Chương 88: Therapy for the Heart

POV: Evelisse Ardentia"Ladon's... dead?" Milo echoed, like the words wouldn't quite settle. I was struggling to believe it too. If Milo really was the prophesied one, then having the monster slain barely a day after we'd first heard of it made no sense. Though, Faylen did say Ladon could only be defeated by a weapon of pure holy power or pure darkness, so if Ywain had slain it with the Mooncleaver, it was a plausible story.

"Yes," Esta said.

"And the Hero told us he would still need the Dark Lord to truly fulfill the prophecy."

"But you just said the prophecy was no longer needed," I pointed out.

"That's right. We no longer need to guess at who might fulfill it, because the Hero and Lord Luminaryn have it all worked out already. Now we simply follow their instructions."

"Instructions to do what?" Esta's mouth pressed shut.

"And why should I tell you?" I let my fingers drift toward her soles again. She flinched, curling her toes with a strangled yelp, and shot me a look of pure, wide-eyed alarm.

"Ugh, F–Fine! He—he told us to bring the Dark Lord's accomplices to Silvanis. As... insurance." She swallowed.

"The true goal is to spill the Dark Lord's blood upon Thíron Verdelia." That struck me as strange. I knew Ywain was after Milo, but why weave such an elaborate tale around it?

"For what?"

"To keep Ladon from respawning," Esta went on.

"That is how the prophecy is truly fulfilled." I turned the prophecy over in my mind. Sis had written it down, and if I remembered it right, the last of it spoke of how the devil shall be the salvation of the elven lands. Nyx had insisted devils were something distinct; they have horns and wings, none of which Milo had. Yet Milo fit nearly every other line of it; the earlier verses, about one coming from that same dark, about the one who breaks the loop.

If it wasn't meant to describe a Dark Lord, I couldn't imagine what else it could be. And if Milo's blood was what it took to seal Ladon away for good, then the prophecy did, in its awful way, hold together. Milo might not be the one to slay the monster, but if his blood was needed to end it permanently, then technically, the line about him saving the elven lands is still valid. Though, I had my doubts. If Ywain was the one behind all this, chances are, he simply invented the requirement.

Esta claimed Lord Luminaryn had verified it, but after everything we'd learned, if I was being honest with myself, I thought Lord Luminaryn was just as likely to be lying. All of it a fabrication, spun to hand Ywain the elves' loyalty. The old me would never have entertained such a thought, but now— I glanced at Milo. Something complicated had settled across his face, no doubt from everything Esta had said. He'd made it plain, before, that he hadn't wanted to kill Ladon if possible.

Now he'd learned he might have to die himself, so that the elves could be saved. Faylen had said we'd need to consult the elven Elder to know whether other paths existed, but Esta spoke as though no other path was even worth considering. Milo would take it all onto his own shoulders again. His mind was already so occupied with getting Nyx back, and now, on top of it, the weight of saving an entire kingdom, at the possible cost of his own life.

He had wanted to be the hero who saves the elves, likely to prove that he has indeed, become a better person, like what he had told me and sis.

"I'm really trying to be worthy of... standing next to you." His words from before still echoed in me. So I wouldn't put my trust in a prophecy handed down by Ywain and Lord Luminaryn. Perhaps it was true, but even if it was, I refused to believe there wasn't some other way to settle this. I rose and crossed to Milo, resting a hand lightly on his arm.

"Can we step outside for a bit?" He gave a small nod. Then I moved a few paces toward Faylen.

"Faylen, I'm sorry. We'll need your help keeping watch here, just for a little while."

"Wha— but I—" A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"It's all right. Given the state she's in, I think you know well enough how to keep her in line." I held her gaze for a moment. And then, more gently, "Also... we're going to try and find a way to save your father." Faylen went utterly still; her eyes went wide, glassy, brimming, like she could tear up at any moment, but she pressed her lips together, and nodded, once.

We stood outside, and I laid out my thoughts for Milo; that Adlon had to be Faylen's father, and I had deduced it from Esta calling her a falseborn and accusing her mother of betraying the elves. And that the whole business of spilling the Dark Lord's blood on the tree to keep Ladon from respawning might not even be true. That it was, most likely, Ywain's trap.

"... Okay, I feel like an idiot for not noticing she was the daughter," Milo said.

"Well, you've been so worried about Nyx, so I can understand." An awkward silence settled between us. Maybe it was the sheer weight of the situation, the dozen things all demanding to be dealt with at once, but there was something between us now, something that hadn't been there a few hours ago. I'd meant to reassure him.

To let him know the prophecy might not be as straightforward as Esta made it sound, that we had more to work with now, more information that enabled us to make the right choice, so he might breathe a little easier. So he'd see that I could be of use to him, even when his own mind was too scattered to piece the threads together. But deep down, I knew that was only half the truth of it. Yes, I didn't want him grinding himself to pieces over Nyx and Silvanis.

That much was real, but underneath it, I'd realized something far less noble; I just wanted him to look at me more. When he'd gone along with my impulsiveness, when he'd called me Eve, I felt… glad. Then that gladness left me wanting more.

I'd been afraid of saying the wrong things while he was this stressed, but if I was honest, this stressed me out too, because we'd been progressing, the two of us, and then the instant I saw him fret over Nyx like this, it felt as though part of everything we'd just built had quietly crumbled away. I suspected he felt it too, which was, I supposed, why it had all gone so awkward.

I knew I shouldn't be feeling this way, but it was like trying to hold something underwater; every time I pushed it down, it came surging right back up. It wasn't like this before; it was all because of the progress. That progress had made me much more selfish, until I hardly recognized the horrible, grasping person I'd apparently become. He had had enough troubles, and here I was, trying to use him, to fill some hollow, wanting ache of my own, dressed up in the pretty pretext of helping.

Was this what this feeling did to a person? Was any of this normal? Or was I simply twisted and different? What was I even supposed to—"Eve." I snapped out of whatever spiral I was falling in, and I noticed that Milo's hands were on my shoulders, and he's looking at me.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh? Y-yeah, I'm fine. Did I…not look fine?" He let go.

"Well, you didn't answer when I called you. Granted, I only called once, but you had this look, like something was really eating at you, so..." Ugh, that's embarrassing.

"A-anyway. I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For all of this. I was barely any use back there; I nearly lost my temper with the bratty—with Faylen. Then I had to lean on you to put the pieces together, and I was too much of an idiot to even spot the clues, to see this might be Ywain's trap."

"Milo, you're not—""It's okay. I'm not wallowing in self-pity." He said it steadily.

"I just want you to know I'm getting myself together. You were probably standing there working through how to solve everything we're facing, and it made me realize I need to step up too." That only twisted the guilt tighter in me. Because I hadn't been thinking that. Not really. I'd been thinking about how to make us progress further. How to make him look at me more. I was ashamed of myself.

"Even if it's a trap, I don't see that we have much choice," Milo went on.

"We'll have to head for Silvanis as soon as we can. Maybe try to gather more info first. Lunessa might be able to help once she's awake." He nodded, mostly to himself.

"I'll check my new skills after this. Hopefully there's something that gives us an edge against Ywain. He's probably keeping Nyx as a hostage, a bargaining chip, which at least means she shouldn't be harmed, for now. And once we're there, we try to win the Elder over. The elves believe they need me to seal Ladon away for good, maybe we can turn that into leverage. Get them on our side."

"Y-yeah. I suppose so." Nothing better than that would come to me. Everything he said made sense, and it made me feel all the more wretched for my selfishness.

"And…thank you," he added.

"I talked a big game about wanting to be better, yet I still needed you to snap me out of it."

"No... it's... fine." I kept my eyes on the ground, unable to lift them to his. I didn't know what to do with myself. I knew what I was supposed to do; support him, start laying out the possibilities we might face in Silvanis. But my mind simply refused to move. I could feel him watching me, no doubt wondering what on earth was wrong with me. I should just tell him nothing was wrong, that— Then I felt it. His warmth. His scent. The rise of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart. He'd pulled me into a hug.

For whatever reason, he'd wrapped his arms around me, and my chin came to rest against his shoulder.

"I—I hope you don't mind this," he said.

"I know it's out of nowhere, but you looked so down, and I couldn't think of what to do, and then I figured you might be worrying again, so I just... did it." Then almost immediately, he started pulling back.

"Okay, I might be stepping over the line here, sor—" I found my own arms lifting to his back, drawing him a little closer as I let my eyes fall shut. He drew a small, startled breath, likely surprised that I'd pull him closer, and then we simply stayed like that, for a few long beats. He might not have known the real reason I'd been acting so strangely; he might believe it was only me turning over the challenges ahead, or that I'd been shaken to see him so low, so unlike himself.

Or, maybe, somehow, through this small, awkward moment, he'd understood all along, that I'd wanted him to look at me more. That I'd been selfish. But whichever it was, this was exactly what I'd needed.

"... Thank you," I said softly.