Chapter 403: Chapter 403: You are walking a path you promised you never would
The stone room was quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that made even the walls feel heavy. Moonlight spilled faintly through the carved opening above, brushing over the still form of his sister. The air was cold, thick with the scent of herbs and something older... something that lingered like grief itself.
Kian stood at the edge of her stone bed, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his blue eyes fixed on her motionless face. The only sound was his breathing — slow, steady, forced. It was the rhythm of a man trying not to break.
He’d been here every night since she fell into that unnatural sleep. Watching her chest rise and fall, faintly, weakly. It reminded him too much of the way Isabella had looked — trembling, frightened, her voice breaking when she said his name.
His jaw tightened.
He wanted to forget, but the memory clung to him like blood on his hands. The look in her eyes when he’d lost control, the fear that flickered there — that single moment had gutted him.
He had sworn to himself that he would never be like his father — that he would never let the beast within him rule. But when she had touched him, when she said those words, something inside him snapped. He had been weak. Pathetic. The kind of man he despised.
And the worst part was that it wasn’t anger or pain that haunted him — it was regret. A cold, quiet, endless regret.
He had spent his life mastering control, hiding behind duty, behind the title of king. But when it came to her, all of that fell apart. He hated that. He hated how much power she had over him.
He rubbed a hand across his face, his fingers trembling slightly before curling into a fist. He blamed himself — gods, he blamed himself more than anyone else ever could. He should’ve stayed away. He should’ve known that love was something he wasn’t built to handle. Lions weren’t made for tenderness. They were made for war, for loyalty, for blood.
And yet... he tried.
And now, it had almost cost him everything.
His throat tightened as he dragged his gaze away from the floor and back to his sister. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the cold light. Her hair, once so full of life, lay limp against the sheets. She looked peaceful — too peaceful. Like she could slip away at any moment.
Kian’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His voice had left him days ago, buried under guilt and exhaustion.
He just stood there, breathing her in — the faint, fading scent of his family, of what little warmth was left in his world.
And as the torches flickered, he let his gaze linger on her still body — the only thing in this world he had left to protect.
The room was cold enough to make breath fog in the air, yet sweat clung to Kian’s skin. He was on his knees beside the stone slab, hands glowing faintly where they pressed against his sister’s chest. The glow pulsed with every heartbeat — his, not hers.
She hadn’t moved in days. Her skin, once sun-warm and bright, was a pale shadow now, marred by the incident that had claimed her. Beneath the scent of herbs and burning oils, the faint trace of rot lingered — a cruel reminder that her body was failing.
Kian’s jaw was tight. His breath came in ragged bursts as he channeled more of his power, the magic searing through his veins. It wasn’t gentle magic — it was forceful, wild, the kind that tore through the body using pain as its fuel. Every time he poured energy into her, he could feel his strength draining, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
The light from his palms flickered, dimming and flaring, his magic reaching into the fragments of her core. "Come on," he muttered, his voice low, raw. "Come back to me."
But nothing.
Only stillness.
Her pulse was faint — a whisper, almost gone. His throat constricted. He had seen warriors die on battlefields, seen beasts torn apart in front of him, but nothing compared to this helplessness.
Every time he looked at her, every time he saw what was left of her — the cracks in her skin, the dullness in her once-bright eyes — his heart twisted.
"She’s gone," he whispered, his voice trembling with a bitterness he rarely allowed himself to feel. "You can’t be saved, can you, Shelia?"
Still, he kept trying. Magic spilled from him in waves, golden and desperate. He would burn himself alive if it meant keeping her breathing a little longer.
And then —
The air shifted.
It wasn’t sound he felt first; it was presence. A weight so heavy that it pressed down on his chest, cold and suffocating. The torches along the walls flickered, one by one, their flames bowing as if in worship.
He froze. His magic faltered.
A faint glow began to form across the room — silvery, ethereal, impossibly bright. It took shape slowly, the air itself bending to her will. When the light settled, a figure stood before him.
The Moon Mother.
She didn’t look real. Her skin shimmered like moonlight on water, her hair cascading like threads of silver. Her eyes — vast and bottomless — held galaxies in them, the kind of beauty that could blind or break.
She was everything the old songs whispered about, everything beasts had dismissed as myth.
And she was watching him.
For a long moment, Kian didn’t move. His body wanted to bow, to kneel lower, to beg — but something in him refused. He was a king. And kings did not kneel.
Still, after a moment, he dropped his head slightly, his voice low but steady. "Moon Mother."
She didn’t return the courtesy. Her gaze was sharp, ancient, cruel in its serenity. When she spoke, her voice was soft but it thundered through the air like a storm.
"Kian," she said, each syllable smooth as silk and sharp as glass. "You are walking a path you promised you never would."
His jaw clenched.
"You are repeating your forefather’s mistakes," she continued. "The same weakness. The same hunger. The same curse that has doomed every ruler before you."
Her eyes glowed brighter. "You were not made for love, Kian. You were made to serve. You are my vessel, my weapon — nothing more."
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t bow. "I am not my father," he said coldly.
Her lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Oh, but you are."
Her voice echoed through the chamber, vibrating in his bones.
"The blood of my servant flows through your veins. You carry his sin as your inheritance. Your father fell in love with your mother — my creation — and it destroyed him. You would do well to remember that, little lion."
Kian’s breath hitched. For the first time, his control slipped, the glow of his power dimming.
The Moon Mother took a step closer, her bare feet making no sound against the stone. "You stand at the same edge, Kian. You have already let your heart sway toward temptation. Toward her. And if you continue—"
Her gaze flicked toward Shelia’s still body. "—you will lose everything you have left."
Her words hung in the air, sharp and cold.
"Put your heart in chains, as you were meant to," she said. "Do not let it rot you from the inside. Do not let love destroy what duty built."
And then, her tone darkened, almost a whisper now, laced with warning.
"If you fail me, your punishment will not be death. It will be madness. You will live long enough to watch everything you love burn. Slowly. Until even you forget who you are."
Kian’s eyes met hers — blue fire against silver infinity. "I will not become him," he said, voice low, steady, but hollow.
Her expression didn’t change. "You already are."
And just like that, the glow began to fade. Her image fractured into light, scattering into the air like dust.
Within seconds, she was gone.
The room fell silent again.
Kian was still kneeling, but the light in his hands had vanished. Only his ragged breathing filled the air. He stared at the empty space where she had stood — where judgment had been passed — and for the first time in years, his hands trembled.
He didn’t dare move.
He only stared into the void, and for the first time, the king looked small.