Chapter: 10 The Weight of the Blade
The heavy stone door had barely groaned shut when the air in the tunnel shifted. It wasn't the damp chill of the earth—it was the metallic tang of unsheathed steel.
"Down!" Killian's voice was a guttural roar.
Before Seraphina could blink, he lunged, his massive frame slamming into her to shove her behind the jagged edge of a support pillar. In the suffocating dark, three figures materialized like smoke—the Silent Brothers, the High Priest's personal executioners. They moved with a terrifying, rhythmic precision.
Killian didn't hesitate. He became a whirlwind of desperate violence. The tunnel was too narrow for a clean duel; it was a chaotic spray of blood and the sickening sound of metal meeting bone. A blade flashed, catching Killian across the shoulder, and another sliced deep into his thigh as he stepped forward to shield Seraphina. He didn't grunt. He simply caught the last assassin's throat with his gauntleted hand and crushed it until the body went limp.
When the last of them fell, thudding into the shallow water of the tunnel floor, a deafening silence rushed back in. Killian stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving, his sword dripping a dark, viscous red. He swayed, his own blood mingling with the filth of the sewer, before he shoved his blade back into its scabbard with a trembling hand.
Seraphina stood frozen behind the pillar. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the bodies, but she wasn't seeing these assassins. She was seeing the guards from the dungeon. She was seeing the blood on the floor of her past life.
Her knees didn't just bend; they gave out.
She dropped into the freezing, blood-tainted water. A jagged, broken sound tore from her throat—a hollow sob of pure, unadulterated trauma.
"Seraphina!" Killian stumbled toward her, his breath hitching as he dragged his injured leg.
"Don't," she choked out, her voice fractured. "Look at you. You're bleeding. You're dying. Just like the Emperor... just like everyone who stays near me. I'm a curse, Killian. Everyone close to me has to suffer or die. I'm so small... I'm so weak... Why am I even here if I'm just watching you get destroyed again?"
She buried her face in her hands, her body racking with violent shudders. The "smallness" she felt was a suffocating weight—the belief that her presence was a death sentence for those she loved.
Despite the sharp pain in his thigh and the blood soaking through his trousers, Killian sank to the ground in front of her. He didn't care about the mission in that moment. He saw the girl who was being pulled back into the darkness of her cell by her own mind. He reached out, his hand steady despite the fatigue, and hesitantly took her shaking hand, pulling it away from her tear-stained face.
"None of us are dead, Seraphina," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that demanded she listen. "Look at me. I am standing. You are breathing."
He squeezed her hand, his grip firm and anchoring, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"The Emperor is still fighting as we speak. Because of you, he has a chance he never had before. Because of you, we rescued Duke Astra, and he is holding the line at the gates. We are winning in this life, Seraphina. We are no longer as blind as we were."
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers, his voice turning into a fierce, desperate oath.
"So have courage. You think you are weak? You are the one who gave us the map to this victory. I am bleeding because I chose to stand by you, and I would choose it again a thousand times. We are not victims anymore. We are the ones changing the fate of this Empire."
Seraphina looked at him through her tears, seeing the fresh blood on his leg but also the unshakable belief in his eyes. The icy void in her chest slowly began to melt, replaced by a spark of the fire he was trying to ignite within her.
"We're winning?" she whispered, her fingers finally curling back around his.
"We're winning," Killian promised.
"Now, stand up. We have a scholar to find and a Priest to topple."