Chapter 8: A Fiery Revelation

Two days had passed since the training grounds incident, but Ezekeil's thoughts remained restless. The echoes of Mekeala's graceful archery and the warmth of her laughter clung stubbornly to his mind. No matter how much he tried to distance himself, those moments lingered.

He now sat beneath a towering oak tree near the village outskirts, the scent of moss and wildflowers thick in the warm air. The village bustled in the distance, but Ezekeil had deliberately chosen a secluded spot to avoid unwanted company.

The gentle rustling of leaves broke his solitude. His instincts sharpened as approaching footsteps grew louder. Turning his head, he spotted a familiar figure moving toward him.

Esme.

Her fiery red hair gleamed under the midday sun, her presence commanding despite the serene setting.

Ezekeil's expression hardened. He had sensed her presence in the village but had hoped to avoid a confrontation.

Without waiting for pleasantries, he spoke. "Does she know?"

Esme's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"The truth," he said evenly, though his voice carried a pointed edge. "The story of a pure royal blood being born already turned all of Caelithar upside down. Let alone the fact that the princess was taken from under the king's nose."

Esme's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm her grandmother. Taking her away from that vile king was the only way to protect her," she said firmly. "And no, she doesn't know her true identity. I'll do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way."

Ezekeil's expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of something dangerous passed through his golden eyes. "Rumors are everywhere. The princess disappeared without a trace. People speculated about all sorts of things." His tone darkened. "Some say the boy who was supposed to protect her never recovered."

Esme's eyes softened with regret. "I knew the risks... but I had no choice."

Ezekeil crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "You knew what would happen when you took her away. The chaos it would cause. Yet you acted anyway."

Her voice grew quieter, tinged with sorrow. "I couldn't let Caesar turn her into another pawn in his quest for power. Mekeala deserves a life beyond that madness."

He studied her for a long moment, the weight of past events pressing heavily on them both. His heart wrestled with memories he had long tried to bury—memories of a fateful night twelve years ago when everything changed. The weight of guilt gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

"I need to put an end to this," he murmured bitterly, as though speaking to himself. The thought lingered, heavy and unresolved.

Esme's gaze softened but remained resolute. "Whatever you think you need to do, remember this—Mekeala is more than just her lineage. Don't forget that."

Ezekeil turned away, unwilling to respond. The conversation had stirred too many memories, ones he preferred to keep locked away.

Later, he found himself wandering near the stream that bordered the village, the gentle gurgle of water offering a semblance of peace. Tall trees stretched skyward, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

He knelt by the water's edge, cupping his hands to splash the cool liquid onto his face. The shock of it grounded him momentarily, but his thoughts remained tangled in a web of conflicting emotions.

Why was he hesitating?

Ezekeil clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him. He had come here with a purpose—to find her, fulfill his vow, and end this twisted bond that had shackled him for years. And yet…

A flash of silver caught his eye.

From behind a large tree, he spotted Mekeala walking toward her home. Her head was bowed slightly, and her lips were drawn into a pout of disappointment. The sight of her tugged at something deep within him, something he didn't want to acknowledge.

Why do I even care? he questioned himself, shaking off the unsettling feeling.

Mekeala paused for a moment, her gaze distant as if lost in thought. The fading sunlight caught in her hair, turning it into a shimmering cascade that framed her delicate features. Despite himself, Ezekeil's gaze lingered, drawn by a force he couldn't explain.

She's just a means to an end, he reminded himself bitterly.

And yet, the doubt gnawed at him, persistent and unrelenting.

The stream continued its gentle song, oblivious to the turmoil within Ezekeil's heart. He turned away from the scene, retreating further into the shadows of the forest. His resolve was slipping, and he hated it.

As he walked deeper into the woods, the echoes of Esme's words followed him.

Mekeala is more than just her lineage.

Ezekeil's jaw tightened. He had spent years perfecting the art of detachment, of suppressing emotions that could cloud his judgment. But something about this place—about Mekeala—was chipping away at the walls he had built.

No. He wouldn't allow it.

With renewed determination, Ezekeil pushed the doubts aside. He had a mission to complete, and nothing—not even the faint warmth stirring in his chest—would deter him.

Yet, as the shadows of the forest enveloped him, one unsettling truth remained.

The longer he stayed, the harder it became to ignore the pull toward a destiny he had never wanted.