about it. Maybe we can help." I don’t want help. I don’t want any of this. "But you have to do something, Aramith. At least eat." Leave me alone. "A-Aramith?" Just GO. His fists clenched beneath the blanket. His breathing was uneven, his throat tightening. Mozrael hesitated, then reached out, slowly brushing his hair aside. The moment their eyes met—she froze. Tears. He was crying. But his expression wasn’t one of sorrow. It was anger. A chill ran down her spine. His glowing purple eyes burned with something dangerous, something barely restrained. His voice, hoarse and dry from disuse, finally broke the silence. "Get out." Mozrael’s breath hitched. The words weren’t loud, but they carried weight—like a blade pressed against her throat. "Leave me alone," he said again, sharper this time. She hesitated, wanting to reach for him again. He slapped her hand away. "If you know what’s good for you," he rasped, "you’ll leave." "Aramith... I jus—" "JUST GO!" The raw fury in his voice made her flinch. Mozrael stumbled back, her eyes stinging. Then she turned and ran, tears trailing behind her as the door slammed shut. Silence. Darkness. Sleep. Again. Aramith drifted through days that felt like echoes of themselves. The world outside his room moved forward, but he remained still, cocooned in silence. Even after what he did to her in their last encounter, Mozrael was always there—sometimes reading, sometimes sitting in silence. He never told her to leave, but he never invited her to stay either. The first time she read aloud, he barely noticed. The words blended into the background, just another sound in the haze. But over time, something changed. His eyes, unfocused for days, flickered toward the pages. He wasn’t reading exactly, just following the lines, his mind grasping at the familiar rhythm of the words. Mozrael noticed. She didn’t say anything, didn’t let him know she’d caught the small shift. Instead, she kept reading. And for the first time in too long, the silence between them felt a little less empty. Kethra, however, was anything but patient. She arrived one evening with a tray and slammed it onto the bedside table. "Eat," she ordered. Aramith barely glanced at her. Kethra sighed, crossing her arms. "If you won’t fight for yourself, at least let your body do it." Lia’s condition was a mystery, and she wasn’t going to sit there and let Aramith also keep going down that path. He didn’t know why those words hit differently than the others. Maybe because they weren’t soft. Maybe because she wasn’t pleading. She was demanding, as if expecting him to do the bare minimum of survival. He picked up the spoon, his body moving on its own. The food was bland and tasteless. But he swallowed it anyway. Henndar came too. Unlike Kethra, he didn’t force anything. He stood stiffly by the door, his hands clasped behind his back. "You’re recovering," he said, as if making an observation rather than offering comfort. A soldier came to his side, presenting a report. "...so far, Hordin hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary. But we are still investigating to see if there are others connected to him." Henndar nodded and waved him off. He bowed and left. "Lia is getting better. You’ll see her soon." Aramith didn’t respond. But his heart burned. Henndar shifted as if he had more to say but couldn’t find the right words. After a long pause, he gave a small nod and left. It should’ve meant nothing. Yet, somehow, it did. It lit a small fire in him, but he refused to acknowledge it. Then came the night Mozrael broke. He was staring at the ceiling when he heard her voice—small, trembling. Her tears gleaming across her cheeks. "Lia..." Hearing that made him uncomfortable. But he felt her words had more weight. His lips moved on their own. "Why?" He asked with a croaky voice. "Lia...She’s not waking up... And-" She choked on her own words. "She looks like she’s dying. They said she will get better but it’s not happening." She cried. Mozrael rarely let out her emotions like that. This was too much for her. And though she cried, she tried to hold back the sound, biting a finger to keep herself from bawling. She turned to face him. And the pain in her eyes struck him. "...You’re not leaving me too, right?" The question cut through him, reaching a part of him he’d kept buried. Mozrael never asked for much. She never pushed, never begged. And yet, in that moment, her voice carried everything she wasn’t saying. For the first time in what felt like forever, Aramith moved with intent. His fingers twitched before weakly wrapping around her hand. Mozrael froze. Then, slowly, she squeezed back. It was small, barely anything at all. But when she wiped her face with the back of her sleeve and gave him a teary smile, he understood. It was enough. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. But maybe... she needed it. And maybe... so did he. He pulled her in and hugged her. "I’m sorry," he tried to comfort her. She cried, releasing all the emotions she’d been holding within. The truth was harsh. Lia could remain in that state and never wake up. That could lead to her death. Aramith felt guilt, but he felt something else. He was hurting the people around him. They just wanted to help him, so why punish them when they were innocent? It felt like forever, but finally, Mozrael left to her room. For the first time in forever, she left that room with a smile.