~Julian~
Not all wounds are carved into flesh.
Some settle deeper.
They stay buried beneath the surface,
waiting for the quiet moments
when the mind finally slows enough
to remember them.
~~~
My joints ached as though I had slept inside a grave.
My head throbbed with fragments of the night before, flashes of light and screams tangled with rain and chanting behind my eyelids.
Exhaustion pulled me under without permission, heavy and merciless, as if being awake required more strength than I had left.
The last thing I remembered was her still body in his arms, carried away from me, disappearing into the dark before I could reach her.
Her cries echoed through the night, sometimes close enough to split my skull, sometimes far enough to make me doubt I had heard them at all. By the end, they no longer sounded human.
Each time I fought toward the surface, something in me gave way again, and I sank back under before I could open my eyes.
"Shhh." A soft, familiar voice kept murmuring in my ear, calm and soothing.
Images broke apart behind my eyes.
Silver light turning violent, blinding.
Fragments of an ancient tree burning, flames tearing the trunk from the inside out.
Asteria convulsed, blood slipping slowly from her nose.
Leaves singing their grief in the wind.
The storm's roar fusing with her screams until I could no longer tell which was louder.
Runes flared, twisting and breaking apart.
Her black eyes locked on mine, an endless void.
It all bled together, collapsing, until I could no longer tell memory from dream.
"Hush," the voice cooed again, slow as a lullaby.
"No..." I tried to say, but the word never reached my lips.
The sound of her broke through the dark again. I fought upward hard enough for pain to follow, forcing breath into my lungs, forcing my body to remember itself.
When I finally opened my eyes, the light cut hard enough to make them water. Sunlight lay across the room in pale strips, and the air still carried the cold scent of rain.
"Asteria." The name tore from my throat before thought could catch it.
I pushed myself upright too fast. The room tipped sideways, and my stomach turned with it.
"Easy now," Orin said, steadying me with a hand to my shoulder. "You need rest. She is fine."
Her voice was gentle, but authority lay beneath it, making me stop. Her green eyes searched my face carefully, with the kind of look that measured both strength and sanity.
"Where is she?" I demanded, the memory of her blood and the storm flooding back.
Her answer came too calmly. "She had a rough night. She is resting."
"I need to see her. Now."
The floor felt unsteady beneath me. I braced one hand against the couch and waited for the nausea to pass.
"Julian," Orin said more quietly, "you cannot fight everything at once."
I said nothing.
My hands had already curled into fists. The skin at my wrists still burned where the ropes had been, and that was enough to bring the whole night back.
Orin hesitated, her expression tightening just enough to betray thought. She studied me for a few seconds before speaking again, her voice low and deliberate.
"You are frightened and exhausted," she said. "You will see her soon. Right now, she needs quiet."
She handed me a cup of tea and a plate of bread and fruit, as if this were an ordinary morning and not the remains of a nightmare.
"Eat something," she said. "You will feel better after."
"I do not want your tea." I pushed the tray away, frustration rising inside me.
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"Then I suppose you don't want to help her," she sighed, rising from her chair.
I caught her wrist before she could turn away. My grip was not strong, but it was desperate.
"Do not toy with me."
A soft laugh escaped her.
"You are in no condition to threaten anyone." Her eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. "And I am not toying with you."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Trying to keep you from falling apart."
I held her gaze, refusing to back down.
Her shoulders softened as she sank back into one of the armchairs across from me, folding her hands in her lap.
"My name is Orin, as I told you before. The other survivor is Ignes. And the man who brought you here…" She hesitated, as if the name itself carried weight. "His name is Lucien."
I repeated it slowly. "Lucien."
The name burned on my tongue. It sounded like a curse.
A sharp pressure settled beneath my ribs as the memory of him carrying her in his arms flashed before my eyes.
Orin nodded, watching me carefully.
"I know what you saw," she said. "And I know how it must look."
"Look?" I snapped. "She was bleeding. She was screaming."
Something in Orin's face tightened. "I know."
"She is stable now," she interrupted, not unkindly but with the tiredness of someone who was also holding by a thread.
"Last night was not meant to hurt her. It was meant to bring something back. Something she lost a long time ago."
I stared at her, trying to make sense of her words.
"Bring back what?"
She looked down at her hands.
Her answer came quietly. "A part of herself."
I did not believe her. Or perhaps I did not want to.
"And the others?" I asked, bitterly. "The ones who didn't survive?"
Her throat tightened. She looked away, and for the first time, her composure cracked.
"They knew the risks," she said. "We all did."
Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hiss of the fireplace.
She studied me for a moment. "Do you love her?"
"She is everything to me."
Orin nodded slowly, as if she had known the answer but needed to hear it aloud.
"Then stay," she said. "You are free to leave if you wish. But she is not leaving this place."
"What do you mean?"
Orin rose, smoothing her dark green dress.
"When she wakes, she will need you. I am certain of that."
And with that, she turned and left the room, leaving me trembling by the fire, surrounded by the faint scent of smoke and the hiss of the rain outside.
Steam curled from the untouched tea, thin and pale, then vanished into the air. I watched it until it was gone.
My mind kept circling back to Orin's words, to that monster's name, to Asteria's still face. None of it made sense.
Now, in daylight, the room looked entirely different.
The shadows that had once clung to the walls were gone, replaced by a strange, heavy calm. It felt larger, almost peaceful.
Dust particles drifted lazily in the air, catching the muted sunlight that filtered through the tall windows.
The rain still fell against the glass, fierce and relentless, and the faint scent of wet stone and wood hung in the air.
Shelves carved from dark mahogany held rows of fragile books and crystal bottles that glimmered faintly in the light.
A desk rested near the window, its legs etched with intricate designs.
Two armchairs rested by the fireplace, cushions worn but inviting, with a small wooden table between them.
Then my eyes caught something by a vast library stretching across an entire wall.
A life-sized statue stood in silence.
A woman carved from marble, frozen mid-motion, as if turning toward someone who had spoken her name.
Her serene face, her high cheekbones, her lips parted in the faintest suggestion of breath, radiated a lifelike grace that sent a chill down my spine.
I stepped closer before I meant to.
The craftsmanship was extraordinary: the folds of her gown, the strands of her hair, the tilt of her chin. But what caught me most was her resemblance to Asteria. Not identical, but close enough to steal my breath.
The same quiet strength in her expression. The same softness at the corner of her mouth. Even the way her hair framed her face felt familiar.
I stared at her for a long time, unable to look away.
A faint ache spread across my ribs as if the statue itself weighed on me.
My fingers hovered near the stone, close enough to feel the coolness gathered around it, but I could not bring myself to touch it.
Asteria, my beautiful love...
What have they done to you?
For one foolish second, I wanted to tell myself it was coincidence. A face shaped by the same kind of beauty.
But coincidence did not carve marble like that. This was not likeness. It was remembrance.
Someone had carved this in devotion.
From loving her.
From losing her.
Someone had known her deeply, long before I ever did.
My hand trembled, my chest tightened, a sudden panic rising at the thought of the world she had known before me.
Who were you…
before you were mine?
~~~
Some truths do not arrive as answers.
They arrive as questions.
Standing there in that quiet room,
with the rain whispering against the windows
and her likeness watching me from stone,
I understood something that unsettled me deeply.
The woman I loved
belonged to a history I had never seen.
And for the first time since meeting her,
I wondered if that history had been waiting all along to claim her back.