Ch. 41

“Bound”

The silence digs into me, heavier than the storm I have faced, and my mind races, no end in sight.

I lost control.

I used to know exactly who I was or gave myself the idea that I did. I knew what I was fighting. Everything was paved when it was just me, Mother’s voice, and her unbreakable rules. Then I left that world — left the castle and her control. And things haven’t been the same since.

It started in the forest, where every shadow seemed to whisper secrets. I didn’t know who to trust, and my own instincts were clouded, guiding me right into the path of a vampire. I couldn’t kill, even though that is biting me in the ass now. But I took his power, his life force, something I shouldn’t have allowed. And he is tied to me, inside me like a stain I can’t erase. A part of me, always watching, waiting — like we’ve done this before, like we’re reliving something that neither of us fully remembered at first. Then there was a memory. We’ve met before, we talked, we laughed, and we… kissed. Now there is this feeling I don’t want to admit is even here.

Then there was Devlyn. She found me after I barely survived a fight with a dragon, of all things — a battle I didn’t even think I could win. I was battered and broken, but Devlyn didn’t give me space to fall apart. Instead, she has been watching, helping, or something close to it. And somehow, she still fears me.

Let’s not forget, this damn mark on my wrist — the Samca — it’s like a brand from some unseen master. Whoever or whatever they are, they’re binding creatures and collecting power as if they’re building something. People are disappearing. Creatures are disappearing. Someone is playing with forces beyond anything I understand, creating a world where shadows have masters, and everything bends to someone’s will. But who? And why?

Nyx, the memories — mine, but not mine, slipping back in flashes and fragments. Half-remembered faces, whispers that pull back to places I have never seen, or at least I thought. I feel like I am drowning in them, pulled deeper every time I think they’re done.

And I can’t ignore the truth that is clawing its way into my mind. I am not twenty-eight. Not even close. I have lived through more than I can explain, and I can’t even remember most of it. Memories that feel older than I am… or I thought I was. I could be a hundred or even hundreds of years old, for all I know.

And if that is true, then what am I really? What kind of blood runs through my veins, keeping me alive through battles and curses, through creatures and chaos? Something ancient, twisted up in shadows and power, bound to a past just beyond my reach.

I am going back to the castle. To her. Mother, the one who taught me that control is everything — that power without control is weakness. I keep stumbling, falling. I failed. Weak, weak, just like she always said.

The image of Mother’s face flickers in my thougths and the distance thunder storms clap with a sense of ugerncy. Mother’s face is one I have fought so hard to seen by and yet held so many reasons to flee. But the truth is I could walk away if I wanted. Even with the sedative, nothing could hold me if I truly wanted to escape, not Zanir, or any of Mother’s threats. Still, I choose to go back. Not out of weakness, but because I carry what I know — what Zanir could reveal and what I have learned on my own — right alongside this raging power that coures through me. I am going back on my own terms, ready to prove my worth, with the clarity and strength that also courses through me.

My gaze shifts outward to the barren, white landscape — a jagged range of mountains clawing at the never-ending edges of the darkening sky where the storm clouds are heavy and restless. I take in the suffocating quiet, noticing how it presses against me, how my own breathing fills the void. As if pulled from the depths themselves, a mist of dark purple begins to rise, slow, and ominous, swirling in tendrils that coil through the air.

The purple mist coils around in the white void, stretching and twisting like a pulse of restrained energy. It is a chilling contrast, slicing through the emptiness and filling it with a sense of volatile life — alive, insistent. The mist seeps closer, weaving through the air until it hovers around me, almost as if it is waiting for permission to sink deeper into my skin.

Kiza’s voice purrs, a reverberating, low sound that feels too close, too wrapped around my senses. I, you, our power, are not weak, Lady Mihaela.

A shiver skates up my spine, part irritation, part reluctant acceptance. His words settle like a heavy foot on my chest, assurance, and a challenge. Oh, great. Hi, Kiza, I grumble, sarcasm masking the strange fear that his presence brings. Thanks for finding a crack past my mental door I have held together for decades… well, for a really long time. But either way, you have just perfect timing.

The mist tightens slightly around me, darkening. It is as if Kiza can hear the layers of doubt and scorn in my tone. I can feel his dark amusement, pressing at my edge like he is trying to remind me that my thoughts are as exposed to him as his intentions are to me.

Perhaps it wasn’t that I slipped through a crack, Kiza hums, a velvet rasp, each word pushing against my resistance, but that you’ve finally stopped holding the door shut, maybe you’ve been a little distracted.

His words burrow deep, igniting something that borders on defiance, a defiance that tugs me in two directions. Part of me yearns to push his presence away, to retake my solitude, but another part feels… encouraged. This power, his power… our powers.

This week has been utter boar’s shit.

The thought stirs something low in my stomach — boar stew, thick and rich, sounds like a perfect escape. A comfort, gone quickly as it appeared, vanishing into the empty hunger clawing at my stomach.

We will need to feed soon, Kiza purrs, his voice a murmur that curls around my senses like a slick, inescapable ribbon.

Shut it. I snap, feeling a fiery spark crackle beneath my skin, a warning flame that matches my irritation. I don’t need you right now. Not after… everything you have done lately.

His amusement hums in the air, settling over me like a cloak heavy with rainfall and mud. I have done nothing than come when called, like a good beast.

My jaw clenches, and I feel the searing heat surge down to my fingertips. Flames lick at my skin, alive and hungry, defying the calm Zanir left in the void earlier. The sedative in the waking world doesn’t seem to exist here, or it isn’t able to contain me fully. My power swells unchecked, filling the space with restrained but breaking wrath.

You, I grow, voice crackling with venom, you came through, and then you made me look like a completely uncontrollable, power-filled child. Again.

The purple mist curls around me, unbothered, pulsing with a dark energy of its own as it circles my rage. It moves in a deliberate dance, slow and leisurely, as if to taunt me.

Kiza’s voice fills the void, a rumble of dark silk. Lady Mihaela, I have done nothing but follow where you led me. You’ve blocked me out so well that you’ve even blocked yourself out — your own emotions, your feelings. Every reaction, every surge of power? That’s you, dear wraith. It has always been you. Do you think I can bring forth what isn’t already there? She pauses, letting his words sink in, his tone almost teasing. Or did you think it was just a coincidence that you lost control after meeting that handsome vampire mortal?

My mouth opens to retort, but I feel a sting of heat crawl up my throat and quickly clamp it shut. The fire gathers in my palm, raw and blistering, and I hurl it into the purple mist, watching the flames twist and writhe as they fly. But the mist merely drifts out of the way, moving with a fluid slowness that somehow makes me angrier, as if it is laughing at the limits of my fury.

Lady Mihaela, wraith, I am you, and you are I. I have felt when your heart started pumping. When you took your first breath. I have always been here.

I hurl more fire, it hisses through the void, leaving a streak of smoke in its wake. The purple mist hangs in place, seemingly unfazed to move this time.

The ball of flames hits, igniting in a burst of bright orange with a strange blue core, a color that twists unsettlingly in my vision. Blue? Why is it blue?

A strangled, almost feral sound escapes me, driven by the searing heat that radiates back, hitting my stomach like a phantom wound. A silver of fire slides from my fingertips, tiny embers trailing down like falling stars. It is as if my power, again, boiling over, never fully contained by my own will.

Wraith, we are one. Just because you don’t want to believe it or simply can’t remember doesn’t make it any less true. I hurt, and then you hurt. Whether you block me out or not.

A frustrated scream fills the void. I hear the crackling of the clouds beyond and can feel the ground shake as what I assume is lighting hitting the ground. Fire dripping off my clenched fists. Brick by brick a wall forms around me. Different from the walls closing around the white void. Blocking the view of the purple cloud. My wall forms for what feels like for miles through the void past the mountains.