Chapter 28:
Blood Pawn : 400 New Years (Book 1)
“What exactly happened?”
Father Eldric’s voice is calm, measured, but I can hear the tension hiding just beneath it. It’s the kind of tone people use when they’re trying to stay composed but something inside them is unraveling.
He kneels beside Orion, hands still faintly aglow with the soft remnants of healing magic, his eyes scanning over the boy’s barely-mended wounds.
I feel a pit open in my gut again. The worst is over—but the image of Orion bleeding in my arms, broken and barely breathing, won’t leave me.
“He was protecting Elara from a pack of wolves, Father,” I say, each word feeling heavier than the last.
The memory flashes behind my eyes: blood in the grass, that awful crunch of bone under fang, Elara’s scream in the distance.
I clench my fists at my sides, forcing the anger and guilt down. “It was too late by the time I got there.”
Eldric’s gaze snaps up to mine, his brow creased with sudden concern. “How is Elara? Is she okay? Not injured, right?”
There’s more emotion in his voice than I expect—more than duty. His eyes soften just slightly at the mention of her name. He’s not just a healer. He’s watched these children grow.
“She’s fine,” I answer quickly, shaking my head. “Just a few bruises here and there, nothing serious. Ori’s the one who took it head-on.” My voice falters.
I try to steel it, but the crack slips through anyway. I glance down at Orion again. His chest rises and falls now in slow, steady motions. Alive. But seeing him like this—limp, pale, barely whole—it twists something deep in my gut.
“He took down one of them on his own,” I add. The words come out softer than I intend, like I’m telling a secret. “And… he injured another before collapsing.”
Father Eldric’s head jerks up, surprise flickering across his face. “Orion… took one down?”
I nod once, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yes, Father. I saw the wounds on the wolves. It was his doing.”
For a long moment, Eldric is silent. His brows pull together, and something changes in his expression—thoughtful, maybe, but sharper. More calculating. His eyes fix on Orion like he’s trying to see something hidden beneath the skin.
“That explains it, then,” he mutters. The words are low, nearly drowned by the sound of wind outside brushing against the old church’s stained glass windows. But I hear them. I don’t like the tone they’re laced with.
“What happened, Father?” I ask, stepping closer, my voice quieter now. The sudden shift in his demeanor rattles me more than I want to admit. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He kneels again, careful and deliberate, pulling back Orion’s torn shirt with worn fingers. His hands hover just above the skin—over the bruised ribs, the welted muscles. He doesn’t touch, just observes.
His expression grows darker with each second, brows furrowing deeper until I can almost hear the thoughts churning in his mind.
“You see the swollen muscles in his legs, his arms, and his core?” he finally says. His voice is low but weighted, like each word carries the weight of a stone.
I blink, thinking back to earlier—when I carried Orion through the trees, feeling how his body strained against itself, the unnatural tension in every limb. Like he’d pushed too far.
“I do,” I say, more serious now. “I remember.”
Father Eldric rises slowly, the soft glow fading from his hands as he turns to face me. The light in the church has dimmed slightly, the candles flickering more aggressively now, shadows dancing across the stone walls. The silence stretches between us like a string pulled taut.
“If I’m right,” he says, locking eyes with me, “Orion was using mana breath technique. His body isn’t adapted for it.”
The words hit me like a hammer. A thousand pieces of the puzzle fall into place all at once—and the shape they form terrifies me.
“Mana breath technique?” I repeat, the term rings in my ears like the aftermath of a lightning strike.
My heart beats faster. The words drag up memories I’ve buried under years of quieter days—of warzones lit by firelight and blood, of comrades screaming in pain after pushing their bodies too far. I’ve seen it before. Long ago, one of my former party leaders, desperate and outnumbered, had used the same technique to win a fight we should’ve lost.
He won. But the aftermath?
Swollen muscles. Veins on the verge of bursting. And weeks of agony, bed-bound and barely alive.
“Father,” I murmur, my voice hoarse, almost unwilling to believe it. “Are you certain?”
Eldric’s face is carved with the weight of experience. He doesn’t speak lightly, not about something like this. He nods grimly.
“Look at the signs, Darius.” His voice is calm, but underneath it is tension, worry. “The mana didn’t just flow through him—it surged, forcibly enhancing his strength, speed, and reflexes. But at a cost.”
He gestures toward Orion’s body—my nephew—lying still beneath the remnants of Eldric’s healing magic. The boy looks peaceful now, but I’ve seen what he looked like earlier. Flesh ripped. Blood pooling in the dirt. Bones bent where no bone should bend.
“His body isn’t ready for that kind of strain,” Eldric continues, kneeling beside the altar. “It takes years—years—of discipline to use mana breath without breaking apart from the inside. What Orion did…” he shakes his head, eyes darkening, “…that wasn’t training. That was survival.”
I swallow hard, the memories of our skirmishes pressing behind my ribs like ghosts. I crouch down beside Orion, staring at the bruised swell of his forearm, the tight, engorged muscle of his thigh.
It makes sense now.
The wounds weren’t just from the wolves. His own magic turned on him.
“Why would he—” I stop myself, because deep down, I already know the answer. The truth slips out of my mouth like breath.
“To protect her.”
The words taste bitter, proud, and hollow all at once.
Father Eldric sighs, his hand landing gently on my shoulder. It’s not just a healer’s gesture. It’s a father’s. A man who’s lived long enough to know when to be hard, and when to mourn.
“He was willing to risk everything for Elara,” he says quietly. There’s sadness in his tone, but also admiration—like watching a young flame burn too hot, too fast.
“But this... this could have ended far worse. If his mana core had ruptured, or his body rejected the flow entirely—”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. I see the image in my mind—Orion, cold, lifeless, bleeding out on the forest floor.
No.
I grit my teeth.
“How do we help him recover from this?” I ask, and this time my voice breaks. I don’t care. “How do we make sure this doesn’t happen again?”
Eldric’s face softens. But his eyes… they’re heavy with the burden of truth.
“He’ll need time. Rest. And most importantly…” he pauses, lowering his gaze to the boy beneath us. “Guidance.”
There’s something in his eyes then—more than just a healer’s duty. Pride. The kind that comes when you witness the birth of something rare. Dangerous, but rare.
“There’s strength in him, Darius,” he says with a faint nod. “More than I think even he realizes. But that strength needs to be tempered. Controlled. Or next time…”
He leaves it hanging.
But I nod.
I know what “next time” means.
I reach out slowly, placing a hand on Orion’s shoulder. His skin is still warm. His breathing is steady, a rhythm I cling to like a prayer.
He looks so small right now. So fragile. But I know better. Inside this boy is something dangerous, something incredible—and something terrifying.
And I swear to him—right here in this dim, holy room, beneath the glow of long-forgotten gods—I’ll make sure he lives long enough to wield it.
Even if it kills me.
“Father! Father!”
The voice echoes through the church, high-pitched and frantic. I turn toward the door as Anara rushes in, her robe trailing behind her, her face pale with panic. Elara and Aria stumble in right behind her, their small frames barely keeping up, their faces streaked with sweat and worry.
“Father! Father!” Anara calls again, her voice trembling as she hurries toward us.
“Calm down, calm down, Anara,” Father Eldric says, stepping forward, his voice calm but firm. He raises a hand, trying to steady her as she approaches. “Nothing happened. It’s just a small injury.”
“A small injury?” Elara’s voice breaks, sharp and trembling. Her face is wet with tears, and she grips the hem of her dress so tightly her knuckles are white.
“It’s not small! It’s not small at all!” Her words tumble out between sobs, her chest heaving as she speaks. “I—I saw what happened!”
Her wide, tear-filled eyes land on Orion’s still body, lying motionless on the altar. Her breathing hitches, and her face twists with fear.
“Ori…” she whispers, her voice barely audible, before it breaks into a loud wail. “Ori’s dead!”
The words pierce the air like a dagger, and her sobs grow louder as she stumbles toward him, her small hands reaching out. “Ori! ORI!”
Before she can get too close, Aria steps forward and swats the back of Elara’s head—not hard, but enough to jolt her.
“You dummy!” Aria snaps, crossing her arms and puffing her cheeks in irritation. “He’s not dead, stupid! Look!” She points at Orion’s chest with an exaggerated motion. “See? His tummy is moving!”
Elara blinks through her tears, her sobs stopping for just a moment. She stares at Aria, her lips trembling, and then shifts her gaze to Orion’s body.
“His... tummy?” she whispers, her voice thick with doubt. Her watery eyes fix on his chest, watching intently.
Sure enough, Orion’s chest rises and falls, slow and steady.
Elara’s face crumples again, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Ori… Ori…” she cries, but this time it’s softer, a mixture of relief and sorrow. She stumbles forward, throwing herself to her knees beside him. Her small hands hover over his arm, unsure where to touch without causing him more pain.
“I thought… I thought you were gone!” she sobs, her voice high-pitched and shaky. “I was so scared! Ori… Ori…”
Aria rolls her eyes, kneeling down beside her. “Stop crying already, Elara,” she says with a huff, though her tone is more playful now.
“He’s fine. He’s just sleeping, like a big, lazy bear.” She pokes at Orion’s uninjured arm lightly. “See? He’s just taking a nap.”
Elara sniffles loudly, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and glances at Aria. “R-really?” she asks, her voice still trembling.
“Really,” Aria says with a firm nod. “And when he wakes up, he’s probably going to be super grumpy, so stop bawling and let him rest.”
Elara hiccups again, her small shoulders trembling with each breath. Her tears slow, but she doesn’t move from Orion’s side. She clutches his hand gently, her tiny fingers barely wrapping around his, like she’s trying to keep him tethered to this world.
My heart clenches.
Across the room, Anara stands frozen.
She’s a few paces away from the altar, her feet rooted to the cold stone floor like she’s been struck by some invisible force.
Her face is pale—far too pale—and her lips part slightly as if to speak, but nothing comes. Her hands tremble where they clutch her chest, gripping the fabric of her robe. Her wide eyes stay locked on Orion’s still form, and I can feel it—she’s spiraling. Not screaming, not breaking down, just... unraveling in silence.
“Anara,” I say quietly, stepping toward her. My boots echo softly on the stone as I cross the sanctuary. “He’s alive. He’ll recover.”
She doesn’t respond. Her breathing is shallow, her shoulders tight with tension. Her eyes track every injury on her son—every dried trail of blood, every clumsily wrapped bandage, the faint bruises where Father Eldric’s magic has only just begun to heal the worst of it.
When her eyes fall on the bent and swollen leg, I see her flinch.
“What happened, Darius?”
Her voice is soft but trembling, and when she steps closer to the altar, her movement is stiff—like every part of her body is screaming not to look, but she forces herself anyway. She stops beside me. Her gaze doesn’t leave Orion for even a second. Her lips are tight. The question weighs more than it should.
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice level.
“It’s just a small, unexpected injury while monster hunting. Nothing happened.”
The lie feels like ash in my mouth.
Anara’s eyes snap toward me. I can feel the heat behind them. Her brow furrows, her gaze sharpening like a blade unsheathed.
She looks at Orion again. Her eyes linger on the bloody edge of the bandage wrapped around his chest. The faint scar across his ribs. The uneven rise and fall of his chest.
Then she turns back to me.
Her voice is sharper now—cutting and low.
“Do I look like a child to you, Darius?”
I freeze.
She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t raise her voice. But the way she says it—tight, controlled, like someone holding back a scream—it hits harder than any shout ever could.
I open my mouth, but the words fail me.
There’s nothing I can say.
“Anara!”
Father Eldric’s voice cuts through the tension like the tolling of a bell. His tone is firm, commanding. He steps forward, placing himself between us with the ease of someone used to mediating storms like this.
“Enough,” he says, raising his hands slightly—one toward her, one toward me. “This isn’t the time for arguments.”
Anara clenches her jaw, her shoulders rigid, but she doesn’t speak. The fire in her eyes dims, but it doesn’t go out.
Father Eldric softens as he turns toward her, the hard edge of his command melting into something more tender. His voice carries a different weight now—the voice of a man who’s seen enough of life to understand grief.
“He’s alright,” he says gently. “Nothing has happened that we can’t handle. Darius brought him back safely.”
Anara’s breathing steadies, just barely. Her arms fall to her sides. The fury in her expression gives way to something deeper—an ache, raw and motherly.
I look down at Orion again, lying so still. He looks younger like this. Too young for what he’s endured.
“Now,” Eldric continues, his voice steady again, “take Orion home. He needs rest, and he needs someone to care for him.”
He turns to Anara.
“You can do that better than anyone.”
She nods once, her throat working as she swallows hard. Then she walks slowly toward the altar.
And for the first time since she entered the church, she lets herself reach out—one trembling hand brushing softly through her son’s hair.
Anara nods slowly, her hands clenching into fists at her sides before relaxing again. Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep, quiet breath—a sigh that’s more than just tiredness. It’s frustration. Guilt. Fear. Everything she can’t voice.
She turns to me, her eyes sharp even through the exhaustion. “Darius,” she says, and though her voice is softer now, it carries that edge she’s always had when she’s decided something. Unshakable. Commanding. “Pick him up. Put him on my back.”
I freeze for a second, my gaze drifting down to Orion. The boy looks so still… too still. His body lies limp on the altar, and even though his chest rises and falls, it’s shallow. Fragile. The sight claws at something deep in me.
I push it down. Now’s not the time.
I step forward slowly, sliding my arms underneath him with care, mindful of the deep bruises and fresh bandages. His skin is still warm, but clammy.
I can feel his breath against my collarbone—faint, but present. Gods, he’s light. Lighter than I remember. Or maybe it’s this moment that weighs more than I’m ready to admit.
Anara kneels before me, wordless. Her hands brace the floor, and she adjusts her posture with practiced efficiency—strong, deliberate movements like someone who’s done this before. A mother used to burden. A warrior used to pain.
As I ease Orion’s body onto her back, I feel the subtle strain in her shoulders—the small wince she hides, the breath she catches. But she doesn’t say a word. Not a sound. She bears it.
“I’ve got you, Ori,” she whispers, more to herself than to him. Her voice shakes for half a second, but she swallows it and steadies her breathing. Her arms loop around his legs, adjusting his weight with the instinct of someone who’s carried more than her share of heartbreak.
I watch her rise. It’s not a graceful motion—it’s heavy, deliberate, every step a promise not to let him fall.
Elara and Aria stand quietly nearby. Elara’s fingers twist the hem of her dress, her knuckles white, her lips pressed so tightly together they’re almost colorless.
Aria watches with narrowed eyes, her usual bravado gone, replaced by something else. Stillness. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t joke. Just watches.
Father Eldric steps forward, his robe rustling faintly as the candlelight brushes over his weathered features.
He places a hand on Anara’s shoulder. “He’s strong,” he says, his voice gentle—lower now, like a prayer meant only for her. “Just like his mother. And you’re strong too.”
Anara doesn’t answer. Her jaw tightens. She nods, only once, shifting Orion’s weight higher as if bracing herself to carry not just him—but the world.
I can’t look away.
There’s something about the way she carries him—fierce and protective, like she’s daring the world to try again. As she turns toward the door, I feel a wave of emotions rise in my chest. Relief that he’s alive. Guilt that I wasn’t faster. Shame that I still don’t know how to protect the people I care about the most. And something else—something quieter.
Admiration.
“Darius.”
Father Eldric’s voice snaps me from the swell in my chest. I turn to face him. His gaze is steady. Not demanding, but certain. “Go with her,” he says. “Make sure they’re safe.”
I nod. There’s no hesitation in me.
The church feels colder as we walk out. The warm candlelight fades behind us, replaced by the pale glow of the moon spilling over the stone steps. A breeze tugs at my cloak as I step outside, and I glance at Orion one last time. His head rests gently against Anara’s shoulder, his breathing slow but there.
Peaceful.
He looks like he’s dreaming.
You’ll make it, Ori. You have to.
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