CHAPTER 390: HALF A SOUL-I

Half a soul. An incomplete vessel. A frail body kept alive by Circe’s blood.

Circe... oh, Circe.

Atlas had always believed he knew her, knew everything about her. But now, faced with this revelation, he wondered if he had ever known her at all.

Yes, she had kept secrets. But what woman did not? Secrets were part of a woman’s nature; in his arrogance he thought them charming, even sacred. And Circe was a witch, her silence was her weapon, and her mystery her armor. He had never questioned her for it. How could he? She had always stood beside him, unwavering, her loyalty more steadfast than anyone else’s.

So he trusted her. More than his court, more than his retainers, more even than his own life.

But had his trust been folly? Had his blind devotion given her the freedom to hide truths that would one day come back like ghosts, tearing holes through his world?

His silence grew heavy, and Noah, still sitting timidly before him, began to fidget like a child awaiting punishment. Fear clouded the boy’s crimson eyes. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. All his life, his family had told him: Never reveal it. Never speak of Circe’s hold. Keep it secret until the grave.

"My parents—" Noah’s voice cracked as panic spilled out of him. "They gave me a chance. They told me I could live how I wanted. And... after seeing fragments of Lady Circe’s memories, I wanted to help her. I wanted to repay her. So please... they are not to blame. And especially not Lady Circe. She never wanted to be like this either. If anything, it’s my fault!"

Atlas’s jaw tightened. His voice came out rougher than he intended, his anger not at Noah but at the cruelty that shaped him. "Your parents did not give you a choice, Noah."

The boy froze, eyes widening.

"They never gave you a choice," Atlas pressed, his tone low, heavy with restrained fury. "They fed you with the notion of sacrifice, trained you to believe your life belonged to Circe before it belonged to yourself. And now—" his voice cracked with bitterness "—you think ending your own life is noble? That it’s your fault this curse was forced upon you?"

Noah’s lips trembled, his protest small, desperate. "N- No... I really do want to help Lady Circe—"

"-It is your life!" Atlas’s roar tore through the room, sharper than he intended. His anger was raw, but not at the boy— it was at the generations who had twisted him into this.

Noah flinched as though struck, his eyes wide with terror. The sight wrenched Atlas’s chest. He clicked his tongue, turning away in frustration, his voice lowering but no less fierce.

"What happened to those before us, their mistakes, their wars, their sins, they are theirs to bear, not yours. You had no say in it, no chance to choose. And yet here you are, carrying their chains, bleeding for their ghosts." He exhaled harshly, glaring at the floor as if it too had betrayed him. "You were forced to inherit a responsibility that should have died with them. And you nearly threw your life away because of it."

Transparent blobs of tears slid down Noah’s cheeks, dripping one by one onto the wooden table beneath him. The faint sound they made as they landed seemed louder than any thunder, echoing the tremor in his heart.

Atlas felt the weight of it settle on his chest. His own sharp words had been the knife that turned the boy’s fear into grief, and guilt pressed heavy in his throat.

"I’m sorry for raising my voice," Atlas said quietly, his tone softer now.

But Noah shook his head, still trembling. "I... I really do want to help her."

Atlas leaned closer, steady but unyielding. "But you don’t want to die either, Noah. You want to live your life too. And listen well, you can help her, without giving up your life as the price. No one would ever blame you for choosing to live."

"But my parents—"

"It’s not their life," Atlas cut in, firm as stone. "It’s yours." His gaze drifted to the open window, where the faintest stir of night air carried away the remnants of the incense he had tossed aside earlier. After a pause, he stood, his profile etched with resolve. "Is Circe not inside you anymore?"

"She... she is," Noah answered with hesitation. "I think she’s asleep."

Atlas turned his face back toward him, sharp eyes narrowing. "Then I’ll have a talk with your parents." He reached out his hand, offering to help the boy rise.

Noah recoiled instantly, shaking his head so hard his damp hair clung to his cheeks. "Please don’t. I don’t want them to be upset."

Atlas’s eyes fell on those hands, trembling, and as pale as the sheets, clutching at nothing as if the boy were fighting ghosts that never left him. He realized Noah hadn’t even noticed how frightened he looked, how his own body betrayed him. The boy’s lips quivered with the same desperation that had driven him moments earlier to press a blade against his own flesh, ready to choose death over revelation.

And it struck Atlas with a chilling clarity: Noah didn’t just carry Circe’s burden. He carried the terror of a child who had been taught his very existence was never his own.

Atlas sat back down, sighing in frustration and out of anger huffed with his arm plopping his chin, "No more on choosing to keep your secret with your death," warned Atlas, "In fact if you are alive, it would be better to help both me and Circe."

Noah’s eyes were hopeful as he questioned, "I don’t have to die?"

Seeing how he seemed relieved, Atlas broke into a small smile, "No. You don’t have to."

"And my parents..."

Atlas then leaned back, "I won’t talk to them," he promised but he didn’t tell the poor boy that while he could promise not to talk with his parents, Cassius had already called his parents into the castle for interrogation and if he let slip of what Noah suffered under his own parents, perhaps Cassius would be unhappier.