Chapter 168

“Four, five, six, seven…”

Rezette had told her not to listen to anything. But even that couldn’t stop the faint screams from slipping through her fingers.

Only moments ago, the Dragonborn had been unstoppable—slaughtering humans with overwhelming force. Now, they were the hunted. Their desperate howls and death throes ripped through the chill of dawn like a curse.

Elise counted from one to ten. Then again. And again. When she reached ten for the third time, the noise finally stopped.

She opened her eyes, which she had kept tightly shut. Through her fluttering vision, a figure emerged.

A sea of black blood. Two feet planted firm at its center. A back held straight as steel. A massive right arm, charred and half-eaten by darkness.

The man turned slowly toward her, his face blank. Blood clung to his hand and shoulder as he flicked it off without emotion. From the corner of his mouth to the length of his left cheek, his face was smeared red—but pale, ghostly, and cold beneath the stain.

Rezette’s eyes, dimly glowing gold, widened.

“Elise,” he called, voice strained.

Kicking aside a corpse that blocked his path, he hurried to her.

Her shoulders heaved visibly, her breath ragged. Her fingers dug into the earth, clenching tightly.

Rezette stopped five steps short. Only then did he register the sight he must have made.

A line of blood ran from his cheek to his jaw. He wiped it with the back of his hand, but the smear only spread grotesquely. He stood frozen, speechless. Like a fool.

“…Elise, tell me,” he said at last, his voice raw and hoarse. “Are you afraid of me?”

She didn’t answer. Her breath came in shallow gasps, as though even that much was painful.

He wanted to run to her, to hold her. But his feet wouldn’t move. What truly separated him from the mutilated Dragonborn scattered around them?

His appearance might still resemble a man, but at his core… was there really any difference?

The memory surfaced without warning—his hands nearly closing around her throat in Norella’s harbor. His stomach twisted, heavy and tight, as though he’d swallowed chains.

All around him, the corpses of his kin rotted in the fading madness of his own making. A wave of self-loathing crashed over him.

As Rezette stood there, unmoored, Elise broke into a quiet sob.

“What are you doing… just standing there…?” she whispered.

Tears shimmered in her silver lashes. Her golden eyes, wet with grief, looked at him—not with fear, but with a fragile sort of accusation.

Her lips moved. A murmur. The moment he realized she was saying his name, every thought, every doubt, vanished from his mind.

He closed the distance in a single breath.

“Elise,” he whispered.

He reached for her, and though she was still struggling to breathe, Elise lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. She pressed her face into the crook of his throat, against the place where his pulse throbbed violently.

The seal didn’t react.

Her tears soaked into his skin, trailing down the side of his neck, warm and real.

Rezette drew her into his chest, holding her tightly—gently, as if she might shatter in his arms.

There was nothing left to say.

So he simply held her, like he never meant to let go.

***

The flap of the darkened tent swung open.

It was the innermost tent in the Argane army’s camp—the one Elise had occupied for the past several days.

This part of the gorge remained untouched by both the Dragonborn and the Ugel army. As a result, the tent looked exactly as it had when she first arrived: undisturbed, quiet, eerily still.

A faint spark flickered in the fireless brazier. As the flame caught, the space slowly filled with a dull orange glow.

Rezette carried her straight to the cot, casting a glance around.

There was nothing remarkable about the place. The blanket was slightly thicker, and a basin of water had been set out ahead of time, but otherwise, it looked like any other soldier’s quarters—plain, utilitarian.

A surge of anger flared in his chest. “Your Highness, Your Highness,” they called her, showering praise—and yet this was how they treated her?

Elise’s breathing grew more erratic. Alarmed, Rezette lowered her onto the bed and reached for the nearest cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders.

It was far too big. Once draped around her, the cloak swallowed her completely—clearly made for a man. His irritation flared again, until something about the fabric gave him pause.

He recognized it.

It was his.

The same cloak he’d wrapped around her himself, back in Norella.

She kept it this whole time?

But now wasn’t the time for sentiment. Her frail body sagged inside the oversized garment, unable to hold itself upright.

Rezette moved quickly, steadying her. He guided her to sit up, adjusting the cloak around her slight frame.

“Elise,” he said, his voice rough with worry.

His lips were dry. Her shoulders felt narrower than he remembered.

He sank to one knee beside the bed to meet her eyes.

“Elise. Can you see me?”

She didn’t respond. Her trembling had worsened, sharp and erratic. It no longer looked like simple exhaustion—it was closer to a seizure.

The moment she convulsed in his arms, Rezette knew what he had to do.

Without hesitation, his hand slipped beneath the front of the cloak.

It didn’t take long. His fingers found her abdomen.

They had parted in late November. Now, it was already mid-January. Nearly two months had passed.

Back then, her figure had been so slender, he’d had to press carefully just to feel the faintest sign. But now—he could see the curve even through her clothes. The sensation beneath his palm was unmistakable.

As he pressed gently against her belly, Elise flinched—and so did the small life growing inside her.

The tiny being, curled up in warm amniotic fluid, squirmed desperately. Rezette felt the panic pulsing through it.

But it wasn’t fear of him. Nor a reaction to any direct threat.

It was simply… uneasy.

With his own mana completely depleted and Elise casting magic in that condition, the child had instinctively turned to her for nourishment. It had begun drawing from her directly.

Elise let her forehead drop against Rezette’s shoulder, gasping for breath.

Her mana leaked from her like water through a cracked pot—her life force draining away, even as she clung to consciousness.

“Enough,” Rezette said, steadying his voice despite the strain.

“I’ll give it to you. Just stop. Give your mother’s back, and take mine instead. That’s it…”

As if understanding his plea, the child within Elise stopped drawing on her life force and turned to absorb his mana instead.

The frantic movement in her belly gradually quieted.

So did her breathing.

Rezette rolled up his sleeve and checked her palm. A thin line of blood welled from a shallow cut—likely from the rough grass earlier. It wasn’t serious.

But he didn’t stop there.

He gently pulled down the collar of her robe and examined her pale neck and collarbone. The bruises that had once marked her body in Norella were mostly gone now. He exhaled, finally able to breathe.

He drew her closer, cradling her face in his hands as he pressed light kisses to her cheek and earlobe.

He wanted to ask if she was alright. To tell her that even if she wasn’t, he would make everything right again—so she’d never have to fear anything, ever.

The words caught in his throat before he could say them aloud.

Have I ever thanked the gods more than I do now? he wondered. Has a heartbeat… or a single breath… ever meant more than this?

Never. Without question.

A soft movement against his shoulder broke the silence. Elise’s fingers brushed weakly across his jacket.

A sound escaped him—a groan, torn from the depths of his chest.

“I swear…” he murmured, his voice cracking like dry stone. “Because of you, one day I really will see the gates of hell.”

Only then did he notice his hand—resting on her back—was trembling.

Rezette knew, with terrifying clarity, that he had just survived the worst moment of his life.

A moment longer, and she would have been beyond saving.

Elise was still fighting to stay awake. He saw it in her expression—the tightness in her brow, the way her lips pressed together.

“Arm…” she breathed. “It’s bleeding. The left one…”

“Bleeding?” Rezette echoed sharply.

Alarmed, he took her left arm and checked for injuries. His eyes swept over the skin, searching for any sign of blood.

But there was nothing.

He let out a breath of relief—only for a familiar surge of anger to rise again.

“Your arm…” he muttered. “Where did all the weight go? What happened to the body I worked so hard to restore?”

He looked at her, frustration simmering in his chest. “With a belly that size, everyone around you must have known. So what were you doing? Starving yourself?”

Elise shook her head faintly and reached for his sleeve.

“That’s not it,” she said hoarsely. “The shoulder… the arm… It’s not mine.”

She tugged again, directing his gaze.

“Here,” she whispered. “It’s yours…”

Only then did Rezette see it—the dried, sticky blood covering his own left shoulder.

No wonder he’d felt stiff. He clicked his tongue, annoyed.

He looked at her again and softened slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice quiet. “It barely hurts.”

Elise parted her lips, as if trying to speak, but no words came out.

Then she closed them again—tightly.