Daevari -II-

Chapter 8: Decision

Ari moved quietly through the back halls, winding along the rarely used paths toward Auovin's villa. He did not want to see him—not now. He needed solitude, the chance to wash the blood away, to clear his mind. Only the dull hum of his own thoughts accompanied him, drifting above the faint scent of candle wax and old incense. The villa's maroon carpets stretched before him, their edges lined with gold that gleamed under the occasional flicker of candlelight. Along the walls, portraits of long-dead demons looked on with solemn eyes, their stares shadowed and unyielding.

Each step echoed, the silence pressing in as his mind strained under the weight of the memory of Freir and Rein. As if they had only just left him, the ache tore through his chest, raw and unforgiving. Ari's hand rose to his chest, fingers curling as though to keep himself from unraveling, to steady the fragments of himself that threatened to splinter beyond repair. Centuries of control had forged a careful armor, but he could feel it weakening, feeling himself slipping.

A sharp pang shot through him, stealing his breath. He paused, one hand against the cold stone wall, his head bowed as he tried to draw air back into his lungs. The pain, the guilt—all left to grow unattended over so many lifetimes—seemed intent on consuming him whole. He dared not seek out Sascha or Auovin. One more betrayal, one more rejection... he would fall to pieces if he experienced anymore.

The visit to the town had been intended to bring clarity, but all he felt was an unsteady blur, a fracture widening beneath his feet. He took a step forward, and his leg gave way beneath him. Before he could fall, strong arms caught him, steadying him.

Ari smelled the scent of honey and citrus, and instinctively, he buried his face in Cyrus' shoulder, fingers curling tightly against him, his voice swallowed in the fabric as he struggled to stifle his sobs.

"Ari..." Cyrus' voice was low, a mixture of concern and confusion. "What happened? Where did you go?"

Ari knew the state he must be in—blood staining his face, his shirt, his hands. He had not wanted Cyrus to see him like this, to bear witness to what he had done. But it was too late now. It seemed he was always too late, caught forever in moments that slipped just out of reach, leaving only the ruin they left behind.

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When Ari woke, he smelled the scent of amylis floating in the room, relaxing him. He lifted his hands, noticing the blood was gone from his hands and under his nails. Soon he rose and realized he was wearing new clothes, as if fresh from a bath. Ari touched his hair, feeling its dampness. Someone had bathed him? Ari flushed at the thought. Other than that earlier time with Auovin, he had not let that happen again. It was embarrassing and, as old as he was, to relive it once more—

Ari covered his face, groaning. The heaviness in his heart lightened, if only for a moment. When he looked to his side, Ari saw Cyrus seated there, the trace of a smile on his face.

"Cy-Cyrus..." Ari said, blushing.

"You seem better," Cyrus murmured, brushing a single finger down Ari's cheek and cupping his face.

"Ah... that was..."

Cyrus shook his head gently. "No need." His hand lingered, the warmth of his palm steady against Ari's cheek.

Ari grasped his wrist, pressing a kiss to the center of Cyrus' palm before holding it to his face. "I went to the town... and met with Sai."

Cyrus' gaze sharpened as he held back a question, waiting.

"Inge was there... and I..." Ari took a breath. "He would not stop. Prodding, blaming, talking about Freir and Rein. As if I caused everything, as if I had brought about their deaths." His voice broke as tears gathered in his eyes. "I feel guilty enough for not being there for Freir, but to blame me..."