"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 15: The Path to Her

Azgar's POV

I wiped the blood off the artifact with a damp cloth before returning it to its rightful place on the windowsill. Turning to face the mirror again, I saw crimson stains coating my face, my hands gloved in red from scrubbing the blood away, making my skin feel tight.

I didn't want to glance behind me; I didn't want to confront the truth of the monster I had become. Yet, despite my resolve, tears began to fall. I wasn't sad, nor did I feel guilty. Instead, I felt the gruesome weight lift off my shoulders, and for the first time ever, I felt free.

I didn't care that I had to kill him. In that moment, a surge of resolve washed over me, fierce and unyielding. I deserved this. I had spent years trying to appease him, enduring his disdain and manipulation like a marionette tangled in strings of his making. The countless times I cowered in his shadow, playing along with his twisted games, sacrificing my dignity and happiness flooded back to me. Each memory was a stab to the heart—a painful montage of my subservience, a relentless reminder of the person I had lost in the battle to keep him satisfied.

Not anymore. I was finally free. The chains that had bound me shattered, and with each fragment that fell away, I felt lighter, more alive. For the first time in years, I could actually breathe. My heart raced with a new kind of exhilaration, one brimming with possibilities. I could finally allow myself to be happy—truly happy.

It wasn't just the absence of that weight; it was the presence of something far more precious. I thought of her—my Freya. Just the sound of her name brought warmth to my chest and a smile to my face. She was the light I had been searching for, a beacon of hope in the darkest of times. Though our time together had been brief and often subdued, those small moments—laughing at awkward jokes, exchanging knowing glances—had ignited a spark in me that I had thought long extinguished.

No longer would I hide my feelings or suppress my desires. Freya had shown me what it meant to be accepted for who I truly was. The thought of what could have been—if I had only been open with her—made my heart race with anticipation. I could finally embrace everything I had denied myself for so long.

It felt surreal to think about a future where I wasn't living in someone else's shadow, where I could openly pursue the happiness that had once seemed so far out of reach. I could build a life with Freya, a life filled with authenticity and passion. And the best part? I would do it on my own terms. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, I welcomed it. I was ready to chase the horizon, hand in hand with her, unbound and unafraid.

I was going to find her and bring her back with me. The excitement surged through me like wildfire at the thought of it. Freya was out there, waiting, and I couldn't be still any longer. I had spent so long caught in a web of fear and obligation, but now I was free, and I fully intended to show her the man I had always known I could be—the man she could love.

I pictured her smile, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief and kindness. Even in our brief exchanges, there was a warmth about her that ignited something deep inside me. I wanted to sweep her off her feet, to remind her of the connection we had—however distant it might have seemed. I could be that man—strong, resilient, and loving—if she would allow me the chance.

I wanted to hold her in my arms and kiss her, to feel the warmth of her body against mine, to lose myself in the comfort of her embrace. There was something inexplicably soothing about being near her, a feeling that everything else faded away. The world could be collapsing around us, but when I was with Freya, I felt at home.

I wanted to look into her eyes—those deep pools of understanding and compassion—and tell her how sorry I was. Sorry for the moments lost, for the times I let fear dictate my choices. Sorry for leaving her alone when she deserved someone who could truly open their heart. I wanted to take responsibility for the hurt I caused and show her that I had changed, that I had learned and grown. It wasn't too late for us, not if I had anything to say about it.