Chapter 485: Blame
[Eastiel: Another... world again? A different role to play?]
Oathran remembered that day now. At night, in the timezone where she was staying in Arkai’s capital residence, Cecilia had suddenly transmitted telepathy to all three of them.
Her voice had been gentle in their minds, but there had been something beneath it.
"Is it another school, or something?" Oathran had chuckled as he reached his mountain aerie, arms full of cooking ingredients for his budding lesson with Bessa.
He remembered the smell of fresh herbs, the cold mountain air, the way his wings had folded against his back as he landed.
[Cecilia: It’s not. It’s... an interesting world. So interesting, in fact, that I believe it’ll give us lots of new knowledge and greater power.]
[Arkai: So... like the world we visited previously, we’ll forget about this world at first, and you need to remind us who we are there too?]
[Cecilia: Yes. And then, we’ll get many rewards like what we got from the school scenari—I mean, the previous magic world... get it?]
[Eastiel: I’m still confused about these... alternate worlds. Actually, what are they? They’re... scary. You know how scared I was the first time, right?]
[Cecilia: You remember everything about us in the real world so quickly, though... I didn’t even get to do anything. Eastiel, you’re something else...]
[Eastiel: Who wouldn’t remember everything when that bastard Arzhen popped up in my face? I still want to kill that guy, remember?]
[Cecilia: ...still. You are impressive.]
Oathran had thought about everything for a minute, standing there on his mountain with the herbs growing cold in his hands. Then he had hummed, "You are... giving us a heads up now, right?"
[Cecilia: Yes. And... apologize in advance... because this world might be... difficult for us to go through.]
Oathran had frowned. The mountain wind had tugged at his wings, and somewhere, Bessa was probably wondering why he hadn’t come inside yet. "If this is for the reward or for power, Saintess, please refrain from forcing yourself."
[Cecilia: Oathran, I’m talking about you.]
He had paused. The world had gone very quiet.
[Cecilia: I’m sorry, Oathran. This world... might be the most difficult for the two of us. But I think... it’s necessary for us to go through it. If you blame me for it later, I will not blame you.]
Oathran must die.
It was... the fact.
Was it... something like his experience with her in the previous magic world? The pain, the loss, the necessity of sacrifice?
But she thought it was necessary. And he had trusted her. He would always trust her.
"I believe in your judgment, Saintess."
Perhaps he was wrong.
***
Oathran grasped his head. Pain shot through his brain, back and forth, up and down his spine, a thousand needles of fire racing along every nerve.
His rewritten memory was finally being merged with his real one, the seams tearing open, the false narrative of this world peeling away to reveal the truth beneath.
Oathran means the Key.
There was no Key in this world. The integrated reality had no place for his true purpose, his true name, his true self.
This was not—
This was not his world.
"...er—"
Pain. His chest. His chest hurt so bad. As though something inside him was trying to claw its way out. As though the memory of what he was meant to be was physically rejecting the body that had forgotten.
"Brother!"
Oathran opened his eyes. Arkai and Eastiel were gripping his shoulders, their faces tight with alarm. He was on the sofa. The apartment swam around him. The floor-to-ceiling window showed the night sky beyond.
The laptop was still open on the coffee table. The nachos were growing cold. The list of names glowed on the screen.
Ha.
Fury rose through his entire body. Everything burned.
How could she? How could she, knowing he must die—how could she pass down the key to their chi—
Oathran pushed his brothers off him. His jaw was tight. His misty gray eyes lost control.
"Brother, what’s wrong?!"
He ignored them.
Arkai and Eastiel were still blissfully ignorant, their memories still wiped and rewritten by this world’s narrative. They didn’t remember the real world. They didn’t remember the telepathy conversation.
They didn’t know what their brother was, what their child would be, what Cecilia had known all along and had never told them—
How could she? How could Cecilia—
Oathran walked away. He saw red. Everything was red.
His poor child. That sweet egg, growing inside her, innocent and perfect and already marked by a destiny it hadn’t chosen. The key was his blood. His lineage. His curse. And Cecilia had known. She had known, and she had let them—
WHOOOOOOOOOSH—
Oathran blinked.
The night sky stretched out around him in all directions. Infinite. Cold. Silent.
A crescent moon hung low on the horizon, thin and sharp as a dragon’s claw. The stars were scattered across the blackness like diamonds thrown by a careless hand, and below him, far below, the clouds formed a soft white sea that glowed faintly with the reflected light of the city hidden beneath.
"Ha—"
Oathran broke down to tears.
Somehow, he was already floating in the nothingness above the clouds.
He was drenched.
He didn’t remember how he got here. Didn’t remember leaving the apartment. Didn’t remember unfurling his wings or launching himself away, climbing higher and higher until the air grew thin and the world fell away.
He was mad.
He was mad at Cecilia, and it made him cry.
He cried.
His child—
He must die.
Now.
***
Cecilia woke to the smell of vanilla and fresh linen.
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of Angela’s guest bedroom, soft and golden, painting the walls in shades of buttercream and honey.
Outside, the rain had stopped sometime in the night, leaving the world washed clean. The arched window was cracked open just enough to let in the cool, damp scent of petrichor and the distant chirping of birds greeting the new day.
She was warm. On her left, Ivy was curled into a loose ball, her blonde hair spilling across the pillow like spun gold, her breathing slow and even.
On her right, Isla had thrown one arm across Cecilia’s waist in the night, her fingers resting protectively against the curve of her belly.
Their matching blue dresses from yesterday had been exchanged for soft cotton pajamas, Ivy in pale pink, Isla in mint green, and somehow, even in sleep, their expressions were identical. They had found their sister, so they were peaceful.
Cecilia lay still between them, afraid to move.
Everything still felt like a dream to her.
She was... happy.