Page 61 of The Freedom You Seek
“Dion couldn’t hold his liquor, even if his life depended on it.”
“Is that true?”
Dion grumbled as he accepted there was no way he could growl himself out of this anymore. “My tolerance is shit because I don’t drink often since it affects my magic. You know that, Ireas.”
“Alcohol affects magic?”
“Not normally, but any magic can be neutralized by two things. One is universal, but very rare. It’s called hematite, and it’s an uncommon ruby-red metal forged in the hottest fire and then cooled down within mere moments. Instead of breaking, the material morphs into something that can suppress all magic. Nobody knows why. Apart from hematite, every Wielder has their own unique neutralizing curse. Most keep it a secret, as I do, but we’ve discovered that Dion’s bane is alcohol consumption. The drunker he gets, the less he can wield. To compensate, he sings dirty songs instead. I never knew that he has a more than pleasant singing voice before said night.”
“And you have no inhibitions to gossip, Ireas.”
“No, I don’t. And you singing those lewd songs while dancing on the table with the busty barmaid of that tavern in Valence’s amusement district and then falling off, only to decide that the dirty floor was your new home. Nothing we did could convince you to stand up, you just fell asleep until you were snoring on the ground while everyone was trying their best not to kick you by accident—I’ll never forget that.”
Enraptured, I listened to their banter and wished I could have witnessed the scene Ireas described. It sounded like the uncomplicated fun I was craving so much lately. Also, it would be amazing to observe Dion letting loose like that. It sounded almost absurd, and I had a hard time imagining him relaxing and having fun.
An irritated muscle twitched in my cheek as Ireas mentioned thebusty barmaid, but I quickly gulped down the twinge of uneasiness. My friend could dance withwhomever he wanted, and that female breasts were the first thing men noticed and the last they remembered was common knowledge and shouldn’t come as a surprise. “We definitely have to get Dion drunk again.”
“No, you don’t.” All humor fell from Dion’s face. “I’ve promised you protection, and I take that seriously. In that light, willingly compromising my magic sounds like the worst suggestion I’ve heard lately. Stop giving her such stupid ideas, Ireas.”
Ireas cleared his throat and grumbled something under his breath, and for a while, the birdsong and clanking of hooves were the only sounds I could hear. I snuggled deeper into my shadow blanket and hoped Dion would forget to take it away from me for a long time.
The following night, my nightmares returned. For what seemed like hours, I was bent over my father’s desk as the cane’s swishing noise was followed by the sharp crack of its impact, resulting in waves of agony.
Like all the last times I was caught in such a dream, the scene transitioned, and I found myself in the stable once more, Jelric’s body heavy and unmoving on top of mine, his hands roaming relentlessly over my naked flesh.
Despite my panic, I couldn’t move, only endure and survive until the scene faded away again, leaving me standing at the gallows—no surprise here—surrounded byeveryone I knew from home. Their hateful shouts hurt my ears. The rough stones and wet dirt they threw left painful bruises on my body and in my soul while Jelric, who was very much alive again, taunted me from the side.
Everything in this dream felt slightly off, different from the reality I’d lived through. I knew dream logic was always weird, but this dream felt even stranger than usual. Normally, I rarely realized that I was dreaming until I woke up, and my nightmares were hyper-realistic—this one was anything but.
Suddenly, the mood shifted, and Dion appeared out of thin air. He looked almost ethereal, and despite the strange otherworldly glow around him, his face was full of wrath and malice. I’d never seen the impressive black armor he donned, and his long black hair wasn’t tied together as usual but cascaded down his back like an inky veil.
His name escaped me, sounding like a desperate plea as the sight of him sent shivers down my spine.
“Naya, I’m here. I’ll always come for you. Haven’t you believed me when I’ve told you that I’ll protect you, no matter what?”
Before I could answer, a red mist descended over the world around me, painting it crimson. Rivers of blood ran through the town square as citizens collapsed, one after the other, cut down by my dark savior, who moved faster through the masses than it should have been possible.
I closed my eyes to the brutality and shivered.
“Open your eyes, Nayana. I want you to see what will happen to those who hurt you.”
Reluctantly, I followed his order. My eyelids fluttered open, and what I spotted was pure carnage.
In the middle of it all, Dion towered over my parents. Together with Jelric Feroy, they kneeled in the blood, guts, and corpses of what had once been the townsfolk of Credenta.
“Aster Ortha. Soleth Ortha. Jelric Feroy. It’s time you learn why my enemies call me the Right Hand of Death.” It was impossible not to stare at Dion as he loomed over the cowering group in front of him.
My mother whimpered when he turned his attention to her. “Sometimes, looking away and doing nothing is as bad as causing active harm, Aster Ortha.” Dion stared at her, his head canted to the side as if contemplating what to do with her.
Finally, he smiled, but it was an ice-cold sneer, and not even his dimples appeared. He didn’t move a single muscle as tendons of darkness appeared out of nothingness and shot toward the woman who had given birth to me.
Several black cords pushed through the seam of her lips, deep into her mouth, and from the gagging sound she made, they moved on deeper. More dark tendrils followed their brethren, snaking into her nostrils, and completely blocking her airways.
My mother’s face turned red as she clawed at the darkness and fought for air. A vein throbbed on her forehead, and her hands desperately scratched at the dark material, but she couldn’t grasp the writhing tendrils, no matter how often she tried.
“How does it feel when others watch you suffer, Aster?” Dion towered over her, and from the cruel way his lips curled, he enjoyed every single second of her torment. Without diverting his attention from my mother, he crooked his finger, summoning me to his side.
I didn’t fight against the compulsion that his summons implanted in me and climbed off the gallows, wading through blood and viscera until I reached Dion’s side and witnessed how my mother’s face changed color from red to crimson to purple to blue. Her pleading eyes budged when she stared first at her husband, then at me. Her eyes watered, and her lips moved without making a sound, but I didn’t have to hear her to know she was begging for help.