Chapter 34 – Escape

Chapter 34 – Escape

 

A calm mental pulse brushed against Camilla’s consciousness, gentle but insistent, pulling her out of her pleasant reverie.

She stirred. Her eyes opened.

A frown touched her lips as the meaning settled in. The undercity’s ward network had been breached.

Camilla rose at once, the lingering softness draining from her expression. Her silk slippers made no sound against the polished marble as she crossed the chamber. The newly installed full-length mirror stood along the wall, its surface dark as still water. It served as her relay, her window into the web she commanded.

She stopped before it.

As always, her breath caught. A quiet thrill ran through her.

Youth. Beauty. Vitality.

She studied the curve of her waist, the fullness of her chest, the smooth, unlined perfection of her skin. For a moment, memory overlapped with reality. The brittle weight of age. The stiffness in her bones. The dimming of sensation.

All gone.

She had not realized how much she had missed it.

To walk through Elysium after dusk, to introduce herself as Camilla and see no flicker of recognition. No bowed heads, no careful deference, no guarded politeness reserved for the Lord’s aging mother. To exist again as someone judged first by presence, by beauty, by power of form as much as will. It had been intoxicating.

Her hands lifted slightly, almost of their own accord, drawn toward the soft rise of her chest. She felt the warmth of her own body, the steady rhythm beneath her skin.

She stopped herself.

“Later,” she murmured, amused.

There were more important matters. Though, truthfully, her caution was likely unnecessary.

The first ward network had been breached, yes, but that had always been expected. A test. A lure. The true defense lay beneath it, layered carefully with far greater care and expense.

A second system. A superior one.

The moment the alarm triggered, it would have activated. Anyone seeking her hidden ritual sites would find nothing. Their minds would twist, certainty dissolving into quiet dismissal. They would see the truth and reject it without realizing.

Her god had crafted it himself. A faint smile touched her lips as memory rose, vivid and intimate.

His presence had filled her completely then. Vast. Inescapable. His will had guided her hands with absolute certainty, shaping each sigil through her body as though she were nothing more than an extension of him. Power had flowed without resistance, every line etched with flawless precision, every curve carrying intent beyond mortal comprehension.

He had explained as he worked, his voice calm and unhurried, as though instructing a favored student.

These arrays will not merely conceal, he had said, her hand moving in perfect synchronization with his will. They will correct perception itself. Those who look upon the sites will find nothing of note. Their minds will resolve the contradiction before it forms.

Even suspicion will not take root, he had continued. The thought will dissolve before it can be questioned.

The sigils had burned faintly in the air then, layered upon one another in impossible geometries. She had tried to follow their structure and failed within moments, her thoughts slipping away from their meaning like water from glass.

The cost is significant, he had added, almost idly. Hundreds of the purest spirit stones per hour.

Then, after a pause: There are fewer than five people in this world who could resist it.

The words settled heavily in her mind. Her lips had parted slightly. Such extravagance. Such power.

His next words were a surprise.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and bitter. It was likely meant to be private, but connected as she was in that moment, she could not help but overhear.

But if it is that harlot… would she even notice?

The emotion behind it startled her. Anger. Resentment. Something deeper, tangled and unwelcome.

Camilla had gone very still, not understanding fully, but feeling the weight behind it.

She had not asked.

She never would.

Camilla exhaled slowly and let her gaze drift across her reflection once more. Whatever was happening, it was unlikely to concern her directly.

Unless she was extraordinarily unlucky—

The next pulse hit like a hammer. Her vision swam and she staggered, one hand catching the edge of the mirror as the impact rippled through her mind.

Too fast. Far too fast. Seconds. It had taken mere seconds to bypass the second layer.

Cold realization crept in, and her thoughts raced back to that overheard fragment, to the tone beneath it. No. It couldn’t be.

A voice cut through her thoughts.

Camilla.

Gone was the distant, clinical detachment she had come to expect. The voice was taut, edged with something she could not name.

Open yourself to me.

Her doubts vanished instantly. So it was true. “That harlot” had come.

Camilla did not hesitate. She lowered her defenses and yielded completely.

The presence that entered her was vast beyond measure.

Power followed.

It poured into her like a flood breaking through a dam, filling every corner of her being until she thought her body might tear apart under the strain. Her breath came shallow and sharp as she struggled to contain it.

A sharp cry tore from her throat. “My lord—!”

It was too much. Far too much. Her knees nearly buckled. The world darkened at the edges as something vast moved through her.

Then the chanting began.

It was not sound as mortals understood it. It scraped against her thoughts, grating against reason itself. The air thickened, heavy with something alien and oppressive. The temperature dropped. Shadows gathered, coiling and writhing as though alive.

Green sigils ignited in the air, one after another, then dozens, then hundreds.

They arranged themselves in patterns that made her eyes ache. Shapes that should not exist. Lines that bent inward and outward at once.

She tried to follow them and her vision blurred, pain lancing through her skull, until one by one the sigils faded into transparency, becoming undetectable, becoming nonexistence. Silence fell.

Camilla swayed, her breath unsteady.

Who could provoke such a reaction? He was the God of Death. Nothing should have shaken him.

And yet—

Her thoughts stilled as realization struck. Mount Aurelis. Brighthold. The whispers that had spread across the world.

The Goddess of Life had returned.

“No,” she breathed.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The presence withdrew. Control returned to her limbs, though her body still trembled faintly from the residue of power.

“My lord—”

Quiet. The command cut her off instantly. Anger laced his tone. And tension too.

Camilla fell silent.

Then space itself tore open. One moment, the room was empty. The next—

He stood there. Aethon Yggdris

Reality itself seemed to bend around him, acknowledging his presence as something absolute. His amber eyes swept across the chamber, calm and unhurried.

His gaze passed over Camilla without pause, sliding across her as though she did not exist. No flicker of awareness. No sign that he perceived her at all.

She did not dare breathe.

The weight of him pressed down on her, immense and suffocating. She could feel it pressing against her skin, settling into her bones, demanding submission.

And beneath the terror, something else stirred.

She noticed the lines of his face, the strength in his posture. The effortless balance in his every movement.

The quiet perfection of his form.

Heat followed, pooling low in her body and curling through her veins with slow insistence. Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven. Fear, awe, and desire all tangled together into something confusing and intoxicating.

Time stretched. The silence pressed in.

Then he moved.

Camilla saw nothing. No hand reaching for the sword, no shift in stance, no motion her eyes could follow. Only the faintest twitch of his fingers where they rested upon the pommel at his hip, so small it might have been imagined.

A soft ring followed, clear and precise, like a single note struck in a vast empty hall. Something in the room changed. She could not see it and could not understand it, but she felt it: a line drawn through reality itself. Space parted, cleanly and effortlessly. And then—

He was gone.

The crushing weight vanished with him, leaving behind a hollow vacuum that made the world feel thin and insubstantial by comparison.

Camilla collapsed.

Her legs gave out beneath her as she sank to the floor, breath coming in shallow bursts. Her face burned, flushed with something she could not entirely name.

Her hand drifted downward—

Get up.

The command struck like a lash. Camilla froze, heat flooding her cheeks.

“My apologies, my lord,” she whispered, mortified.

This body. It was exquisite. Too exquisite. Every sensation was sharpened, every impulse magnified, pleasure and pain alike burning brighter than she had ever known. Control was… difficult.

She smoothed her dress as she straightened, composing herself as though nothing had happened. Not that it truly mattered, she reflected with a faint smile. Propriety was a cage for lesser beings.

“I stand ready for your orders, my god.” She dipped into a graceful curtsy.

Go to your granddaughter’s chamber, he instructed. Retrieve Isolde. We cannot lose her.