Rising From The Ashes

Lucian was dozing off when an excruciating pain struck him in the heart, plucking him right out of his intoxicated oblivion. In an instant, he shot up in his bed, clutching his chest as each incursion increased to an unbearable degree. He was finally teetered on the very edge of unconscious bliss, courtesy of the strong cup of hypnotic tea he had just ingested.

This nightly routine had become his escape for the past week, a way to hide away from all those dismal thoughts. Of course, he had to drink enough to sedate an entire horde of elephants, but it was as close as he would ever get to finding some peace in all this chaos. Certainly, it was not to be found in his waking life.

Trying to crawl out of bed, he stumbled and fell flat on his ass with an ensuing thud. A wave of vertigo swarmed in, spinning the entire room around him like a minacious vortex. A high-pitched scream pierced through his head like a dagger, further escalating his helpless state.

The scream emanated from Visenya’s floor, prompting him to pull himself to his feet and find out what the commotion was about. He stumbled across the room towards the exit, gradually regaining his footing as the peculiar episode began to subside. Even the pain in his chest slowly started to dissipate, fading into a nagging ache. However, as it faded away, a sense of disconnection grew within him. Disconnected from what? He did not know.

He trudged his way down the stairs, his hand still firmly pressed against his chest, desperately trying to soothe the harrowing void that he just couldn't shake. With each step, he followed the trail of blood that Visenya had left behind, his mind filled with wonder as to how a few cuts and bruises could cause such a catastrophic mess.

As he entered the room, his gaze immediately fell upon the slave girl, sobbing on the floor just outside Visenya's lavatory. Their eyes locked, and she shook her head hysterically, her mouth unable to form a coherent sentence. It was as if her anguish transcended language.

Lucian's heart sank into the pit of his stomach, as he felt an overwhelming sense of dread consume his very being. His legs carried him forward, almost in a zombie-like state, towards the very room that had inflicted such devastation upon the girl. Ignoring the gruesome sight of blood smeared across the tiles, he approached the doorway with a glimmer of hope, silently praying that Visenya had peacefully succumbed to sleep within the comforting embrace of her bath, as she had done on countless occasions before.

"Visenya?" He called out her name, a name he hadn't addressed her by in years.

He took a hesitant step forward, his dread growing with each inch, until he found himself standing before her, taking in her pallid appearance. "Wake up, Visenya," he pleaded, shaking her arm vigorously. "You wake up this instant! Do you hear me?!"

He pulled his hand away, feeling the sticky warmth of her blood between his fingers, staining his own skin. It was everywhere... she was practically bathing in it. His heart sank as he lifted both of her sleeves, revealing the horrifying sight of her wrists sliced up, the wounds extending almost to her bloody elbows.

"What have you done?" His tone was almost critical, as if she had done this just to spite him. "What have you done?!"

He gently lifted her out of the tub, cradling her fragile body in his arms, as he dropped to his knees in total dismay. With careful precision, he pulled the shard of glass that had embedded itself into her delicate palm. His frantic gaze swept across the room, desperately searching for the source of this deadly object that she had used to harm herself. It was then that he finally acknowledged the horrendous sight that surrounded him.

His eyes followed the shattered pieces of glass scattered on the floor, tracing the little bloody footprints that led to the shattered mirror. And in that moment, his heart dropped as he noticed the message on the wall... a message written in her own blood, meant only for him and him alone.

With bated breath, he read the chilling words: "Now you can be free, Master."

"No…" he gasped, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air, as he gazed upon her beautiful, now lifeless face.

He never meant it... not once. Not even in the beginning when he was at his worst... if that even made sense, because he knew that in her eyes, he was always at his worst. Every cruel and vile thing he had ever said and done to her resurfaced in his mind, accompanied by an overwhelming surge of shame and remorse for all that he had put her through.

"What have I done?" His voice quavered, filled with regret.

He had never shed a single tear when his mother died, nor did he allow himself to show any emotion when he woke up after his ten-year dirt nap, only to find himself all alone in this desolate world. He had always believed that crying was a sign of weakness, but now, as he held Visenya's lifeless body tightly against his, his face buried in the crook of her neck, he couldn't contain his grief and wept like a blubbering child.

He thought he knew loneliness before, but nothing compared to the emptiness and despair he felt from the loss of their bond. A bond that he, on several occasions, treated with downright disdain, when in actuality, it was the only thing that he ever truly wanted.

Memories flooded his mind, taking him back to her thirteenth birthday, the day he impulsively cut off all her hair. He remembered the misguided reasoning behind his actions. A Dragon and a Lycan could never be mates, or so he believed at the time. In his spoiled and childish ways, he had thrown a tantrum, hoping to make her less desirable to other boys.

However, his plan backfired, and he was instead punished by being confined to his quarters, enduring three days of starvation – a true torment for a ravenous dragon, especially one who was a thriving heir.

But on the second night, when hunger pangs became unbearable, Visenya decided to pay him an unsolicited visit. He sat on the balcony, consumed by anger, refusing to acknowledge her presence.

"The weather is nice tonight," she mumbled awkwardly, attempting meaningless small talk.

He continued to ignore her, his gaze fixed on the view of the Lycan Kingdom.

"I'm not angry about my hair," she insisted. "I tried to explain to your father that it was just a silly joke..."

"Will you please just shut up and leave me alone," he snapped.

She sighed dejectedly. "You don't have to be so mean all the time."

"I'm not," he retorted.

"Yes, you are... you've never said a single nice thing to me," Visenya lamented.

"No, what I meant is that I'm not mean all the time because I reserve kindness for those who matter," Lucian explained. "You don't matter, you're just a stupid dog."

Lucian wished he could say that was the only cruel thing he had ever said to her as a child, but it wasn't... not even close. And though she kept putting herself in the line of fire, coming back for more and more like she was a glutton for pain, he now understood why she was so intent on giving him chance after chance to be her friend, to like her, accept her, maybe even love her.

The bond had always been there, since the first moment they met. He realized it now. And while she desperately tried to cling to that magnetic force that drew them together, it only fueled his resentment.

"I left you something on your night table," she said glumly. "Goodnight, Lucian."

He still remembers the downhearted look on her face before she left the room, and he regrets how thoughtless he was. Especially, when he later discovered that it was a plate of food she had left for him that night. She was such a beautiful girl with the most beautiful heart he had ever known... and he had broke her completely.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her cheek, his voice filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry..."

He couldn't bear to let her go, his grip tightening as he held on desperately. Emi remained outside the door, her eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before her in a mix of surprise and wonder. She had anticipated a different reaction from the infamous Dragon Lord, something more akin to relief or even excitement. After all, he despised her, didn't he?

She watched his every movement, her attention drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He closed his eyes, entering a state of meditation, as if reciting an incantation to himself. The marking on his chest blazed with such intensity that it pained her to look at it, and when he finally opened his eyes, they burned brighter than any fire she had ever witnessed.

Pressing his lips against Visenya’s, he exhaled a breath of fire into her lungs, filling the room with a blinding illumination. Emi shielded her eyes from the dazzling beam of light, momentarily overwhelmed. As he withdrew, he swayed unsteadily, his eyes and marking gradually losing their radiance, like a flame snuffed out.

Anxiously, he watched Visenya, anticipating the long-awaited outcome. "Come on...," he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. "Come back... please, come back."

Her hair began to radiate an incandescent glow of vibrant reds and fiery oranges, while her body temperature soared to a sweltering degree that even he found scorching to the touch. In an instant, her blazing eyes shot open, accompanied by a gasping breath of air.

Her hands instinctively flew to her chest, clawing at it violently as she screamed in absolute torment. He swiftly restrained her hands, preventing her from inflicting harm upon herself, as his mark seared into her flesh and etched itself into her very soul.

"It's almost over," he consoled, his voice a soothing contrast amidst her agonized screams.

Though the entire process lasted mere seconds, it felt like an eternity of torture for her. Finally, the marking across her chest extinguished, taking with it the vibrant red hue of her hair and the intensity of her fiery eyes. As the calm enveloped her, she succumbed to a deep and peaceful sleep.

He pressed his ear against her chest, emitting a heavy sigh of relief as he heard the steady rhythm of her beating heart. Slumping back against the wall, he continued to hold her protectively in his arms, cherishing every single breath she took.

"Emerald?" He uttered faintly.

Emi couldn't help but be taken aback by the sound of him referring to her by her name instead of the usual 'hey you' or 'you there'. However, her mind was still reeling from what she had just witnessed.

"Y...yes, My Lord," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Please bring me a basin of warm water and a washcloth," Lucian requested gently, his voice filled with a sense of urgency and care.

"Right away, My Lord," she promptly replied, before swiftly rushing off to fetch him exactly what he had asked for.

He would ensure that Visenya was thoroughly cleaned up and delicately dress her in a soft and comfortable nightgown. Then, he will gently lay her down to rest in his own bed. It would be a day or two before she awakened, but when that time came... he would set her free. Not because he wanted to, for he was far too selfish to ever want that, but because he knew he didn't deserve her. He never had, and he never would.