CHAPTER 389: ROLE OF A CHILD-II

The blade reflected Noah’s crimson eyes, his own hesitation staring back at him. Fear warred with determination, until at last his trembling grip steadied. This was the only way. He raised the blade, just high enough to graze his skin,

A hand shot out, seizing his wrist.

Startled, Noah shoved back instinctively. The blade slipped, nicking flesh.

A sharp scent filled the air, rusty like iron, warm and thick. The smell of blood.

His fangs ached instantly. His horror doubled when he lifted his gaze and saw whose face hovered inches from his own. It was Atlas who was supposed to be asleep now standing before him, awake.

"I knew something was off," Atlas said, voice maddeningly calm, as though the blood trailing down his arm were nothing more than a nuisance.

Noah’s face went pale. "Y– You were asleep! You couldn’t— you shouldn’t have woken up!" His voice cracked as he backed away, stumbling against the tiled floor.

Atlas pressed a towel to the shallow wound, his expression unreadable, before his gaze slid to the steaming bathtub. Understanding flickered in his eyes.

"So that was your plan."

Noah’s lips parted, but no words came.

Atlas’s eyes narrowed slightly. "I know that smell," he said, crouching down until his blue eyes were level with Noah’s crimson ones. "The sweetness in the air. Too heavy to be natural. Once, a foolish enemy tried the same thing, burned sleeping incense to creep into my chambers and steal a key. A cheap trick. But I’ve grown used to it. Too many have tried. Too many have failed."

Noah’s hands trembled. His voice barely came out a whisper. "But... she said—"

"She," Atlas repeated, watching him carefully. A pause, then a sigh. "I take it Circe isn’t in your body right now?"

Noah’s throat worked, but silence became his answer. His gaze dropped to the water meant to drown him, unable to meet Atlas’s.

Atlas pushed himself upright, but the movement tugged at his wound and drew a sharp wince from him. From the corner of his eye, he caught it, the flicker of worry that flashed across Noah’s face. Worry stronger than his despair.

"You’ll patch my wound, won’t you?" Atlas asked, his voice low but firm. "I can’t tend it properly with one hand."

Noah froze and his gaze darted between the blade still wet with blood, the tub that still steamed invitingly, and the red staining Atlas’s arm. The metallic scent filled the air, heavy and insistent.

The thickness of the blood meant that Atlas must be suffering a rather deeper wound than he shows, wavering something inside of him.

The knife slipped from his grip, clattering uselessly to the floor. Abandoning the water, abandoning his responsibility, Noah rushed to Atlas instead, his trembling hands reaching to tend the wound, even as the hunger and fear still clawed at his chest.

Once they were outside, however, Atlas had opened the medicine box alone, placing the gauze and the herbs in the table before placing his arm for Noah to take care.

Noah didn’t find the silence comforting. Like a cat who had just stepped in a new room, he stole glances at Atlas for a few time, questioning in his head when Atlas would endlessly interrogate him. But Atlas didn’t speak until his wounds were properly mended, covered with the fresh gauze.

"Was it Circe who told you to do what you were about to do?" Atlas’s voice was calm, almost gentle, so harmless in tone it stripped the sharpness from Noah’s wary gaze.

"I... I’m sorry," Noah murmured. Gone was the ferocity that surged whenever Circe used his body. Now he looked fragile, meek, like a lamb too timid to lift its head, afraid of being seen, afraid of being a burden.

"Sorry for what?" Atlas asked softly.

Noah’s eyes flickered to the floor. Sitting beside Atlas seemed to make his chest tighten; he couldn’t hold the man’s gaze for more than a heartbeat.

"For... not dying." His voice was a whisper, raw and sorrowful, as though the weight of his own survival was heavier than death itself.

The words struck Atlas like a blade to the ribs. His brows knit, and he pressed his hand to his forehead, sighing deeply, trying to swallow the heaviness in his chest. "Why would you apologize for that?" His tone darkened with quiet frustration. "You are alive. I am glad you are alive. Would you rather I found a cold corpse in my bedchamber instead?"

Noah looked up at him then, his crimson eyes wide, uncertain, distrustful. "But... you don’t want me. You want Lady Circe. If I die... wouldn’t that help you?"

Atlas blinked, momentarily stunned. "Help me?" His voice dropped, edged with steel. "And who filled your head with such poison? Circe? No... she hated using children. She would never—" He stopped himself, frowning hard. "What has she been doing since her death...?"

"NO!" Noah’s voice cracked as he shouted, startling even himself. "It wasn’t Lady Circe. She— she told me not to. She advised me not to! It was... it was my parents."

Atlas’s expression hardened. "Your father and mother... they’re vampires, aren’t they? I can hardly imagine anyone serving a witch so blindly they’d cast their own son to the fire."

Noah’s shoulders hunched, his guilt twisting his words into a trembling spill. "But my family is different. We’re only alive because of Lady Circe’s mercy. Long ago, before her death, my great-great-grandfather swore to repay her kindness. She was our benefactor, our savior. To us... she still is." His eyes lowered again, shame burning his face. "Not long ago... Lady Circe found she could possess my body."

Atlas’s voice sharpened, leaning into the question that had gnawed at him for days. "Why? Why can she enter your body when no other vessel has allowed it?"

Noah hesitated, his lips trembling before he forced the truth out. "Because... my soul is incomplete."

Atlas stilled.

"I was born weak," Noah confessed, his voice cracking with old pain. "Even as a vampire... I was frail. I nearly died when I turned fifteen. But my parents used the last medicine Lady Circe had made. It was her blood... mixed into a cure. That’s what saved me." His hands curled into fists. "Her blood filled the emptiness in me. But not enough. I’ve lived all these years with half a soul. That’s why... she can slip inside me whenever she wishes."