Chapter 31: Fractured Soul

The simple act of breathing, a reminder of the miracle of this moment.

Unknown:

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"But I know why," she blurted, her words spilling out like a confession. "It's this place—do you know what it's called?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Nope."

"It's Arlam's Atoll," she said, the name rolling off her tongue like a curse. Her voice dropped lower, heavy with significance. "The place that despises death."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It's a long story." She glanced at him, hesitation flickering in her eyes.

"We have time," he replied, his tone measured, patient.

She pressed her lips together, reluctant. Her past wasn't something she shared lightly.

The boy noticed her hesitation and softened his approach. "You don't have to tell me everything."

Her eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. Was she that obvious?

"Just tell me what you know about this place," he added gently.

A small sigh of relief escaped her, and her tense shoulders relaxed—if only slightly. Still, she remained guarded. But then came the admission she hadn't expected to make.

"I don't know," she said quietly.

His frown deepened. "You don't know?"

"It's because this place was always… written that way," she explained, her voice carrying a strange mixture of certainty and frustration.

"The place that despises death. No one's ever made it far enough into the forest to understand why. And those who did—" She paused, her tone darkening. "—they're considered anomalies. Legends from old tales."

The boy said nothing, his steady gaze fixed on her, silently urging her to continue.

She continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I only found out about this place because someone… threw me here."

"Threw you?" he asked gently, his tone curious but careful. "And why was that?"

"I… I…" She faltered, her voice trembling under the weight of her memories.

"It's because… it's because…"

The words caught in her throat, each syllable too heavy to push out.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as if trying to anchor herself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

The pain was suffocating. Thinking about it was hard enough; saying it aloud felt like ripping open a wound that had only just started to scab over.

He watched her, noticing the strain in her expression, and his sharp gaze softened. "Forgive me," he said quietly, his voice low and genuine. "I shouldn't have asked you something you weren't ready to remember."

She froze, her breath hitching. Forgive him?

How could someone as powerful as him—someone who could kill without hesitation—ask for forgiveness? And not just ask, but mean it. His words carried no force, no demands, only a quiet sincerity.

Where she came from, forgiveness was something the weak begged for, not the strong.

But here he was, bowing his head slightly, the simple gesture somehow making her chest tighten.

Still, she didn't lower her guard. She couldn't afford to. She had been fooled before—lured in by kind words and gentle gestures, only to have them turn into knives in the dark.

Those scars had healed, but the marks were still there, a reminder of what trust could cost.

Even so, his apology disarmed her in a way she hadn't expected. It wasn't his power or his words—it was the small, human act of humility.

"It's…" she stammered, her voice barely audible. "It's ok."

His lips quirked into a small, almost sheepish smile. "Thanks for that," he said, his tone lighter now, accompanied by a soft chuckle.

It wasn't a laugh meant to mock—it was an attempt to ease the heavy air between them.

And for a fleeting moment, it worked.

The tension in the room lessened, though it didn't vanish entirely.

Trust wasn't something that could be built in an instant. The walls she had spent years constructing wouldn't fall so easily.

Time would tell.

That was only natural.

"How about I change my question?" he offered, his tone measured.

"Tell me what happened after you were thrown here."

"I don't know," she began, her voice steadier now but still fragile, as if she were piecing herself back together. "By the time I woke up, I was in the middle of this fiery land."

He listened closely, his gaze fixed on her. But something about her tone felt off. It carried an undertone of unease, as though a piece of the story was missing—or deliberately withheld.

"And I was able to control this land however I liked," she added, almost as if trying to reassure herself of something she no longer believed.

So that's how she controlled those tendrils, he thought.

But there was a shift in her expression now—subtle, yet unmistakable. Her jaw tightened, and her hands clenched into fists. Something wasn't right.

She tried to summon the power again, to feel the connection she once had. But nothing came.

The whispers—the ones that had once been her constant companions, her lifeline to the land—were gone.

Her breath quickened as the realization struck her like a physical blow. The connection she had felt so deeply, so innately, had vanished.

Her fists clenched tighter, her nails digging into her palms. Panic coiled in her chest like a snake ready to strike. Why couldn't she feel it anymore?

And then it hit her.

A sudden, searing pain erupted from deep within her, more intense than anything she'd ever experienced.

It wasn't a surface pain—it came from somewhere deeper, as though her very essence were being torn apart.

She gasped, her hands flying to her head, gripping it as if trying to hold herself together.

The agony was unbearable, like molten lava coursing beneath her skin, consuming her from the inside out.

"Arrrghhhhghgh!" The scream that tore from her throat was raw, primal, and guttural—a sound that came from the depths of her soul.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the world dissolving into darkness. The pain was too much, pulling her under like a relentless tide.

The last thing she heard was his voice, steady yet tinged with something she couldn't place—concern? Reassurance?

"Don't worry, you'll be alri—"

And then, there was nothing.

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"Tell me what happened after you were thrown here," I asked gently, careful not to press too hard. She looked hesitant, her silence weighed down by memories she seemed reluctant to unearth.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, her voice steadier now but still fragile, like it might crack if pushed further.

"But by the time I woke up, I was in the middle of this fiery land."

Her words hung in the air, but something about them felt… wrong.

There was an underlying tension, like a chord stretched too tight, vibrating on the edge of breaking.

"And I was able to control this land however I liked," she added, her tone almost defensive, as though she needed to convince herself it had been true.

'So that's how she manipulated those tendrils.'

But then, her expression changed. A flicker of panic crossed her face, followed by something darker—realization.

Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

Her connection was gone.

Her hands shot up to clutch her head, her fingers digging into her temples as if she could will the missing pieces back into place. Her lips parted, but no words came—only a scream.

"Arrrggghhhghgh!"

The sound tore through the room, raw and guttural, filled with a pain so deep it seemed to reverberate in my own chest.

I stayed calm, steadying myself against the chaos. "Don't worry, you'll be alright," I murmured, though I wasn't sure if she could even hear me anymore.

Her body gave out, collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

Unconsciousness claimed her, leaving her limp and lifeless on the Bed.

I knelt beside her, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across her fragile frame. Her breathing was shallow, barely perceptible, and her skin had turned an unnatural shade of pale, ashen and cold to the touch.

From her chest, a faint, flickering light pulsed—a dim, desperate rhythm. It wasn't just her body that was fragile; her very soul seemed fractured.

Cracks shimmered faintly along her essence, like fissures in delicate glass threatening to shatter completely. Wisps of ethereal energy seeped from those cracks, curling into the air and vanishing like smoke.

I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply to steady myself. The stillness of the room was oppressive, heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

There was no time to waste.

Whatever he was about to do was not something any normal person should dare to attempt.

The Fiery Land around the cathedral hummed faintly, its song an eerie, haunting echo of the entity that had once bound itself to her.

That same entity had now abandoned her, casting her aside like a shattered vessel no longer of use.

Without it, the fragments of her soul it had taken were gone—leaving behind agonizing voids, vast and consuming, like wounds too deep to heal.

The boy knelt beside her, his hands hovering mere inches above her chest.

His movements were steady and deliberate, precise like a surgeon preparing for the most delicate operation.

He could feel it—the emptiness within her. It wasn't just an absence; it was a gaping hollowness, a terrible abyss where pieces of her essence had been ripped away.

Closing his eyes, he drew upon the light within him. This energy wasn't ordinary. It was pure, radiant, and unyielding, an ethereal force that seemed to banish darkness wherever it reached.

A faint white glow began to form in his palms, soft at first but growing steadily brighter, its intensity almost reverent.

The room filled with the glow, bathing everything in warmth—a warmth that carried with it an undeniable sense of peace.

Carefully, he pressed his glowing hands to her chest.

The light flowed into her, a golden river weaving through the cracks of her fractured soul.

It moved with precision and care, threading itself into the emptiness like a delicate tapestry mending a shattered relic.

At first, the void resisted. It twisted and writhed, as though alive, a ravenous beast unwilling to be subdued.

But he didn't falter. He poured more of his light into her, his resolve unwavering, his energy surging with quiet determination.

The glow spread, filling the hollowness within her, pushing back the darkness inch by inch.

What was lost could not be restored, but this light replaced it with something new—something pure, untouched, and whole.

Her body arched as the energy reached the deepest recesses of her soul, the most fractured and fragile parts of her being.

The boy felt her pulse grow stronger beneath his touch, the faint glow of her soul stabilizing.

The fractures that had once threatened to tear her apart were slowly mending, sealed by the golden light that flowed from his hands.

But then, something stirred.

A presence—ancient and malevolent—crept into the room, coiling around them like a suffocating shadow.

The air grew cold, and an oppressive weight pressed against the boy's mind, relentless and crushing.

The **** voice erupted, a guttural growl that reverberated from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"She is no longer mine," it rumbled, its tone laced with disdain. "And she is unworthy without me."

The boy sighed internally. 'Oh, great. Of course, it's dramatic. Just my luck.'

He kept his expression neutral, though a flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes.

'Really? Couldn't you just go haunt someone else? Shu Shu'

The entity, clearly enraged, seemed to linger longer, its wrath filling the space like a storm cloud.

But when it spoke again, it did so not out of anger but with surety. Its voice was low, icy, and cutting.

"You will never escape from here," it hissed, venom dripping from every word.

The boy didn't flinch. Instead, his light flared brighter, unyielding and defiant. It surged outward like a tidal wave, forcing the shadow to recoil.

The oppressive presence faltered, retreating like smoke scattered by a fierce wind.

The connection that had once bound the girl to the entity snapped at that moment and broke with a soundless finality.

The weight smothering the room lifted.

For the first time, there was stillness—pure, unbroken stillness.

The girl's eyes fluttered open, faint but unmistakable light shimmering within them.

This light wasn't borrowed or forced—it was hers.

She blinked, disoriented, her gaze wandering as if searching for something lost. Then, her eyes found him.

Recognition dawned in her expression, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

"What happened?" she whispered, her voice fragile but steady.

The boy leaned back, brushing a hand through his hair with a faint smile. "How about we talk over breakfast? I'm starving."

Surprised, she blinked at his casual tone, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Her voice was soft as she answered, "Ok."

With care, he helped her sit up, his hands steady as he supported her. Her strength was returning, bit by bit.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she drew a deep breath—a full, satisfying breath.

'It feels good.'

She could breathe again.

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AN: "Thank you for reading my novel! I apologize for the delayed chapters—I'm going through a tough time right now as I don't have a job, and asking my father for support is embarrassing. Still, I'm committed to writing this story, even when it feels like there's no point. To the one reader who sticks with me, and to all who continue to support me, I truly appreciate you. I'll keep writing for you. Thank you all!"