CHAPTER 58: CRADLE OF CALM

Virelya smirked, balancing a berry between two fingers that she must have snatched during the fray, her golden eyes glinting.

"You drool in your sleep, angel-boy," she teased, her tone light, as if the battle had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Nyxsha huffed and turned her head, arms crossed, but her tail swayed protectively behind him, her golden eyes softening despite herself.

"What she said," she grumbled, her voice rough but laced with relief.

Azareel smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay then. Good morning."

The garden was quiet, its crimson petals blooming brighter in the hush, casting a warm, ethereal glow that pushed back the Abyss’s encroaching shadows.

The air carried the faint scent of ash and crushed blooms, a reminder of the battle that had left the city in ruins.

Azareel sat cross-legged on the mossy bed, his silver-white hair dusted with faint debris, his torn robe clinging to his slender frame.

He brushed moss from his sleeves, his silver eyes, scanning the glowing vines with a quiet unease, the hum of the Abyss beyond the garden gnawing at his thoughts.

He glanced past the twisting vines, blinking slowly.

For a moment, he thought he’d seen—a flicker in the mist, a shadow that wasn’t there.

Nothing.

Just the swirling fog, curling like ghosts over the ash-coated ruins beyond.

"Did I hear shouting?" he asked suddenly, his voice soft but carrying a weight that stilled the air, his brow furrowing as he turned to the women.

"In my sleep? I thought... it was screaming. Like something was tearing apart."

Sylvara watched him silently from where she knelt, one hand resting on a curled root, her amber eyes sharp but calm, her flowering hair cascading in crimson waves that shimmered faintly.

Virelya paused, perched atop a thick vine, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes glinting behind her cracked porcelain mask as she lazily spun a berry between her fingers, her coils twitching slightly.

Nyxsha didn’t move, her arms crossed tightly, her tail flicking occasionally, her golden gaze drifting to Azareel’s face with a softness she didn’t try to hide, though her expression remained guarded, haunted by the battle they’d kept from him.

"The Abyss often gives those dreams," Sylvara said after a beat, her voice light but laced with too much meaning, her amber eyes meeting his without flinching.

"They bleed through. Past and future. Echoes. Don’t dwell."

"Right," Azareel murmured, his silver eyes distant, but the unease didn’t fully fade, the garden’s warmth wrapping around him like a fragile shield against the truth he sensed beneath their words.

He didn’t believe her, not entirely, his fingers tightening slightly on the moss, the faint echo of screams lingering in his mind like a wound that wouldn’t close.

Before the silence grew heavier, the vines beneath him shifted with a soft rustle, a pulse of life stirring as tendrils curled upward, offering bunches of glistening berries—rich crimson, sunset orange, deep dark violet, their surfaces dewed and shimmering in the garden’s glow.

"You’re hungry," Sylvara said gently, her voice a melodic whisper, her amber eyes softening as she watched him.

Azareel’s stomach growled softly, betraying him, and he smiled faintly, his unease easing just a fraction.

"...Maybe a little," he admitted, his voice warm despite the lingering tension.

He took a berry—one of the warm gold ones—and bit into it, the juice bursting on his tongue, sweet but oddly earthy, like it had ripened in soil steeped in ancient sorrow.

The flavor relaxed something in his chest, grounding him in the moment.

Sylvara plucked one with practiced grace, biting it cleanly, her berry-stained lips curving faintly.

Virelya flicked hers into her mouth with her tongue, licking the juice from her lips with a lazy hum, her golden eyes glinting with amusement.

Nyxsha, after a beat, reached over and snagged one without comment, her golden eyes narrowing as she inspected it before popping it in, chewing with a reluctant nod.

Azareel’s eyes scanned their faces as he swallowed, the warmth of the berry spreading through him.

For the first time since they’d met, they looked... tired—not just worn from the Abyss’s endless grind, but hollow, hungry around the edges, their eyes shadowed, their movements slower.

"You all look... hungry," he said softly, his voice laced with concern, his silver eyes tracing the faint lines of exhaustion on their faces. "Like you’ve been starving."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unintended truth.

A soft thwack hit the back of his head—Nyxsha’s tail hovering behind him, swaying smugly after the quick strike.

"Ow—!" he yelped, rubbing the spot, his silver eyes wide as he turned to her, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face.

"Don’t say it like we’re strays," Nyxsha muttered, her voice gruff, her golden eyes avoiding his, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed a reluctant warmth, her tail curling back around her legs.

"She’s just grumpy," Virelya added, her coils shifting as she lounged, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief.

"We’re not starving. Just... used a lot of energy," she said, her voice a breathy tease, though the shadow in her eyes hinted at the cost of their victory.

"Fighting takes effort," Sylvara said, her amber eyes softening as she glanced at him, her flowering hair rustling faintly. "Even more when the city itself resists."

Azareel tilted his head, his silver eyes narrowing slightly, the unease creeping back like a cold hand on his spine.

"City?" he asked, his voice gentle but insistent, his gaze shifting between them—Sylvara’s serene calm, Virelya’s faint smirk, Nyxsha’s averted eyes. "Wait, what do you mean? What city?"

None of them answered immediately, the blooms rustling faintly, the distant echoes of the Abyss whispering in the wind like a warning.

Sylvara exchanged a glance with the others, her amber eyes dimming slightly, a petal falling from her hair.

Virelya twirled a berry in her fingers, her mask cracking with a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Nyxsha grunted, her tail thumping the moss, her golden eyes finally meeting his, shadowed with something unspoken—guilt, perhaps, or fear of what he’d see if he knew.