Ayla stood there, staring down at Paola—her sweet, innocent Paola. Her heart twisted painfully as she took in her girlfriend’s appearance: those adorable little ears that twitched with every unspoken thought, her tail swishing lazily behind her, the black fur blending into the cloak she wore. It was hard to focus on anything else but her right now. Poca, standing nearby, was a distant figure in Ayla’s mind. Even so, Ayla noticed how she too had donned a cloak similar to Paola’s, as if trying to mirror her in some way. Adorable. Truly.
But Ayla couldn’t focus on those small joys. Not right now. Bitterness gnawed at her from the inside, even as she tried to hold herself together. Lady Marcelline’s influence clung to her thoughts like a shadow, wrapping around her mind in a way she couldn’t escape. The contract—the bond—was an invisible chain keeping her from revealing anything. It prevented her from speaking about the darker truths of her task, a mission she wished with every fiber of her being she could refuse.
Ayla’s gaze shifted between Paola and Poca, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of isolation. She wanted to reach out, to tell Paola everything, to explain the terrible burden weighing her down, but the words wouldn’t come. They couldn’t. Lady Marcelline had made sure of that.
Paola’s golden-flecked eyes searched hers, trying to make sense of the tension, the sadness that Ayla couldn’t quite hide. That look—so filled with concern and love—sank Ayla’s stomach. She forced herself to smile, but it felt hollow, wrong. Paola was pushing through the obvious discomfort, trying to connect with her. Ayla could feel it, the genuine warmth that Paola always radiated.
Without warning, Paola stepped up onto her toes and gently grabbed the back of Ayla’s neck, pulling her down until their foreheads touched. Paola nuzzled against her, soft lips brushing against Ayla’s neck in a series of delicate kisses. The sensation was soothing, familiar, but it only deepened Ayla’s internal conflict. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of Paola’s touch, the love that she knew was there. But Lady Marcelline’s voice echoed in her mind, planting seeds of doubt and mistrust.
Paola will betray you.
Paola’s soft kisses trailed up to Ayla’s chin, and her hands cupped Ayla’s face, pulling her deeper into their embrace. Ayla could feel Paola’s heart beating against her own, and for a brief moment, everything felt right. Lady Marcelline’s influence seemed to fade in the background, replaced by Paola’s love.
But she had to know. She had to ask.
“Paola…” Ayla’s voice was soft, hesitant. She gently pulled away, just enough to look down into Paola’s eyes. “Have you… been with Thrix? Or… Nathor?”
The question hung in the air like a cloud of doubt, thick and heavy. Paola’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing in confusion. She stepped back slightly, her arms still resting on Ayla’s shoulders but her warmth suddenly distant. Her golden-flecked eyes narrowed.
“Thrix? I haven’t seen him since he left us back in Valarian. You know that.” Paola’s voice was laced with confusion. “And Nathor… Nathor’s dead, Ayla. He died back in Emberfall.”
Ayla’s heart clenched painfully at Paola’s words. He wasn’t dead, she wanted to say. Nathor survived, but I can’t tell you why or how. But the contract clamped down on her tongue like a vice, preventing her from uttering anything more. She could only nod, her mind racing to navigate the conversation away from dangerous territory.
“I know,” Ayla said softly, though the words tasted bitter. “But there are… things happening that I can’t explain. Things I need to understand.”
Paola’s suspicion deepened, her tail swishing cautiously behind her. Her trust in Ayla was evident, but so was her confusion. “What are you talking about, Ayla?” Paola’s voice was soft but firm. “What’s going on? You’re acting… strange.”
Ayla couldn’t hold Paola’s gaze. She looked down, feeling the weight of the contract pressing against her thoughts. She couldn’t explain. She couldn’t say what Lady Marcelline had tasked her with, not without betraying herself and putting Paola in danger.
“I’ve been… given a difficult task,” Ayla admitted, her voice wavering slightly. Her eyes lifted to meet Paola’s again, and the love she saw there nearly broke her. How can I do this? How can I lie to her? But it wasn’t even a choice anymore. She was trapped, and there was no way out.
Paola’s brow furrowed further, and she stepped closer again, her eyes softening with concern. “What kind of task? You know you can talk to me, Ayla. We’ve been through so much together… I’m here for you.”
Ayla’s throat tightened. She wanted nothing more than to tell Paola everything, to trust her, to lean on her, but Lady Marcelline’s poison had seeped too deep. It was controlling her actions, dictating her thoughts. Ayla could feel the contract thrumming in the back of her mind, reminding her of the consequences if she strayed too far.
“I… I can’t tell you,” Ayla whispered, her voice breaking. “Not everything.”
Paola’s expression shifted from concern to suspicion. “Why not?”
Ayla hesitated, trying to find the right words, trying to navigate the maze of restrictions that Lady Marcelline had placed on her. “It’s not something I can talk about,” she said, hating how vague she sounded. “You have to trust me, Paola.”
Paola’s tail flicked in frustration, and her ears flattened against her head. “Trust you? Ayla, you’re asking me to trust you, but you won’t even tell me what’s going on. You won’t tell me why you’re acting like this.” Paola’s voice cracked, and her golden-flecked eyes were filled with hurt. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Ayla’s chest tightened as she saw the pain in Paola’s eyes. She knew she was hurting her, pushing her away when all Paola wanted was to be close. But Ayla had no choice. Lady Marcelline had her bound, and the only thing she could do was try to protect Paola the only way she knew how.
Ayla struggled, the words tangled in her throat as if fighting to escape the binds of the contract. She couldn’t say too much—she couldn’t—but she had to say something. “Paola,” Ayla said, her voice trembling now, her eyes lowering to the ground. “I’ve... I’ve been tasked with something. Something difficult.”
Paola's eyes softened, her tail swishing gently behind her. She looked up at Ayla with concern but also with that same love, that unwavering love that made Ayla’s chest ache. “You can tell me anything, Ayla,” Paola said, her voice tender and full of trust. She was being genuine, even if it only for this moment.
Ayla wished she could. She wished more than anything she could tell Paola everything, but the words wouldn’t come. They couldn’t. Instead, she felt a deeper sadness rising, the bitter realization that she was trapped in a situation she had no control over. She searched Paola’s face, her soft lips, her gentle eyes, the roundness of her cheeks, and the way her dimples showed when she smiled.
No. This wasn’t enchantment. It wasn’t some spell clouding her judgment. Ayla was in love. Truly, deeply in love. And that only made it worse.
Ayla swallowed hard, her throat tight, and finally, with every ounce of strength she had left, she spoke. “Paola... you need to leave Valarian. You need to leave now.”
Paola blinked, stunned by the suddenness of the request. She hesitated, then let out a nervous laugh, assuming Ayla was joking. “What? You want me to miss the festival? You’re not serious.”
But Ayla didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. Her expression remained grave, her eyes full of sorrow. “I am serious,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You need to leave... and don’t come back. Not until after the festival.”
Paola’s laughter died in her throat. Her ears flattened against her head, and her tail curled tightly around her thigh. Her brown eyes searched Ayla’s face, trying to understand what was happening. “Ayla... why? What’s going on? Why are you asking me to leave?”
Ayla couldn’t look Paola in the eyes. She knew she was hurting her, but the words wouldn’t come. She was bound by the contract, bound by Lady Marcelline’s control. “I can’t explain,” Ayla whispered, her voice breaking. “But you have to trust me. You need to leave, Paola. Please.”
Paola shook her head, her frustration and anger bubbling to the surface. “Leave? Now? You’re serious? Ayla, I thought... I thought you wanted me here. Why are you doing this? What aren’t you telling me?”
Ayla’s heart shattered as she saw the hurt in Paola’s eyes. This was the last thing she wanted. But what could she do? Her loyalty to Lady Marcelline, her contract, her very life was on the line. And yet... Paola. Paola was the one thing she couldn’t afford to lose.
Paola’s anger boiled over, something Ayla had rarely seen. Her eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “Why, Ayla? Tell me why! What’s so dangerous that I need to leave?”
Ayla was frozen, her mouth opening and closing, but no words came. The contract held her tightly in its grip, suffocating her voice. She couldn’t answer, couldn’t give Paola what she needed. The silence between them stretched painfully, the weight of it pressing down on them both.
Paola’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “And what if I say no?”
Ayla’s heart raced, panic rising in her chest. She had to protect Paola—she had to. She took a deep breath and spoke, her voice soft but pleading. “Please, Paola... please stay away from Lady Marcelline. Stay away from Valarian until the festival is over. And by extension... stay away from me.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Paola stared at Ayla, her face a mixture of confusion, hurt, and anger. Her ears twitched slightly, her tail flicking in agitation as she tried to process what Ayla was asking. And then, without a word, Paola took a step back, her eyes still locked on Ayla’s, searching for something—anything—that made sense.
But Ayla had no answers. Only pain. Only the cold, hollow feeling of a heart breaking in two.
Finally, Paola shook her head slowly, her voice barely audible as she spoke. “I don’t understand... but if you’re asking me to go, Ayla... I’ll go.”
Ayla felt like she couldn’t breathe, but she nodded, her voice cracking as she whispered, “Thank you.”
Paola’s eyes hardened, a coldness settling in them that Ayla had never seen before. The warmth, the playfulness that had always been there between them—it was gone, replaced by something sharp and dangerous. It pierced through Ayla like a blade, and she winced internally at the sight.
“I said I was going,” Paola said, her voice tight with restrained anger, “but I’m not leaving the festival. If you really think there’s a threat here that I can’t handle, then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Ayla’s heart raced, but she fought to maintain her composure. She couldn’t let Paola stay—she couldn’t. Every word Lady Marcelline had drilled into her head echoed like a drumbeat of warning. If Paola stayed, everything would unravel. Everything.
“I’m serious, Paola,” Ayla said, trying to keep her voice steady but hearing the strain in her own tone. She needed to come off cold. Detached. “Don’t be seen again until the festival is over. It’s not safe.”
Paola’s jaw clenched, her tail flicking angrily behind her, and Ayla could see the hurt and fury burning in her eyes. She had never wanted this—to push Paola away, to make her feel unwanted. But Ayla knew she was caught, bound by the invisible chains of the contract. If she didn’t do this, if she didn’t keep Paola out of the way...
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Not safe?” Paola’s voice was bitter, almost mocking. “You think I can’t handle it? Whatever this is? I’ve been through hell, Ayla. So, what is it you’re so afraid of?”
Ayla shook her head, biting her tongue. She couldn’t tell her. She couldn’t say that the very threat she was trying to avoid was Paola herself. The idea of Paola being a danger—her Paola—felt wrong. But the weight of the contract squeezed her thoughts, like a hand around her throat, forbidding her to speak. She could only shake her head, eyes downcast, unable to answer the question burning in Paola’s gaze.
The silence between them was thick with tension. The two women stood there, locked in a staring match, both unwilling to yield. Paola’s breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. Ayla, on the other hand, could barely breathe at all.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, Paola turned sharply on her heel. She didn’t say another word, didn’t spare Ayla a glance. She just left. The cold, empty feeling settled deep in Ayla’s chest as she watched Paola walk away, disappearing into the growing shadows of the evening. She stood there, frozen, unable to move, unable to call out after her. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, her sword felt impossibly heavy on her back, and her armor, usually comforting, now felt like a cage.
She couldn’t stop the hollowness from creeping in.
The sun was sinking behind the distant mountains, casting long, dark shadows over Valarian. The ribs of the Leviathan stood tall, cutting into the sky, their blackened forms stark against the setting sun. The city glowed in the distance, bustling with life and celebration as the festival prepared to move into full swing.
But Ayla couldn’t feel any of it. She stood there, staring at the spot where Paola had been, her heart sinking deeper into her chest with every passing second. She wanted to scream, wanted to shout and beg Paola to leave, to run, to be anywhere but here. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t allowed.
For the first time in her life, Ayla felt utterly, completely alone.
The weight of her duty pressed down on her, suffocating in its intensity. Lady Marcelline’s words, her commands, her manipulations—they wrapped around Ayla like chains, binding her to this task. Protect Valarian. Protect the festival. And above all, stop Paola.
But how could she stop the one person she wanted to protect most?
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Ayla’s gaze drifted west, to the ribs that loomed over the city like the bones of a long-dead giant. She had never felt so small. So powerless. So trapped.
And as the darkness crept in around her, she realized that she was fighting a battle she couldn’t win—not against Paola, not against Lady Marcelline, and not against herself.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away. There was no time for tears. No time for weakness. She had a job to do.
She turned away from the sunset, her heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, and marched back toward Valarian, the Leviathan’s ribs looming large in the fading light. Alone.
***
Paola's glare softened as she met Ayla’s mismatched red and blue eyes, searching desperately for answers, for anything that would make sense of the sadness and heaviness she saw there. Her mind raced, trying to piece together what could have possibly happened in the days they had been apart. What had Lady Marcelline done? What had changed? But there was nothing in Ayla’s gaze that gave her clarity, only that quiet, aching sorrow.
It tore at her, but Paola couldn’t find the words to say. Her throat tightened, and with a final, frustrated shake of her head, she turned sharply and walked away. Her feet moved quickly on the cool sandstone streets, the hustle and bustle of the festival around her a distant blur. Her mind spun, every thought colliding with the next, anger and confusion boiling within her.
Poca, ever loyal, was by her side. Her presence was a soft, steadying force, but Paola was too wrapped up in her emotions to notice. She just kept walking, faster and faster, trying to outrun the knot of feelings in her chest.
"Paola," Poca called gently, her voice firm but soothing. "Stop. Please, stop and think."
Paola didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to think, but something in Poca’s voice—gentle and insistent—finally pulled her back. She slowed her pace, eventually coming to a halt. Her breath came in shallow gasps, not from exertion, but from the sheer weight of everything building up inside her.
“What... what was zat?” Poca asked softly, stepping closer. “What happened back zere?”
Paola shook her head, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the ground. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I... I don’t know. She’s different. Ayla... I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Poca took another step forward, her expression filled with concern and tenderness. She wrapped her arms around Paola in a tight embrace, holding her close. Paola, her mind still swirling with confusion and hurt, leaned into her. She buried her face in the crook of Poca’s neck, finding some comfort in the warmth and the familiar tickle of the stitches that ran along Poca’s skin.
For a long moment, they stood there, Paola clinging to Poca as if she could somehow make the chaos in her mind stop by sheer force of will. The festival sounds carried on around them, distant and detached, like a world they weren’t truly part of.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Paola pulled back slightly. She took a deep breath and forced herself to think about something else—anything else. “Where can we find a place to buy some dresses?” she asked, her voice quieter but carrying a spark of determination.
Poca raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Dresses?”
Paola smirked, wiping at her eyes as she regained a bit of her fire. “Yes, dresses. Something that’ll make Ayla regret sending us off like that. If she wants to act cold, I’ll make her melt. By the masquerade, I want her to see me and know she made a huge mistake.”
Poca’s eyes sparkled with amusement and understanding. “Ah, now zat’s a plan I can get behind.” Her voice was warm, teasing, and it eased some of the tension in Paola’s chest.
Paola let out a small laugh, the first genuine one since leaving Ayla behind. “We’ll find something amazing, something that’ll knock her off her feet.” Her grin widened, but underneath it, there was still that hope—hope that by the time the masquerade came, everything would be sorted out. That whatever had changed between them could be fixed.
With renewed determination, Paola took Poca’s hand, and together they set off down the bustling streets, weaving between stalls and colorful tents in search of the perfect dress. Whatever Ayla was dealing with, Paola would find a way to reach her—if not through words, then maybe with a little bit of fun and teasing.
For now, she would focus on the present. She had a plan, and she was going to make sure that by the time the masquerade arrived, Ayla wouldn’t be able to take her eyes off her.
***
The festival buzzed around them, filling the air with lively chatter, the clink of goblets, and the scent of food roasting on open fires. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, casting warm light across the crowded streets of Valarian, painting the scene in shades of orange and gold as the sun sank lower into the horizon. Music from a nearby pavilion floated on the air, and the mood was infectious—a mixture of celebration, commerce, and underlying tension.
Evan sat at the table, his skeletal hands wrapped around a wooden mug filled with ale, taking a long sip before putting it down with a sigh of contentment. The sensation of drinking, eating, and even breathing was a source of constant confusion for him. He could feel the coolness of the ale on his tongue—though he had no tongue—and he could taste the roasted meats and spiced bread, though he had no stomach to fill. He felt the food go down his throat as if he had one, yet there was no evidence of it.
Malakar was surprisingly quiet for once, only mumbling envious complaints about not having his own body. It was the first time in days that Malakar wasn’t filling his mind with scathing remarks, and Evan was beginning to feel something resembling peace. Or, at least, as peaceful as one could be in his situation. For a moment, Evan almost forgot the absurdity of his existence. He could almost pretend to be normal.
"Must be nice to taste food," Malakar grumbled, his voice oozing with jealousy. "I’d kill to have my own body again, to feel that. Instead, I get to live vicariously through a damn skeleton."
Evan grunted softly, nodding as if to entertain the disembodied voice in his head. "It’s weird, alright. I don't even know how I can taste anything. It doesn’t make any sense."
"Nothing about this makes sense," Malakar shot back. "You're a walking contradiction, Morrow. And yet, here you are, eating, drinking... I hope you choke."
Evan rolled his eyes—another habit he had picked up despite having no eyes—and returned his focus to Yasmin and Yucca. The sisters were catching up, and their banter was light and filled with laughter. Yasmin, fiery and full of energy, was animatedly recounting her last mission. Her amber eyes flickered like flames as she waved her hands around, and her fiery red hair gleamed in the fading light.
“...and they had this cute bear, like an actual bear, and a wooden puppet!” Yasmin laughed, nearly spilling her drink. “The group was strange, but it was fun. Honestly, they pretty much did the job for me. I barely had to lift a finger. It was great!”
Yucca raised an eyebrow, her more reserved demeanor sharpening as she leaned in. “You’re not telling me everything, Yas. I know that look.”
Yasmin feigned innocence, but a mischievous grin betrayed her. “What? No, I told you! We just vibed, you know?”
Yucca crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes like an older sibling who knew exactly when her little sister was hiding something. “Vibed, huh? What else happened?”
Yasmin’s cheeks turned a shade pinker, and Evan, curious now, leaned in slightly. Yasmin shrugged, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. “Okay, fine. I... I might have caught feelings for one of them. But it’s complicated.”
Yucca leaned back, laughing softly. “Caught feelings? That's cute, Yasmin. But what's the catch? Why are you being weird about it?”
Yasmin’s blush deepened as she poked at her food. “Well... She, uh... She already has two other girlfriends.”
Yucca nearly choked on her drink, sputtering before she broke into a wide grin. “Wait, what? You’re trying to be the third in line? Yas, what the hell?”
Yasmin waved her hand dismissively, clearly flustered. “It’s not like that! I mean, it seems to work for them. They’re... happy. Who am I to judge?”
Yucca shook her head, laughing harder now. “So, what? You’re going to join a harem or something? You’re the ‘walking cataclysm,’ and now you want to be someone’s third girlfriend?”
Yasmin shot her a playful glare. “You’re making it sound weird, Yucca.”
“It is weird!” Yucca teased, before softening her tone. “But if it makes you happy... Just be careful, alright? I know how impulsive you can be.”
Evan couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange, watching the easy banter between the sisters. They were so different yet clearly shared a bond that ran deep. He had never seen Yasmin flustered before, and it was a strange but endearing sight.
But the mood shifted slightly as Yasmin, now having had her fun, turned the conversation toward Yucca’s mission. “So, what about you?” she asked, her voice more serious now. “What was your mission?”
Yucca hesitated, glancing briefly at Evan. “I’m not sure we should talk about it right now...”
Evan, sensing the shift, nodded in understanding and stood up, brushing crumbs off his cloak. “I’ll just... go for a walk. Give you two some privacy.”
Yasmin reached out and grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Sit down,” she said firmly, pulling him back into his seat. “You deserve to be a part of this team. You’re already in deep with us, so you might as well decide how far you want to go.”
Yucca frowned, clearly reluctant but finally gave a small nod. “She’s right, Evan. I haven’t told you everything because I wanted to talk to Yasmin first, but... you should know.”
Evan sat back down, his curiosity piqued. “What’s going on?”
Yucca took a deep breath, her expression somber. “My mission... It’s not an easy one. Lady Marcelline has hired me to assassinate another Void Borne.”
Evan froze, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected this. “Wait, not me, right?”
Yucca shook her head quickly. “No, not you. But someone else—a Void Borne like you. We’ve got credible information that they’re planning to attack the nobility during the festival.”
Yasmin shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “That happens every year.”
Yucca’s eyes flashed, and she shot her sister a sharp look. “No, Yas. This is different. It’s serious this time. Lady Marcelline wouldn’t have hired me if it wasn’t dangerous. I’m supposed to stop them... before they strike.”
Yasmin leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a half-laugh. “So, what? You’re the assassin of assassins now? That seems... I don't know. Conflicting."
Yucca nodded, her expression tight. “Exactly.”
Yasmin scoffed, grinning. “I always get the fun missions. And you get stuck with this serious stuff.”
Evan sat there, trying to process everything. “I... I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do here,” he muttered. “I don’t have any skills, except summoning that sword I barely know how to use. I’m basically dead weight.”
Yasmin clapped him on the back, making him jolt forward slightly. “Oh, come on, Evan! You’ve been fine so far. You’re figuring it out.”
Yucca, on the other hand, gave him a more thoughtful look. “You’re not dead weight, Evan. You’ve... adapted well, considering everything. But this isn’t going to be easy. You need to decide if you want to be a part of this, or if you’d rather stay out of it.”
Evan scratched his bony chin, feeling the weight of their words. “Well, I’m not exactly swimming in options here, am I?”
Yasmin burst out laughing, but Yucca’s gaze remained serious. She studied Evan for a moment longer, then nodded.
“Alright,” she said quietly. “Then you’re in. But you have to understand, this mission... it could get dangerous. You’re going to need to be careful.”
Evan nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing to. He didn’t have much of a choice, and in a strange way, he was beginning to feel like he belonged here—like he was part of something bigger than himself.
Before the conversation could continue, Yasmin stretched and stood up, her wings fluttering slightly as she smiled. “Well, I’ve got to head back and find that lucky lady again. She has no idea what she's in for."
Yucca rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Are you really joining a harem?”
Yasmin grinned, her cheeks flushing again. “Maybe! It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”
Yucca let out an exaggerated sigh, her teasing tone returning. “Just... try not to get too distracted, okay? You’ve got to keep your head in the game.”
Yasmin winked and gave her sister a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am! Don’t worry about me. You just focus on your assassination or whatever.”
With that, Yasmin turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Yucca and Evan sitting at the table in the fading sunlight. The festival continued around them, the sounds of laughter and music filling the air, but there was a weight to the moment that lingered between them.
Yucca sighed and leaned back in her chair, staring up at the sky. “It’s going to be a long festival.”
Evan nodded, feeling the same sense of unease settle in his bones—both literally and figuratively. “Yeah... no kidding.”
As the festival of breath swirled around them, Evan realized he was in for much more than he had ever expected.