Chapter 254: You have only Yourself

Aira could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears, loud and insistent, drowning out every other sound. The silence of the chamber was oppressive, suffocating, as though the darkness itself conspired to choke her. She turned her head from side to side, eyes straining, but the void was complete. There was no movement, no flicker of life. Nothing.Her fingers clenched tighter around the hilt of her weapon until the cold bite of the metal dug into her skin. The sting grounded her, though it did little to ease the panic thrumming through her veins. She would not—could not—let go.

Drawing in a sharp breath, she summoned her ability.

White aura burst from her body, warm and luminous, flowing outward in waves as though seeking to illuminate and sense the world beyond. The warm aura to of her ability enveloped her in a soft glow, a beacon in the endless black.

She could sense no one close to her and that made her breath easier.

For a moment she felt steadier—until, one after another, lamps began to flare around her.

The sudden light blinded her. She staggered, eyes watering, and blinked furiously until the shapes around her sharpened. When her vision cleared, she froze.

Serraphina was a few feet away from her behind her by the wall with her sword in her hand. Her gaze was hard as she started intensely at Aira.

Blood covered half her body. One of her arms was gone, severed at the shoulder, and yet she still stood tall, her expression sharp with focus.

"I was about to cut you in two," Serraphina said, her voice rough and edged with fatigue, "until I realized it was you. Can’t afford to make more mistakes today than I already did today!"

Aira’s eyes widened. Her stomach twisted. She had never imagined Serraphina, of all people, could be left in such a state.

"What happened to you?" she whispered, struggling to comprehend what kind of force could do this to her, given Serraphina’s strength and abilities. Orıginal content can be found at novel·fiɾe·net

But before Serraphina could answer, Aira’s gaze drifted beyond her.

Bodies.

They covered the ground in all directions, some sprawled in twisted angles, others piled where they had fallen. The smell of blood filled the chamber, metallic and heavy, almost enough to choke her. Among the corpses, one figure still clung stubbornly to life. His chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath weaker than the last.

He was laid on the ground right beside Serraphina and it was clear that she was doing her best to keep him alive.

The bodies on the ground mostly belonged to the scrawny bodies of the vampire childeennshs had seen and their wounds were clearly not made with swords.

Aira’s instincts surged forward. "I’ll heal him first!" she said quickly, lowering her blade and stepping toward the dying man.

She never made it more than a step. Serraphina’s sword shot out, barring her path. The steel glinted in the lamplight, unmoving.

"Heal me first," Serraphina said firmly.

Aira blinked at her, disbelief flickering across her features. Yes, Serraphina was wounded—gravely so—but compared to the man gasping out his last breaths on the ground, she could endure longer. "But—"

Her protest died when Serraphina stepped closer. Aira, desperate, extended her aura toward her sister, letting the warmth flow outward in a healing pulse.

The reaction was immediate.

Serraphina shrieked in pain, staggering back as though burned alive. Blisters rose angry and red across her skin, spreading like fire licking up dry kindling. Her body shook as the aura seared her.

Aira gasped, jerking her power back. Her guard rose instinctively, blade tilting upward, though confusion swirled in her mind.

Serraphina’s sword wavered as she drew on her own ability. Fire flared around her, heat rippling in the blood-stained air. Her voice, hoarse and urgent, cut through the haze.

"Your essence heals by restoring things to their purest state. It strips away corruption and mends what should be. My power was forged through ritual—melding vampire blood into mine. Your ability doesn’t see that as healing. It sees it as a corruption to purge. If you try to heal me, you’ll rip that bond apart... and it will kill me."

Aira’s breath caught. Understanding dawned swiftly.

"That’s why you wouldn’t let me touch the messenger." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Serraphina nodded grimly. "It’s the same with Zygons. Their kind was never meant to exist as they are. They’re artificial, made against nature’s dictates. Your essence rejects them, tries to tear them back into what they should have been. That’s why it burns."

Aira’s hands trembled. The truth fit too perfectly. She thought of every time she had reached for her sister with her gift, only to cause agony instead of relief. Now she understood why.

"But you need help," she said, glancing toward the man still fading on the ground. "And he’s dying."

Serraphina shook her head, her face carved with exhaustion yet lined with iron resolve.

"We were attacked by four of them," she said. Her tone carried no room for doubt. "They came disguised as guards, caught us from behind. One of ours was cut down instantly. The priest... he sacrificed himself so that we could flee here. Only to discover this."

She gestured with her sword toward the bodies scattered about. "Every vampire child slaughtered. Every one."

The weight of the words hit Aira like a blow. Her throat tightened. She looked again at the small forms among the fallen, blood staining pale faces that would never open their eyes again.

"Someone doesn’t want your ritual to succeed," Serraphina said sharply. She pointed toward the cells at the far end, where faint symbols had been carved into the stone. Ritual marks. "They went to great lengths to ensure its ruin."

The truth was undeniable, yet the implications unsettled Aira deeply. If the attack was calculated... then so was the one that had nearly killed her.

"I don’t blame them," Serraphina continued bitterly. "Who else, apart from you, can expose them for what they are? Who else can strip away their lies in front of normal people?"

Aira swallowed, saying nothing.

"It’s a miracle they haven’t sent a legion to finish you," Serraphina added. "If I were you, I’d stick close to King Zyren. At least his shadow might shield you."

Aira’s gaze drifted downward, to the floor slick with blood. Something about the way it pooled, the lines it traced, tugged at her attention. She crouched, squinting, and realization dawned.

"This is a ritual," she said softly.

Serraphina inclined her head. "I’m using the blood of the slain children. To heal myself. To mend my arm. And to keep him"—she gestured to the messenger gasping faintly—"alive. It will take time, but it will work."

The words curdled in Aira’s stomach. She forced her eyes away.

Serraphina stood straighter, though it was clear she did so through sheer willpower. Her face was pale, her body trembling with the strain. She looked as though she could collapse at any second. Yet her gaze was sharp, wary.

Almost as if she feared Aira might strike her down while she was weakened.

"I’m not going to hurt you," Aira said, voice steady, though confusion gnawed at her. "What would I gain from that?"

Serraphina let out a low chuckle. It was mirthless, edged with bitterness. "If you’d lived my life, you’d know. You guard yourself against everyone, Aira. Everyone. No exceptions."

Her eyes hardened, her smile twisted. "The only one who cannot betray you is yourself."

The conviction in her words was so absolute, so steeped in lived truth, that it stunned Aira into silence. It was not just belief—it was a creed, a law Serraphina had built her existence upon.

Aira found no response. Her gift was useless here, and Serraphina seemed to have matters under fragile control. She turned at last toward the exit. The only question she wanted to ask—the when of the ritual, and whether Serraphina could truly manage it with one hand—died on her lips. Better to leave it unsaid.

She stepped to the door. But as she slipped into the narrow gap, she heard Serraphina’s whisper trail after her.

"If you can amass ten adult vampires... or fifty children... the ritual can still be completed."

Aira stiffened, but she did not look back. Her head shook before she could stop herself. The thought of seeking children—already she regretted the part she had played in allowing their deaths. To imagine doing so again, by her own hand...

She stepped out into the corridor, shutting the chamber behind her.

Ten adults, though... The thought flickered, unbidden. Ten adults might be different.

But before it could root, she crushed it savagely.

What kind of person are you becoming, Aira? she asked herself bitterly. Just because they are vampires does not mean they are not innocent. It does not make them deserving of death.

Her grip on her weapon tightened again, knuckles white, as she strode into the shadows.