CHAPTER 174: WHERE DID IT START?

Aelin

The world passed in flickers—branches scraping overhead, the rough pull of hands at my wrists and ankles, my own blood warm and sticky as it left a trail behind me through the forest. My chest throbbed with every breath, shallow and ragged, as the tendrils’ wound pulsed with fresh agony.

But through the haze, I kept my eyes on him.

Reagan walked ahead, tall and untouchable, like I wasn’t dying behind him. Like I was just a piece to be moved back into place.

I gritted my teeth. The taste of iron flooded my mouth. My voice came out broken.

"How long...?"

He didn’t turn.

I forced the words out again, though the effort nearly made me black out. "How long... has this been happening? How long have you been consuming the black milk?"

Only then did he pause. Slowly, Reagan looked over his shoulder at me. His expression wasn’t cold—it was bored. Like this wasn’t the first time someone had asked him that question, and like the answer never changed.

"Since right after Mother died," he said.

His voice was steady, detached. Like he wasn’t talking about the unraveling of our world.

"I hated them," he went on, walking slower now, his boots crushing leaves as he stepped through the forest. "The demons. The way they lived. The way Father tolerated them. I was... furious. Wrath like that—it doesn’t stay hidden for long."

He glanced ahead, then back at me. "One of Father’s old advisors noticed. Glyer’s father."

Glyer. His shadow of a personal assistant. I remembered him. He’s the bastard that always healed me after Reagen tortured me.

"His father came to me when I was still a child. Asked me if I wanted to be stronger. Asked me if I wanted to destroy every last demon." A pause. "I said yes."

The guards kept dragging me. I couldn’t feel my fingertips anymore. But I could still hear him.

"He brought me to the cult," Reagan said, as if he were recounting a fond memory. "They’d already started experimenting. Opening little gates in secret. Nothing big. Just enough to let the black milk out."

My stomach twisted. I remembered the dead eyes of the Lost Causes. The smell. The silence.

"But the milk didn’t work. Not at first. They tried it on others, but everyone went mad." He turned his head slightly, enough for me to see the cruel smile forming on his lips. "Then I drank it."

I stared at him, the pain momentarily forgotten.

"You were a child."

"I wanted power," he said simply. "And the cult... they found their miracle. I was the first one it worked on. It gave me a fever for weeks. But I survived. I changed. They made me their messiah."

"Why would you...?"

He stopped then. Turned to face me fully, while the guards froze behind him.

His eyes—those royal, icy blue eyes—met mine.

"Because I was weak. And I never wanted to be weak again," he said. "Because after Mother died, no one could protect me from what I felt. And that power—the abyss—it gave me the strength to never feel helpless again."

He said it like a confession. But there was no regret in his voice.

Only conviction.

And as he turned again, and the guards resumed dragging me over the blood-stained leaves, I realized something far worse than the pain in my chest.

Reagan wasn’t just a man who’d lost his way.

He had chosen it.

***

The clearing came into view again—like a nightmare I had almost escaped. My body was failing, heavy with blood loss, skin slick with sweat and dirt. Every breath scraped my throat. The pain in my chest pulsed in rhythm with the pounding in my ears.

And still... they dragged me back.

The guards tossed me into the center circle like a discarded object, the rough stone scraping my skin. I landed hard, jarring my already broken body. My blood mixed with the red-soaked markings on the ground, and the corrupted eye of the Abyss stared back at me from the headstone. Its twisted form seemed to pulse, as though alive—watching.

I barely had the strength to lift my head, but I did.

And then I saw him.

A shadow moved behind Reagan. A tall, lean figure in dark robes stepped into the light of the ritual circle. When I recognized him, my heart nearly stopped.

"Rael," I whispered, voice hoarse.

His red eyes met mine

He stood with his arms crossed, face unreadable. The same Rael who had knocked me out. The person who not only kidnaped me but also betrayed his son.

Reagan laughed when he noticed my reaction. "Ah," he said with a smirk, motioning to Rael like he was presenting some trophy, "I see you recognize this freak."

Rael didn’t flinch at the insult. He just stood there, silent.

Reagan turned to me, amusement dancing in his voice. "I found him rotting away in some forest. Filthy little hermit, clinging to life after his village was razed. He was desperate for power."

He grinned, stepping closer to the edge of my circle. "So I gave him some milk, too. Thought he’d rot from the inside like the others."

His smirk widened. "But he didn’t. He is one of the only handful of people who have survived the black milk." He clicked his tongue, "His hatred seems to be just as strong as mine." He smiled, then looked at the guards

"Start the torture. Slowly. Make sure she’s ready in two days." Reagan’s voice cut through the haze.

My pulse quickened. The cold that had crept into my bones was suddenly laced with dread.

One of the guards—his face obscured by the dark hood and the bloodstained mask he wore—hesitated. "But, my lord... she’s already lost too much blood. She won’t last."

Reagan didn’t even bother turning around. His steps didn’t falter. "She’s not ordinary. She should be dead already with the amount she’s bled. But she’s not. That means she can take more." His voice turned cold. "Get to it. And don’t disappoint me again."

I wanted to scream.

But no sound left my throat.

I wanted to fight.

But my body was numb.

He disappeared into the forest, his long cloak fluttering behind him, and with him went the last trace of sunlight. The air felt thicker now. Like the abyss itself had come to watch.

The guards stepped closer, unsheathing cruel instruments that glinted in the fading light. My heart thundered in my ears.

No. No, not like this.

I couldn’t die here.

I couldn’t be broken like this. I have to fight!

I can fight!

The magic inside me—whatever light I had—flickered, weak and fading.

And then—

"Wait."