CHAPTER 230: CHAPTER 230

The days blurred into a routine after that—me swinging by the hospital every afternoon, armed with a fresh bouquet of white lilies clutched in my hand. It started as a way to shut down Raphael’s endless teasing about flowers, but now it just felt like habit.

He’d spot me in the doorway, that easy smile lighting up his face, and hit me with some corny joke right off the bat: "Back again with my favorites? Careful, Remi, or I’ll start thinking you’re wooing me for real."

I’d just roll my eyes, plop the flowers in the vase by his bed, and settle into the chair, pretending it didn’t get to me.

All the while, I was scanning for any sign of the Rakshesha’s mark—watching for flickers of dark energy, odd twitches in his aura, anything that screamed "curse incoming." But with nurses popping in, Angela calling every other hour, or Raphael himself chatting away, I never got a real shot. It was frustrating, like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

Then today, my luck finally turned. I slipped into his room quiet as I could, the lilies wrapped in crinkly paper under my arm. The place was dim, curtains half-drawn against the winter sun, and there he was—out cold, chest rising and falling in that steady, peaceful rhythm. No visitors, no interruptions. Perfect.

I set the bouquet down softly on the side table, the faint floral scent mixing with the sterile hospital air. Approaching the bed, I held my breath, glancing at his face first—relaxed, almost boyish in sleep. Good, he was deep under. I leaned in closer, careful not to jostle the sheets, and let my senses extend, probing gently for the mark.

I started with his arms, rolling up the sleeves just enough to scan the skin—nothing, not even a whisper of dark energy. Then his head, tilting it gently to check behind his ears and along his neck; still clear. Legs next, lifting the blanket a fraction to trace the lines of his calves and thighs—no trace. Frustration started creeping in, my heart picking up as I paced quietly beside the bed. Where the hell was it hiding?

My eyes drifted back to his covered chest, lingering there before flicking up to his face again—still peaceful, eyes shut, breaths even. He was out. Taking a steadying breath, I reached for the buttons of his hospital shirt, fingers careful and slow, popping them open one by one. The fabric parted, and there it was: the Rakshesha’s mark, etched faint and ghostly across his skin, right over his heart. To anyone else, it’d be invisible, just smooth flesh, but my Keen Sense picked it up clear as day—a swirling, inky sigil pulsing with suppressed malice.

I summoned a soft glow of light magic to my palm, the warmth building as I extended my hand to touch it, to probe and maybe start unraveling the curse before it could take hold—

A hand shot out like a vice, clamping around my wrist. In a blur, I was flipped and pinned beneath him, his body weight pressing me into the mattress. Raphael loomed over me, breathing ragged and heavy, his glare boring into mine like daggers. I could see it flickering in his eyes—tendrils of dark magic coiling at the edges, threatening to swallow the blue whole.

"Raph..." I whispered, my voice catching as panic spiked through me.

He didn’t let go, his grip iron-tight. "Since when did you know about the mark?"

"I was about to question you on that," I shot back, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse hammered in my ears. Under the covers, out of his line of sight, I slipped my free hand to my side, fingers brushing my Arcanum tucked against my hip and transformed it as a dagger. As long as I kept my mana dormant, the room’s alarms wouldn’t ping, and those mercenaries outside his door would stay clueless.

His eyes narrowed, that dark swirl in them deepening for a split second, like shadows stirring in a storm. "Don’t play games with me, Remi. What the hell is this thing on my chest? And how do you know about it?"

I swallowed hard, the dagger’s edge a reassuring weight in my grip, ready if things went south. His breath was hot against my face, pinning me there, but I could feel the tremor in his hold—the mark was already messing with him, fighting for control. "It’s a curse, Raph. Rakshesha’s mark. It’s going to turn you into something you’re not if we don’t stop it. Let me go, and I’ll explain—please."

After a long, tense stare-down, he finally eased off, releasing my wrist and shifting back to sit on the edge of the bed. His breathing steadied a little, but the air between us still crackled with whatever storm was brewing inside him.

I pushed myself up and sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin but not so close that it felt invasive. We just sat there in heavy silence for what felt like forever, the only sound the faint beep of the monitors in the background. My mind raced—how much could I tell him without tipping everything over? Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. "I need you to answer my questions truthfully, okay? No holding back."

He nodded, his jaw tight, eyes still shadowed.

"Your memories... have they all come back?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I remember it all—especially the Myriad Operation."

I swallowed, leaning in a bit. "Do you remember killing a Rogue?"

He nodded again, but this time his hand came up to clutch his forehead, like the memory was a knife twisting in his skull. "Yes."

"Raph..." I took a breath, bracing myself. "What you killed wasn’t a Rogue. It was a Demon."

"No—that can’t be," he muttered, shaking his head like he could shake off the words. "How could I take down a Demon? They’re on the level of Apex Heroes. That... that just doesn’t make sense."

"The Demon you killed was Drakar—the Harbinger of Madness," I explained, watching his face closely. "He had the power to mess with minds: hallucinations, insanity, total mental chaos. That’s probably why everything felt off—why you saw a Rogue instead of a Demon."

He groaned then, low and pained, his fingers digging into his temples. And that’s when I felt it—a cold seep of dark magic leaking out from him, like ink spreading in water. Shit, this was bad. The room’s mana detector had limits; if it picked up anything too potent or off-limits, the whole hospital would go into lockdown, mercenaries swarming in before I could explain him anything.

I grabbed his face gently but firmly, turning it toward mine. "Look at me, Raph. Calm down—we can’t keep going if you’re spiraling like this."

His eyes locked onto mine, wild at first, but slowly the tension drained out of him. The dark swirls in his gaze faded, retreating like smoke. "I... I remember fragments now... of what really happened..."

"Don’t push it," I said softly, my thumbs brushing his cheeks. "We can’t risk alerting anyone right now—or letting them find out what’s going on with you."

"Why not?" he asked, his voice rough. "What if they could help? The doctors, my family—"

I shook my head slowly, holding his gaze. "Just trust me on this one. But first things first—we need to get you out of here, somewhere the detectors won’t pick up your dark magic flaring up."

I laid it out a rough sketch of a plan we’d hashed together. We’d wait for the right window to slip him out disguised as a routine transfer. From there, we’d hole up somewhere off-grid, like an abandoned safehouse where he could let the dark energy vent without causing a scene. It wasn’t foolproof, but it bought us time to figure out how to purge the mark for good.

"We do this quiet," I stressed, locking eyes with him. "No one else—not Angela, not the doctors, nobody. This stays between us, Raph. One slip, and it all crumbles."

He nodded, exhaustion etching lines into his face, the weight of it all finally hitting him. "I get it. Secret’s safe."

I stayed put after that, pulling the chair closer and just sitting with him in the dim light, my hand resting lightly on his arm until his breathing evened out, deep and steady. He drifted off eventually, the tension easing from his features. I watched over him a while longer, mind spinning with what-ifs, but the room stayed quiet.

Before I knew it, the three-hour buzzer chimed softly from the hall, signaling the end of visiting hours. Time had slipped away, and I hadn’t even noticed. I stood carefully, tucking the blankets around him one last time, and slipped out, the door clicking shut behind me.

It seems that I need help from that person after all.