CHAPTER 363: HELP OF SELENE

chest jolted. His eyes shot open to stone above him, black smoke curling faint against it. He dragged air into his lungs, half-expecting the wet rasp of blood, but it came smooth, clean. No pain tore through his ribs. No weakness seized his heart.

He blinked, disoriented. His hands lifted, brushing his chest. Smooth skin. Unbroken. His robe still carried stains, but the wounds beneath were gone, knitted with impossible precision.

[System Alert: Vital functions stabilized. Vessel integrity restored.]

’...What...?’ His mind reeled. He had been broken, body collapsing under Maeven’s strike. Nysha’s shadows alone couldn’t have mended that. Even now, the memory of his chest cracking still echoed in his bones.

"You are safe now,"the voice whispered again, warm, patient, like she had all the time in the world. "I will not allow harm to end you so easily, Master."

His breath caught. "Who..." His lips barely formed the word aloud, but the answer came within, not without.

"It’s me Selene. Bound to your bloodline, servant to the successor of the Monarch. To you."

The name struck him like a bell ringing in a hollow cavern. He froze, staring upward, heat crawling across his skin. ’It’s been a while hasn’t it?’

Her presence pulsed softly, a glow within his chest, familiar though he’d never felt it before. "Yes, Master. I have waited. Long hidden. But your body neared collapse. I could not remain silent."

His hand curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

’Why didn’t you... come sooner?’

Her voice did not waver. "Because you did not need me. Your core has grown strong enough to bear me now. Mid-tier Luminous... you are ready to fully carry what I am."

Lindarion’s pulse hammered.

’...Father.’ A pang shot through him. The image of his father in their last moments together carved across his thoughts.

Selene’s warmth steadied the spiral. "He still breathes. But you must not linger in despair. Your people, your bond, they will all press against you now. And I will stand beside you, as always, Master."

His throat closed. He almost laughed at the absurdity, pinned to the stone by Maeven, his body shattered.

Movement stirred at his side. Lindarion turned his head.

Nysha sat beside him, shadows curled faint at her fingertips, her eyes wide and crimson in the low firelight. She looked... exhausted. Streaks of soot across her cheek, strands of hair matted to her face. But her gaze locked on him as though the world itself might shatter if she blinked.

"You—" Her voice cracked. She cut herself off, swallowing hard, then leaned closer. "You’re alive."

Lindarion opened his mouth, then shut it again. He couldn’t tell her about Selene. Not here. Not with humans whispering from the dark.

Because they were whispering. He heard them now. Beyond the fire, clustered in the corners of the cavern camp, their voices low but sharp enough to cut.

"...the cursed blade kept him alive."

"...look at the girl—her shadows kept him stitched."

"...unnatural. Both of them."

A child whimpered, hushed quickly by a mother’s hand.

Nysha’s jaw tightened. She glanced at them, then back at him, lowering her voice to a rasp. "They think you’re bound to the sword. That you’re... possessed."

Her eyes flicked to his chest, then back to his face. For a moment, she looked almost afraid of what answer she’d find.

He forced himself upright, ignoring the stiffness in his limbs. The simple act drew gasps from the humans who’d been watching. Their eyes widened, seeing him whole, no sign of wounds left.

The commander emerged from the shadows, scar across his jaw catching the firelight. His gaze was hard, suspicious. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, though he didn’t yet draw it.

"You should be dead," the man said flatly.

Lindarion met his stare, unflinching. "But I’m not."

The humans murmured louder, unease rippling like a wave. The sword they had dragged from the cavern rested against the stone behind him, still faintly twitching with its endless hunger. Their eyes kept flicking between him and the weapon, as though waiting for one to devour the other.

Nysha shifted, shadows curling tighter around her hands. "He isn’t your enemy."

The commander’s lip curled. "Maybe not today." He stepped closer, his boots grinding ash into the stone. "But you bring danger into our camp. You bleed shadows and carry a cursed blade that hums even while you sleep. How long until it turns on us?"

Selene’s warmth pulsed in Lindarion’s chest. "Do not bend before them, Master. You do not answer to fear."

But the humans’ eyes glared like knives, and Nysha’s hands trembled where she tried to shield him.

Lindarion inhaled slow, steady. "If I meant to harm you," he said, his voice low but clear, "none of you would still be breathing."

The words silenced the cavern. The fire spat weak sparks. For a heartbeat, only dripping water filled the dark.

The commander’s jaw worked. He studied Lindarion for a long moment, then finally spat into the dirt, turning away. "Keep him contained," he muttered to no one in particular. "If that sword stirs, I’ll cut him down myself."

He vanished back into the shadows.

The whispers resumed.

Nysha sagged with relief, then glared at Lindarion. "You’re insane," she hissed. "Talking to them like that when you just nearly died."

Her eyes glistened. She looked away quickly, shadows twitching faint. "...idiot."

Lindarion almost smiled, faint and tired.

Inside him, Selene stirred again, her tone softer now. "You are strong, Master. But reckless. If not for me, your body would already be a corpse. Do not forget."

’I don’t need a reminder.’ He clenched his jaw.

But she only laughed lightly in his mind, warm and loyal. "You do. And I will give it as many times as needed."

He exhaled, staring into the fire, shadows curling faintly at the edge of his vision. The humans feared him, Nysha doubted him, and somewhere in the dark a voice not of this world had chosen him as its Master.

And he couldn’t shake the thought that Maeven was still out there, laughing, waiting for his body to falter again.

The cavern seemed smaller, suffocating. He touched his chest once more, no scars left, only Selene’s warmth beneath his hand.

’...What have I become?’

"What you always were meant to be," Selene answered, steady as stone. "Master."

—

Sleep never came. Not truly. Even as the cavern fell quiet, the fire sinking low to embers and the humans slipping into uneasy dreams, Lindarion remained awake, gaze fixed on the stone ceiling that groaned faintly overhead.

The warmth in his chest had not left. Selene lingered like a second heartbeat, her presence constant, calm, as though she were sitting beside him unseen. Each time his breath caught, each time doubt threatened, her voice brushed his mind in reassurance.

"Rest, Master. Your body has healed, but strain lingers in the soul. Sleep will not betray you while I watch."

But he couldn’t. His mind replayed the clash with Maeven, the rending pain, the laughter. He tasted blood that wasn’t there. And over it all, the whispers of the humans as they settled into their camp: cursed, dangerous, demon’s pet.

He closed his eyes, letting the darkness fold around him.

’Let them whisper,’ he thought bitterly. ’They’re alive because of me.’

Selene’s voice was softer this time, almost amused. "And they will remember, once fear loosens its grip. You are not meant to kneel before such mortals, Master. You are a prince."

His chest tightened. Prince of Eldorath. It felt hollow on his tongue now, distant. His mother stolen, his father’s fate unknown, his people far away and untouched by the collapse around them. What did the title mean here, buried under stone with men and women who flinched at the sight of him?

Still, he said nothing more. Not to her.

—

The humans stirred early. Boots scuffed stone, fires were stoked, weapons sharpened with dull files that screamed against the edges. Hunger whispered in every gaunt face.

Lindarion sat apart, shadows still faint around his shoulders. Nysha crouched close, exhaustion etched deep in her crimson eyes. She hadn’t slept either. Ashwing perched on a rock, tail flicking, watching the humans like a predator caged among sheep.

The commander approached. His scar caught the firelight again, his eyes sharp despite the fatigue pulling at his features. Several others followed — soldiers, their armor cracked, bandages fresh on their arms.

The cavern quieted. Conversations dimmed to murmurs. All eyes turned to Lindarion.

The commander didn’t waste words. His voice was hoarse but iron-bound. "We need to speak."

Lindarion lifted his gaze lazily, though inside his chest Selene’s warmth stirred, steadying his pride. "Then speak."

The man’s jaw twitched at the tone, but he didn’t falter. "Our people are broken. Supplies thin. Every fight with those creatures costs lives we can’t spare. And then you—" his eyes cut to Lindarion, sharp as steel "—appear. With power unnatural, a sword that hums like it’s alive, shadows that carry you when your body fails."

His voice lowered, rough. "So tell me, Elf. Are you our ally... or another blade pressed against our throats?"