CHAPTER 256: FAMILY SUPPORT EACH OTHER

Aira had just spoken when silence settled between them—thick, unmoving, almost suffocating. Neither one of them said a word. Especially Liora, who had suddenly gone completely still behind the door.

Aira stood there, her palm hovering just inches from the wooden frame, eyes fixed on the faint sliver of light leaking from beneath it. She didn’t speak either. It felt as though they were caught in an invisible standoff, both waiting for the other to break whatever tension had coiled so tightly between them.

Seconds stretched into long, uncertain minutes. The air in the hallway grew heavy, the flickering torches along the walls casting dim, wavering shadows that seemed to dance between them.

Finally, when Aira decided she would speak again—or perhaps simply barge in and end this strange silence—Liora’s voice broke through.

"Send the butler and guards away first," she said, her tone distant yet commanding. "Then step in."

It was a request that instantly sounded wrong, sharp in its oddness. But Aira didn’t hesitate. Not when it came to her sister.

The butler and the guards who stood nearby had clearly heard the instruction. They exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t dare question it. One after the other, they bowed slightly and withdrew, boots echoing faintly against the marble floor until their footsteps faded completely.

Only then did Aira move again. She exhaled quietly, making sure they were truly gone before she raised her hand and knocked lightly, pushing the door open at the same time as she stepped in.

The air inside hit her like a cold wall—stale, thick, faintly metallic.

She entered quickly, a curious yet wary expression on her face, closing the door behind her. The hinges creaked softly. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness; the only light came from a single lamp beside the bed, throwing an amber glow across the room. The flame’s flicker cast multiple overlapping shadows that danced along the walls and floor.

And there—half hidden by shadow—sat Liora.

She was motionless on the bed, hair falling loose and heavy around her shoulders, head bowed as though she were deep in thought or prayer. But something about her stillness was wrong. Too absolute. Too deliberate.

Aira’s frown deepened as she took a slow, cautious step forward. Her instincts prickled with unease. In her concern for her sister, she had failed to consider something darker—something terrifyingly possible.

What if the person sitting on that bed wasn’t Liora at all?

The thought chilled her blood. A cold shiver rolled down her spine, halting her mid-step. She lingered in place for a moment before veering slightly toward the side table, where she found a small lighter. Flicking it open, she began lighting the lamps one by one.

Flame after flame came alive, spilling light into the shadows.

When the final lamp was lit, she turned back toward the bed.

Liora was still there—still unmoving—her head lowered, her bare feet visible beneath the thin folds of a white nightgown.

"Liora," Aira called softly, stepping closer, though not too close. "...What’s wrong?"

No response.

"You’re acting strange," she said again, her tone carefully even.

At last, Liora lifted her head.

Aira froze as their eyes met. Her sister looked normal—almost. Her face, familiar as ever, though paler than usual, her lips tinged faintly blue. And her eyes—once warm brown—seemed darker, as if ink had seeped into their depths.

"Are you—" Aira began, ready to ask what had happened, when Liora’s hand moved.

In one smooth motion, she pulled out a red aura, shaping it into a familiar weapon—the very ability she had demonstrated countless times before.

Relief flickered through Aira’s chest. Whatever else had changed, at least this proved something. Zygons could mimic many things, but not abilities.

Without hesitation, she closed the distance and wrapped her arms tightly around her sister.

"What’s wrong?" she murmured against her shoulder, voice trembling with genuine worry. "Why do you look like someone just killed your puppy?" She tried to joke, tried to lighten the air, recalling how much Liora had always hated dogs.

But Liora didn’t smile. Her frown only deepened. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and heavy.

"I—I killed someone."

The words struck like a blow.

Aira froze, pulling back just enough to look into her sister’s face.

"Wh-what?" she gasped, but Liora kept going.

"I’ve killed a couple of people," she said again, and this time she lifted her hand, pointing toward the wardrobe in the corner of the room.

Aira turned her head slowly, eyes widening as the realization crept in—the faint, coppery scent she’d noticed before entering...the one she’d brushed aside as her imagination.

Now, up close, she could smell it clearly. Blood.

Her pulse quickened. Her throat tightened as she stared at the wardrobe, knowing instinctively what she would find there. She turned back to Liora, who met her gaze with unnerving calm, her tone detached and flat when she spoke again.

"If I step out...I’ll kill someone else once the hunger sets in."

Her words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I can’t help it. It’s not something I can fix," she sighed, leaning back against the bedframe, her body slumping slightly.

Even half-lain like that, Aira could see her sister trembling faintly—as if restraining something deep, something monstrous.

Liora’s eyes darted once toward her, and Aira could almost sense the struggle in her—feel the way her sister’s gaze lingered on her neck, on the pulse that beat there, steady and alive.

She wanted to bite. She wanted to feed.

But she didn’t. Somehow, she held herself back.

"If I go out there," Liora murmured again, "I’ll kill again. It’s a fact."

Aira stood rooted, mind whirling, unable to process what she was hearing. The idea that her sister—her bright, brilliant Liora—had killed people was something her brain refused to accept.

Her legs moved on their own, carrying her toward the wardrobe as if part of her needed proof. Maybe it was all a twisted joke, maybe her sister was delusional.

She reached for the handle.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," Liora warned, voice sharp with authority.

But Aira didn’t stop. She yanked the door open—

—and gasped.

Two bodies tumbled out, collapsing onto the floor with dull, wet thuds. A young man and woman, pale and lifeless, their throats marred by deep puncture wounds.

Aira staggered back, one hand flying to her mouth.

"You—you killed people!" she stammered, her voice cracking in disbelief.

Liora rolled her eyes faintly, her expression almost bored. "Didn’t I just tell you that? Whatever ritual I did—it went wrong. Clearly something went wrong and turned me into this." She gestured toward herself, her hands trembling slightly even as she tried to keep her composure.

"The temple can’t fix it, which means this is what I have to deal with now."

"No," Aira said quickly, almost desperately. "No, that’s not true. We need to get to Savira—the head of the vampire healers. She’ll know what to do!"

Liora shook her head violently, her hair whipping across her shoulders.

"No. What if she can’t fix it? I have no intention of being chained in the royal dungeons."

"You won’t be!" Aira shot back, her voice rising. "I’ll make sure of it!"

"No thank you!" Liora snapped, and in that instant, the last thread of Aira’s patience snapped.

"What? So you’d rather go out and keep killing people?" she shouted.

The words hit hard. Liora shot to her feet, her anger blazing to match her sister’s.

"Shut up! I don’t need your help! I can take care of things myself!" she snapped back. "And besides—Savira isn’t the only great healer. Once we leave this city and we’re able to run away after killing Zyren, I won’t have to keep hiding my powers or the problems that come with them!"

She took a step closer, her voice shaking with conviction. "Zyren cares about you, Aira. But don’t for a second think he’d allow me to exist."

Aira shook her head, disbelief and anger warring within her. "That’s not true. Seraphina and the messengers got their powers through worse means and he—"

"Enough!" Liora’s glare cut through her like a blade. Her message was clear—she no longer wanted to argue.

The silence that followed was tense, heavy, the air thick with unspoken words.

Aira’s chest heaved with emotion—anger, sorrow, fear—all swirling together. Her gaze drifted unwillingly to the wardrobe again, to the lifeless bodies lying crumpled on the floor. She couldn’t look for long. The image seared itself into her mind, something she knew would never leave her.

"Don’t you feel any remorse?" she finally asked, her voice quiet, trembling.

Liora frowned. When she spoke again, her voice was softer but still steady. "Of course I do. Why do you think I’m self-imprisoning myself?" She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging. "I’ve sent some vampire guards out for fresh blood. That helps."

She tried to look sincere. Her expression softened just enough to seem genuine, her eyes glistening faintly in the lamplight.

Aira’s expression eased, just barely. She nodded once, relief crossing her face, unaware that every word her sister spoke was a lie.

Because how could she settle for stale blood once she had tasted it fresh from the veins?

Her eyes flicked to the corpses once more, and a flicker of hunger passed through her gaze.

What am I? she thought bitterly. A dog?