Chapter 54 – Homecoming
*
Beneath the crimson, fields alight, I hold you close in fading night. A trembling touch, a whispered plea, Your body bends, belongs to me.
The ember dies, the fire stays, Our breaths entwined in heated haze. No scars, no past can come between, The heart of flesh, the soul unseen.
I claim your warmth, your fear, your moan, Tonight, with wings, you are my own. Home is where our pulses blend, In love and lust, beginning, end.
*
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A fierce wind swept across the plains, tugging at my hair as if to welcome me home. I smiled faintly.
I had missed this place.
My sanctuary. My domain.
The sky above still bled its endless crimson, a wound that refused to heal. I let my wings unfold slowly, feeling the air catch beneath them. For a while, I felt weightless, as if the world itself paused to match the sound of my pulse.
This place had changed with me. Not long ago, it was soft—warm winds, quiet fields, the illusion of peace. But that, too, was a lie. It made me believe safety was strength, that calm was control—caging me until I forgot how to bare my teeth.
Now it breathes with me. The ground trembles to my heartbeat, the sky burns in rhythm with my breath. There’s no comfort here—only truth. And for the first time, it feels like this place finally sees ‘me’.
But something in me didn’t.
A faint tremor stirred beneath my ribs; a wrong kind of warmth. I lifted my hand, and a tiny ember fluttered awake in my palm. Its glow pulsed softly against my skin, almost affectionate. The last scrap of her. A stubborn little spark hiding where it didn’t belong, clinging to the edges of me like an echo that refused to die.
Looking at it, a quiet laugh slipped out. Even now… still trying. Even after being devoured, this little remnant of her still lingered—still trying to shape me.
Not anymore.
My fingers tightened.
The ember writhed once—like it understood—before I crushed it.
A small scream slipped through my fingers, brief as a dying spark, before it vanished entirely.
The instant it died, something inside me cleared, as if a door had finally been opened.
My breath caught.
Baloria… it had been her. All this time.
Not completely—but enough. Enough to tilt my instincts, to sharpen my hunger, to move my body with a confidence that wasn’t mine.
The way my fingers closed around Ysara’s throat. How effortlessly I lifted her, how natural it felt to slam her into the wall again and again.
Her scream. The crack of bone. The heat of her fear spilling over me.
None of that had been mine.
Even remembering it made my stomach twist.
The pain in her eyes… hurting someone I had just claimed as family—that cut deeper than any wound on my own flesh.
A shiver crawled up my spine.
I flexed my hand, watching how the muscles moved beneath the skin. This body… it had always moved too easily. Too naturally.
For someone who had been a human boy… or at least close to a human only hours ago, it should have felt wrong—unfamiliar.
But it never did. Not even once.
Of course it didn’t.
Her instincts were sewn into me from the beginning.
I exhaled, letting the truth settle in my chest. A soft laugh slipped free.
“Well,” I whispered, my fingers trailing along the curve of my breast,
“they’re mine now.”
The hunger.
The grace.
The violence.
Everything Baloria had been… now lived in me. And with the last fragment gone— even if it was only a clone—none of it was borrowed anymore.
I closed my eyes and let the quiet press in. I didn’t resent the path that brought me here. If anything… I was grateful. Baloria had twisted me, reshaped me, dragged me past the fragile thing I used to be. Without her corruption, none of this—none of me—would exist.
…
A faint rustle disturbed the stillness—small, fragile. My eyes opened, the last remnants of the quiet settling low in my chest as I turned toward the sound.
And there she was—lying a few steps away on the charred ground. No armor. No weapon. No blood.
Eliza.
The domain had dressed her in simple, clean clothes—unmarked, untouched. Fitting, I supposed. A soul always appears cleaner than the body it belongs to. The cleanest she’ll ever be.
Her fingers twitched. Her brow pinched. Even unconscious, she looked like someone wrestling a memory with teeth.
A soft hum slipped past my lips as I began to walk toward her, unhurried, letting the sound vibrate in my throat. I was starting to enjoy the way my voice echoed.
“Hmmmh… mmm… hm-hmm…”
When I reached her, I lowered myself beside her head, letting my knees sink into the warm, cracked earth. I brushed a strand of hair from her face. It fell away easily. Her skin was smooth now—no scars, no blood, no bruises. Every wound she’d ever worn had been wiped clean.
I studied her for a moment. A slow smile pulled at my mouth.
“Without those awful scars,” I murmured, almost idly, “you’re quite beautiful.”
My thumb traced her cheek. “…Though even with them, you were.”
Her breathing hitched beneath my touch. Beneath the flawless skin, a tremor pulsed—fear, pain, memory. I stroked her again, slower this time, my voice slipping into a whisper meant only for her.
“You hide it well… all that pain.”
My fingers traced the edge of her jaw, soft, gentle.
“You pretend you’re fine. You pretend you’re strong. But I see you, Eliza.”
I leaned in, letting my breath brush her ear.
“I know what you’ve survived. I know what you carry. I can feel it. The same pain I did… the same loneliness.”
A quiet beat. My thumb paused on her cheekbone.
“…Maybe that’s why I want you,” I breathed.
Her eyelids fluttered—just once, but enough.
My smile deepened.
I rose smoothly, letting my fingers slip from her face as I stood. Turning toward my beautiful tree, I unfurled my wings just slightly, and the hum returned—soft, melodic.
“Mmm… hmm… hm-hmm…”
“I’ll show you,” I said, surprised by the gentleness in my own voice. “I’ll show you why you need me. Why you need my love.”
My voice drifting through the burning air, low and warm, as I walked.
…
“I already have one.”
The words left my mouth in a low purr, and the silence that followed was delicious.
Eliza froze on my lap, staring up at me with that mix of defiance and dread she wore so beautifully. I let it hang there—her shock, her confusion, the panic tightening behind her eyes—letting each emotion bloom.
Perfect.
I let the moment linger, savoring the way her emotions spiked.
Then I smiled.
“You know…” I murmured, tilting my head as I studied her face, “ever since I became what I am—I can feel things. Not thoughts. Not intentions. But emotions. Especially the ones aimed at me.”
Her expression tightened, heartbeat spiked—frantic, dread flickering in the curve of her mouth.
“I felt it the moment I stepped into that chamber,” I continued softly. “A pull. Heat. Hunger.”
Her eyes widened. “At first, I thought it was Ysara. She’s always been so… eager to please.”
Eliza flinched.
“But hers is different. Thick. Tangled. Learned.” My fingers slid up her side, slow enough to make her shiver. “Yours—yours was clean. Raw. Unforced.”
I leaned closer, watching her pupils quiver.
“It wasn’t shaped by magic, or hunger, or fear,” I breathed. “You felt it on your own. Without the darkness touching you. Without my presence pressing into you.”
My voice fell into a low whisper.
“It was yours, ‘Eliza’. All of it.”
I let the truth settle between us,
“You wanted me.”
Her mouth fell open in horror—maybe to deny it, maybe to scream.
I didn’t let her.
My hand slid to her jaw, guiding her into a kiss—deep and consuming.
She gasped against my mouth, tried to push me away, but there was no strength in it.
None at all.
Her palms pressed weakly against my chest, more a plea than resistance.
Then my tongue slipped past her lips.
And just like that…
every scrap of resistance in her drained away.
Eliza melted beneath me—shoulders loosening, breath breaking—her fingers curling weakly into my skin as she leaned into the kiss, offering herself without even realizing she was doing it.
And I drank her in slowly.
I tasted every fragile, buried piece of her—the fear she hid behind duty, the longing she refused to name, the quiet, aching part of her that had never been held without pain.
Her whimper slipped into my mouth, soft.
I swallowed it, savoring the delicate tremor that ran through her throat.
I held her there until her breath finally broke.
And the world around us broke with it.
The crimson sky shattered like glass.
The scorched earth peeled away beneath us, rolling back like a sheet torn from a bed.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing—only dark, cold and blinding, swallowing everything in silence.
Then, all at once, reality snapped back into shape.
We stood in the center of a village—weathered homes, crooked fences lining the dirt paths, the distant laughter of children mixing with the soft chatter of passing villagers. My arms stayed wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her exactly where I wanted her. Eliza’s whole body went still, breath tearing out of her as the world settled into place around us.
“…No,” she whispered, the word barely formed.
“No...no, not here... please, not here...”
I tightened my embrace just enough to steady her, lowering my chin to her shoulder. My cheek brushed softly against hers in a slow, grounding caress.
“Shh…”
A gentle kiss to her cheek.
My warmth curling around her like a veil.
Her shaking eased—only a little, but enough.
My lips hovered near her ear.
“Tell me,” I whispered, gently.
“What is this place?”
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Her fingers curled against my forearm, nails digging in—not to escape, but to anchor herself in the weight of the memory unfolding around us.
Finally, in a voice barely audible,
“…This is where I was born.”
Another inhale.
“This was my home.”