CHAPTER 146: WEAK

Aria couldn’t stop shaking, no matter how hard she tried not to.

Her hands trembled at her sides, her breath came in uneven pulls, and every now and then her knees buckled slightly beneath her, forcing her to brace herself. The floor was still clearly stained with blood, dark and tacky in places where it hadn’t yet been cleaned. The gruesome sight, combined with the metallic scent that hung stubbornly in the air, made her stomach twist violently.

And yet, it wasn’t the blood that made her body shudder—it was the memory.

The memory of what had happened just moments ago.

It played in her head on a loop. Martha... That had been Martha.

The same girl who’d knocked lightly on her door and dropped off food and snacks. The one Aria had exchanged small smiles with, shared a few polite words with—human enough to be forgettable in a place so filled with monsters. Harmless.

And yet when she had walked into the hall... when she’d approached with a tray in hand, Aria hadn’t felt the slightest suspicion. Not even a whisper of concern.

’How did I miss it?’ the thought tormented her now.

She had seen her. Looked her in the eye. And she hadn’t known. She hadn’t sensed a thing.

Not until her head literally split open—torn apart from the inside—and her body stretched and morphed into something utterly inhuman. Her height surged unnaturally until Aria had felt like nothing more than a rabbit, small and helpless before the predator that stood before her.

Even after the werewolves stormed out of the hall in fury, even after the vampire lords had withdrawn with cold disdain, Aria remained there, eyes wide, body stiff, her heart hammering so loud in her chest it almost hurt. She had barely noticed that most had gone, that only Zyren and a handful of guards remained.

It wasn’t until she saw the servants cleaning the carnage that she realized it was time to leave too.

Her limbs were stiff, but she managed to get to her feet, finally pushing past the numbness and preparing to take her leave, even if it meant walking through the very spot where blood still clung to the tiles.

She had barely taken a step forward—barely shifted her weight—when Zyren moved.

Without a single word, he was beside her, and before she could react, she felt his arms slide beneath her knees and back.

Effortlessly, he lifted her off the ground.

The motion was so fluid, so unbothered, it made it feel like she weighed nothing.

Aria opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came. Not at first. Her lips parted, her breath hitched—and nothing.

By the time she found her voice, he was already walking, carrying her in his arms like she was something precious or fragile. Something that needed to be protected.

Or restrained.

"Put me down," she whispered, more out of habit than hope. But even as the words left her, she knew they would be ignored. She didn’t bother to repeat them. There was a certain futility to it that drained her more than the sight of blood ever could.

Zyren didn’t speak. He simply continued down the corridor, eyes ahead, footsteps measured.

They passed a few guards who quickly bowed their heads in deference, but he paid them no mind. He didn’t even glance their way.

Finally, he stepped into the room they shared—their room.

The door shut behind him with a soft click. Aria expected him to place her down immediately, but instead, he lingered for a moment, holding her longer than necessary.

Her feet finally touched the ground, and for a heartbeat she felt relief. The soft floor beneath her toes grounded her, gave her a moment of stability.

But her mind was still racing.

She had barely regained her balance when her mouth opened, the words escaping without permission, without conscious decision. Her voice came out low and raw.

"Martha..."

She paused, the name clawing at her throat.

"...I mean...that, that..." she stammered, eyes wide as her thoughts chased themselves in circles.

"What was that monster?" Her voice cracked slightly. "Are there more?"

That question—are there more—echoed in her mind like a scream. It wasn’t just fear for herself. It was fear for everyone she knew, everyone still in the castle. If Martha could become that... then who was next?

What if there were others already among them?

She looked up at Zyren, eyes searching his for any trace of an answer.

She didn’t want to be afraid. But the way her fingers curled tightly into her palms, the way her body leaned slightly away from the door as if something could burst through it at any moment—it was clear she was terrified.

"I... I knew Martha," she whispered. "She was a good person."

Her voice caught at the end. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. How could someone good... turn into that?

She took a step back without realizing it.

Zyren stepped forward.

Closing the distance between them with quiet purpose, his gaze locked onto hers. He wasn’t looking past her, or through her. He was staring at her, deep and focused, like he was peeling her apart with nothing but his eyes.

His red irises glowed faintly in the dim lighting.

The silence between them stretched.

Thick. Heavy. Oppressive.

Aria swallowed hard.

"If you don’t know then..." she began, already turning toward the bed, feeling the exhaustion press down on her again. "Then I’ll ask someone else."

She didn’t expect him to answer. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe it was too dangerous.

But she hadn’t even taken another step when his voice cut clean through the silence.

"Aren’t you tired of being weak?"

Aria froze.

Her eyes widened.

She turned back slowly, unable to hide the stunned expression on her face. For a moment, she truly wondered if she had misheard him.

"What?"

Zyren’s face was unreadable. His voice was calm. Cold. Almost casual in the way it struck her down.

"You are weak," he said, repeating the words with finality. "If it was you against IT, you would have died. Without being able to fight back. Not even once."

She stared at him, jaw clenched.

And the worst part?

He was right.

She had frozen like a statue back there. She hadn’t even thought of running or fighting. All she could do was watch and pray.

It made her stomach churn.

"I’m human!" she snapped, the edge in her voice rising before she could stop it. "I don’t have fancy powers like you! Even if I had a sword, do you think I’d be fast enough to move before it slammed me to the side?!"

Her fists trembled.

The anger burned hot and helpless in her chest.

She hated this.

She hated how powerless she was.

She hated that she was trapped in a castle with the man who killed her father and brother, and she couldn’t even lift a finger against him.

She was a prisoner in every sense of the word, and she couldn’t do anything about it even if she wanted to.