CHAPTER 427: WHAT’S THE POINT?-II

Atlas heard her sobbing, those raw, and broken voice. In all the years they had known each other, through centuries of cruelty and tenderness, perhaps this was the first time Circe had been stripped so bare. There was no mask, no sharp tongue, no iron walls left to guard her. Only grief. Only despair. Only the sound of her pain shattering into his chest like glass.

He brushed her tears away with slow, careful hands, though she struck at him with weak blows. Each time her fists landed, he let them. He didn’t flinch. He only held her closer, his eyes lifting to the ceiling as though it might hold the answers he did not. In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what was right anymore, or what was wrong.

He didn’t hate life. Nor did he crave death. He simply existed, tethered to her. If there was meaning in his breath, in his blood, in his very existence— it was hers. Always hers.

Dependency? Perhaps. Perhaps that was the right word. But even that felt too fragile, too shallow, for what bound him towards her.

If his life was required, he would give it. Without pause, without thought, without regret. For this life was never his to begin with. It had always been hers. A gift returned to its rightful owner.

Circe’s voice came muffled against her arms, a whisper dragged out of a heart too weary of suffering. "Just for once... live like them. Live like normal people. Build a home, a family. Hold children in your arms. Watch them grow, watch them laugh. Grow old enough to see your great-grandchildren. Live long enough to let the blood of war fade, long enough to forget the ghosts. Don’t throw it all away just because you want them to accept me."

Her plea was fragile, trembling, yet every word struck him with the force of a blade.

"I can’t," Atlas finally breathed. His hand rose to cradle her head, pressing her tear-streaked face against his chest, as though he could shelter her from her own sorrow. "I’m sorry, Circe. But I cannot."

He drew a breath, steady but heavy, like the weight of the world pressed on his ribs. "I can feel it. Something is coming— something vast, something terrible. Something that will tear apart not only their world, but ours. And when it arrives, there will be a choice to make. A decision no one else can carry. And I already know my answer."

He lowered his head, his lips brushing against her hair in a broken vow. "I know you’ll despise me for it. I know you’ll think I’ve betrayed you again. But I won’t. I can’t. I will use this life you gave me, even if it shatters the gift you meant it to be. I’m sorry, Circe... I’m so sorry. But this is the only way I can make your sacrifice mean something."

Her red eyes— already scarlet— burned brighter still as tears spilled anew, streaking her pale face. Each tear was fire and salt and centuries of sorrow. She clung to him, even as she hated his words.

Even as her grief screamed she would one day lose him again.

"I’m sorry," he hugged her gently to his arm, his words finally melting to his inner thoughts, "I’m sorry."

But what did he have to apologize for? Circe wanted to tell him those words but her heart was aching so much in pain as she couldn’t accept his words nor could she change them.

By the next four days, the castle held an air as though it was holding a funeral.

Though Cassius should have long awakened, he remained locked in his unnerving slumber. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his stillness was like stone. Lastor had assured Arabella that it was not dangerous, that it was strange, yes, but not fatal. Perhaps the demon’s power still roared unchecked inside him, and his body, unwilling to lose, had dragged him into a deeper sleep until he could bend it beneath his will.

So Arabella moved through her days like a restless hare, never still, never idle. By night, she kept vigil at his coffin, eyes burning but unblinking, watching over him as though her gaze alone could shield him. By day, she buried herself in her study, and when the court dared demand the presence of the King, it was Arabella who answered in his stead. Her voice rang in the marble halls, her words shaping law, her presence commanding the chamber like that of a crowned Queen.

Not all welcomed it— whispers stirred, discontent festered— but none could deny the power she bore. Fear, though bitter and unwanted, had become her shield. It smothered the ambitions of those who might have seized this chance to claw at the throne. And so the palace stood uneasy but unbroken.

"Rebellion will never succeed in this court," Helena told her that afternoon, walking at her side with the ministers trailing like cautious shadows. "Not with His Majesty’s name carved into every heart. No one dares such folly. And if they do, it only proves their skulls are hollow. Poor wretches, to believe they could triumph against him."

"Still it is worth to find the start of the root," said Juan while looking at Arabella’s face. He offered a smile out of concern, pointing out to what he sees, "I do hope that the court hasn’t given you so much stress to the point that you could not even have a moment to shut your eyes, Lady Arabella."

She knew what he meant, that he saw the eyebag under her eyes.

"I will be alright. It is up to me to hold the fort while Cassius recuperate," though this was only known to the ministers as everyone would be in unrest if they found Cassius unconscious situation.

"I also heard that you have made a new weapon, Lady Arabella. A weapon with the technique of the West?"

Arabella nodded to one of the minister, catching the glimpse of their eyes that lit up, "It’s a weapon that could shatter and even explode isn’t it? A weapon with the power so similar to a small canon, a weapon better than anything else. If we use them in war-"

Helena sighed, "We aren’t in war anymore, Christopher."

"But we are. Those sorcerers," pointed out Christopher, "We don’t know what they might do. If there is humans who want to hurt us, we could subdue them-"

"It’s a weapon that could kill," Arabella’s green eyes turned icy as she turned to Christopher and other ministers whose glint in the eyes seemed to be hungry for the device that could help them kill.