Blessed By The Moon

Chapter 38

The night I left Storm, the air was thick with the scent of rain that had yet to fall. My hands trembled as I packed my bags, folding fabric with careful precision, as if neatness could somehow soften the blow of departure. 

The room, once filled with laughter and whispered conversations, now felt cavernous, the silence pressing against my skin like a physical weight. I didn't rush, I took my time, listening to the crackling of the dying fire, the distant howl of the wind against the stone walls.

I expected him to come. To stop me, to tell me I was wrong, to promise he would do better. But the door remained closed, the heavy wood an unspoken barrier between us. Perhaps he already knew. Perhaps he had sensed it in the way I no longer reached for him at night, in the way my touch had become fleeting, my gaze distant. Or maybe, in some cruel way, he had accepted this before I had even made my decision.

As I neared the gates, a shadow peeled away from the stone columns. Elias. Storm's right hand, his most loyal companion, the man who had followed him through fire and blood without question. His eyes caught mine, steady and searching, as though he had been waiting for this moment.

"Don't go," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight I wasn't prepared to bear. "If you leave, he will lose what little humanity he has left. You are his tether, his breath when the rage consumes him. You are the only part of him that still belongs to this world."

The words struck me harder than any blade ever could. For a heartbeat, my chest tightened, and I thought perhaps my resolve would shatter. But then the truth, cold and sharp, rose within me.

"I can't," I whispered, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "I can't spend what little humanity I have left just to keep his alive. I've given all I can, Elias. And if it isn't enough... then maybe nothing ever will be. I won't let my name be next to his when the historians write about today, and the only word on the page is ruin. "

His jaw tightened, grief flashing in his eyes, but he didn't move to stop me. Instead, he only nodded, a soldier surrendering to a battle he couldn't win.

I reached out, laying a trembling hand on his arm, the smallest gesture of gratitude I could offer. "Thank you, for seeing me, even when he couldn't."

The halls were quiet as I walked through them, my boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. My heart pounded with every step, as if urging me to turn back, to reconsider. But my mind was made up. I had fought for us for too long. I had given him every chance to see the world the way I did, to choose peace, to choose healing. And time and time again, he had chosen conquest instead.

As I stepped out into the night, the wind carried a whisper through the trees, rustling the leaves in a gentle farewell. I tightened my cloak around my shoulders, squared my jaw, and walked toward a future unknown, leaving behind the man who had once been my entire world.

The first pack I arrived at was barely standing. The war had left its mark, homes reduced to rubble, fields scorched, families torn apart. The scent of smoke still lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of what had been lost. The people looked at me with wary eyes, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and distrust. Some recognized me, their gazes flickering with something unreadable, respect, maybe, or resentment. Others simply saw an outsider.

I did not speak at first. I rolled up my sleeves, picked up a fallen beam, and set to work. Actions spoke louder than words, and I needed them to see that I was here not as a ruler, not as a warrior, but as one of them.

At first, they watched in silence. An elder woman, her gray-streaked hair tangled from the wind, narrowed her eyes at me. "You think lifting a few planks will erase what happened here?"