A Night of Rest and Lingeringoughts

Chapter 56: A Night of Rest and Lingering Thoughts

The Enchanted Forest was quiet that night. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no sounds of battle, no hurried footsteps or desperate cries. Just the soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of the elven village slowly rebuilding itself.

Mekeala sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her fingers over the light blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was still exhausted, but at least she was safe.

Across the room, Maya flopped onto her side of the bed, stretching her arms with a sigh. "Finally, a proper place to sleep. I was starting to forget what a bed felt like."

Mekeala smiled faintly, but her mind was elsewhere.

Maya glanced at her, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You okay?"

Mekeala hesitated before nodding. "Just thinking."

Maya smirked. "Let me guess—about Ezekeil?"

Mekeala blinked. "What? No."

Maya turned onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Oh, please. You should've seen him when you were unconscious. He barely left your side. I think he growled at Jack when he suggested taking turns watching you."

Mekeala let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "That doesn't sound like him."

Maya grinned. "Doesn't it? You know, for someone who acts all tough and cold, he sure seems to care a lot when it comes to you."

Mekeala waved a hand dismissively. "That's just the bind. We're connected. Of course, he's going to be protective."

Maya hummed, unconvinced. "Maybe. But he looked more than just protective. You should've seen the way he stared at you, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he blinked."

Mekeala tried to brush it off, but Maya's words stuck in her mind like an unshakable thought.

Ezekeil had always been there, standing between her and danger, watching her with those unreadable golden eyes. Was it really just the bind?

She thought about the way he had held her when she collapsed, the quiet concern in his voice when she woke up, the way his hands lingered on her arm as if reassuring himself that she was really there.

Mekeala sighed, rubbing her temples. It didn't matter. They had bigger things to worry about.

Maya chuckled. "You can think about it later. For now, we actually get to enjoy a night where no one is trying to kill us."

Mekeala nodded, pulling her blanket tighter around herself. "Yeah… for now."

The elven dining hall was warm and filled with the smell of freshly cooked food. It was a rare moment of peace—a moment to sit, to breathe.

Jack was already at the table, digging into his meal with enthusiasm, occasionally making exaggerated noises of satisfaction. Across from him, Ezekeil sat stiffly, his food untouched.

Jack glanced up and smirked. "What's wrong, dragon boy? Lost your appetite?"

Ezekeil shot him a glare but didn't answer.

Jack chuckled. "Come on, you're sitting there all broody like you're waiting for a battle. You do realize we actually won, right?"

Ezekeil remained silent, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table.

Jack leaned back lazily. "You know, Mekeala isn't going to disappear if you stop staring at the door and start eating."

Ezekeil's glare deepened, but Jack wasn't fazed. "Seriously, just admit it. You're waiting for her."

Before Ezekeil could respond, Mekeala and Maya entered the hall.

Jack grinned. "And there she is. Right on cue."

Ezekeil's shoulders visibly relaxed the moment his eyes landed on Mekeala. It was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else. But Maya caught it immediately. She nudged Mekeala slightly, a knowing look in her eyes.

Mekeala ignored her, but she felt it too.

Ezekeil's gaze held hers for a moment longer before he finally looked down and picked up his fork.

They sat together, sharing a quiet but much-needed meal, talking about things other than war for once.

For a moment, it almost felt normal.

But far away, beyond the peaceful halls of the elven village, Cedric stood before the empty ritual pillar, his fury barely contained.

His fingers curled into fists. "They took Elrond," he hissed, his breath sharp with rage.

He had been so close to seizing divine magic.

And then, just as before, Mekeala had ruined everything.

He clenched his jaw, trying to summon his magic, but his body protested.

Outwardly, he looked composed. He stood tall, his posture regal, his expression unreadable.

But inside, he was breaking.

Mekeala's power—**the same power that once belonged to Grace—**had not just repelled him. It had wounded him.

It wasn't just a physical injury. Half of his life force had been drained. He could still feel it—her power, bright and untamed, clashing violently against his own like a poison inside him.

His breath came slower, sharper. This wasn't just some ordinary magic.

This was divine power.

And for the first time in his life, Cedric felt something unfamiliar curling in his chest.

Fear.

But it was drowned out by his rage.

Ezekeil had defied him.

His own son.

Cedric's lips curled into a snarl. "Ungrateful boy."

He had shaped Ezekeil into the perfect weapon, trained him to be stronger than anyone else. And yet, he had chosen to stand against his own bloodline.

And Mekeala—**that girl who should never have existed, who should never have awakened her power—**was now a threat greater than he had ever anticipated.

His fingers dug into the cold stone of the ritual altar, magic crackling weakly at his fingertips. "This isn't over," he murmured darkly.

His wounds would heal. His power would return.

And next time—he would not fail. to