Page 71

The world outside feels like a distant land, separated from me by vast oceans. Time has lost its meaning; was it merely a night that has passed, or have days slipped by unnoticed? I have no idea.

My curtains are drawn tight, and in this shadowed realm, I drift into a twilight world where sleep and wakefulness intertwine, each claiming me for brief moments. Dreams mingle with memories, blurring the edges of reality.

Twice, Lila’s gentle knock has broken through the fog, bringing with her a tray of food that I barely touch.

She doesn’t pry or ask questions; she simply sits quietly, ensuring I eat a few bites before slipping away.

I have sensed Darian’s presence lingering outside my door as well.

Strangely, I can feel him. Three times, he has knocked softly on the door. “Arien, are you awake?”

When met with silence, he retreats. I suspect he is the one sending Lila, but the thought of facing him, of facing anyone , fills me with a weariness that runs deeper than the chill in my bones.

All I want is to disappear into the soft embrace of my bed, shutting out the world that has cruelly mocked my hopes.

My dream of joining Martysh has faded to a dull, lifeless gray, like the uniforms I so despise. What was once a burning ambition now only fills me with a hollowness that aches worse than any physical wound .

I can no longer deny the truth: I chased this dream for all the wrong reasons.

I thought I wanted to escape the mundane life in Firelands and the weight of a future I didn’t choose.

I tried to prove myself, to show everyone that I was not weak, that I was more than just an unwanted orphan.

Amidst that, I wanted to belong. I thought I found that with the Izadeonians.

Now, all those fragile illusions are shattered, and it forces me to confront the ugly truth: my actions and choices weren’t driven by noble ideals like strength and a sense of belonging but by a desperate, aching need for love and approval .

I’d been seeking validation from others , sacrificing my own true dreams on the altar of their acceptance. A pathetic, hollow pursuit.

Now, I question everything. Is Martysh truly the path I want to take?

Is it worth sacrificing my whole life? The betrayal of the Izadeonians hurts, but it is the realization of my own misguided motivations that shatters my spirit completely.

I risked everything for a dream built on shaky foundations.

And now, with the finish line in sight, I find myself lost and adrift, unsure of where to turn, who I am, and what I truly want.

Lirael seems like the only one who’s been straight with me. And yet… can I be sure? I’m a ripe target for anyone with a convincing story and a hidden agenda.

Because, in the end, she is no different from the others. They all need me, don’t they? I’m the missing piece. And that makes me a tool to be used. This realization should empower me, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Lirael needs a sorceress—someone to wield the Star’s power if she falls or if they discover more fragments. The Izadeonians needed me to discover how to use the earth fragment against their enemies, clueless that I, in fact, was what was needed.

And then there’s Ahira Emmengar. The question of why he wanted me back in Firelands doesn’t have a clear answer.

Maybe after seeing Lirael’s meteoric rise through the Martysh ranks and her unprecedented power, just like Jiva, Emmengar had put the pieces together.

He might not know for certain; it might just be a suspicion, but it would be enough for him not to risk another sorceress inside Martysh.

To him, we’re weapons, dangerous assets to be controlled, never to be surrendered to a rival power.

The truth is, none of them want me , not really. They want what I represent , what I can do .

Except for Zanyar…

He seems to be the only one who claims to care about my well-being. But can I believe his words when I know he was here on Emmengar’s orders to ensure my failure? Can I believe anyone anymore?

So, what am I supposed to choose? My head spins. But one thing cuts through the confusion: I need to choose for myself. Not for Firelands, not for Martysh, not for Darian or Zanyar. I need to choose what will bring me fulfillment.

And that… that’s the most crushing realization of all.

Because I have no idea. I’ve spent my entire life reacting, adapting, trying to survive, or proving things to others.

I’ve built myself around the expectations of others.

Around a need for escape or acceptance. And now, stripped bare of those illusions, I realize I don’t even know myself.

I don’t know what Arien wants, what Arien needs , what would make Arien happy.

And the parts of myself I do recognize, the insecurities, the bitterness, the fear… I hate them.

So I sink, lost in this despair, wishing the final trial would just… disappear. I wish to avoid this daunting, life-altering decision because, truthfully, I am not yet ready to make a choice.

A knock on the door breaks my wallowing, and I know instantly who it is.

“Arien, are you awake?” Darian’s voice echoes through the room.

I don’t answer. Just sit and stare at the wall, feeling like a prisoner in my own mind. But this time, Darian doesn’t leave.

“Arien, we need to talk,” he insists.

Still, I remain silent. Then, he says something that finally pierces through my apathy. “They are emptying the courtyard. It looks like they are preparing for the last trial.”

My head turns toward the door in surprise. A few moments ago, I thought I no longer cared about the trials, but apparently, old habits die hard.

“I need to talk to you,” Darian pleads. “Please, just give me a few moments. ”

His voice carries a raw desperation that mirrors my own internal turmoil.

Against my better judgment, I rise from the bed and walk to the door.

Perhaps it is the knowledge that this might be my last chance to speak with him—the man who so unexpectedly captured my heart before breaking it into a thousand pieces.

Perhaps I don’t want to end the most profound connection I’ve ever felt without a final word.

I open the door and see a man who hasn’t slept in days. His usual playful grin is gone, replaced by a look of weariness. Dark circles underneath his eyes reveal the toll of sleepless nights and a troubled mind.

Unable to meet his gaze, I turn away, retreating to sit at the edge of my bed.

Darian steps inside and closes the door behind him, standing awkwardly.

After a moment, he walks toward the window, opening the curtains slightly to let in a sliver of light.

I hear him lean against the sill, but I do not look. My gaze is firmly fixed on the floor.

The silence stretches between us like an invisible thread.

Just as the awkwardness becomes unbearable, he finally speaks, his voice low and hesitant.

“I was in the courtyard waiting for your safe return the night you and that Ahira stayed in Shemiran. I saw Lirael arriving with your unconscious bodies. She claimed she’d knocked you out.

I demanded she let you go, but she just laughed and said she needed to speak with you privately.

To tell you the truth. I don’t know what she told you. ”

He finally turns to me. There is a pause where I’m certain he is waiting for me, but I do nothing but sit there, my gaze still downcast.

“The fact that you can’t even look at me…

it tells me she revealed something about me.

But regardless of what she told you, I owe you the whole truth, from my own lips.

” He pauses again, then, with a quiet, almost defeated resignation, he says, “My name is Darian Dartheon. The last surviving man of the Dartheon line, besides my father, High Lord Demar Dartheon.”

His voice is flat, devoid of any hint of pride or entitlement. It’s as if his lineage is a poisonous shackle he can’t escape.

“I didn’t hide my identity to protect our mission because I knew Martysh must know who I was.

I just wanted to shed the burden of my heritage, even for a little while.

To be just… Darian. Not Dartheon.” A bitter edge creeps into his tone.

“I despise my family, Arien. There are few men I hate more than my own father. Dartheons are a curse upon Izadeon. I’ve spent my entire life suffocating under the shame of their legacy, being judged by association.

” He takes a shaky breath. “That’s why I’m here.

I can’t change my blood, but I can damn well choose a different path.

I refuse to be like them. We came here to learn how to unlock the power of the earth fragment, to take control of our own destiny, and stop relying on Martysh, or anyone else, to save us. ”

I still can’t look at him. My gaze is now fixed on my clenched hands, but I can feel the intensity of his stare burning into me. He knows that Lirael has revealed his secrets. My lack of surprise is a confession in itself.