Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 44: Fallout

My head throbs like someone's trying to cleave it open from the inside. I groan, dragging in a breath that tastes like herbs and steel and antiseptic. My body feels like it was trampled on by a battalion of armed cavalry. It takes me a moment to realize I'm not dead.

I blink against the soft light overhead, my thoughts slow and scattered. Where...?

The room smells too clean and sterile. Am I in the infirmary?

Then it hits me.

The fight.

Cain.

The voices.

Gods—those fucking voices.

They twisted everything. Took every doubt and pain I had, every fractured thought, and fed it into a storm until I couldn't tell what was real anymore. I remember Cain's face, the confusion, the fear—not of me, but for me—and still I tried to kill him. I nearly did. I would have if—

I clench my fist under the thin sheets, jaw tight. Pathetic. I'm supposed to be stronger than this. I'm supposed to be in control. I'm the bearer of three marks, not some thrashing fool drunk on power and pain. And yet the moment my emotions flared, I lost everything. Slaughtered men who didn't stand a chance. Let the voices turn my own hands into weapons against the only person who's ever looked out for me.

I seethe in silence. The shame is unbearable. I can still hear the screams, feel the heat of blood on my skin. That wasn't battle—that was a massacre. A goddamn frenzy. All because I cant control my own damn powers.

I stare up at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling with shaky, uneven breaths. My hands tremble. Not from pain, but from memory. The scent of blood clings to me like a stain beneath my skin, even though I know it's not there. I can still feel the weight of my blade, warm and slick. I can still hear the crunch of bone, the sharp inhale of a dying guard's last breath.

Gods.

What have I become?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut it out. But it's all there the images, the screaming, the laughter of the voices echoing in my skull, my own laughter as I tore through men who barely had time to raise their blades.

I called Elites monsters. Puppets of war. Tools for a throne that doesn't care if they live or die. "Attack dogs," I used to sneer.

And now? I was the same? No I was worse.

They didn't lose control. I did.

I swore I'd never become what they are. I promised myself I'd never be like them. That I'd never let the Empire forge me into a mindless killer swinging a sword at whoever they pointed at. But this wasn't even that. There was no order. No command. No mission. It was just me. Me, breaking. Me, giving in. Me, ripping through men because the voices told me to. Reaping them.

Because I was too weak to stop them.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to crush the tears before they rise. I don't get to cry. Not after what I did.

I almost killed Cain.

Cain.

He could've killed me a dozen times before he lost the strength to battle me and my illusions at the same time. And he didn't. Even with my sword at his throat, even with that nightmare flooding his mind, he never struck back with the intent to end me. He was trying—trying to protect me. To reach me.

And I tried to murder him.

I deserve whatever punishment is coming. Trial. Imprisonment. Execution. Maybe they'll carve my name into a list of fallen Elites and pretend I died a hero to save face of the first three mark bearer being a complete psychopath.

I wish I had.

Because living with this—this rot inside me, this gnawing knowledge of what I am—it's worse than dying.

And the worst part?

A part of me enjoyed it. The rush. The power. The release.

I think if I continue down this path that at some point I will be capable of great evil. I roll onto my side, not from comfort, but because I can't lie there with my guilt pressing down on me like a mountain.

Then I see her.

At the foot of my bed, curled up in a chair, her knees tucked against her chest like a child lost in a storm. For a second, my dazed brain can't process it. She looks so small like that. Fragile. But even before the shape fully registers, my heart knows who it is.

Cecilia.

Relief crashes into me so hard it nearly makes me dizzy. She's alive. She's alive.

I thought I lost her. I thought I had imagined her at the end.

Panic coils in my gut. I remember the blast. The carriage flying. Her limp form buried in twisted wood. My breath hitches and I shift, needing to get to her—to check that she's okay.

I must make some sound because her eyes flutter open.

She blinks, dazed for half a second, then her gaze lands on me. Her whole face lights up.

"Ayato! You're awake thank the gods!"

Her voice is bright and warm and real, and my throat clenches with the force of it. I try to speak, to say her name, to say sorry, to say anything but my throat is dry as dust and all that comes out is a cracked, croaking noise.

Her smile falters as she leans closer. "Don't talk, okay? I'll get help. Just stay put." She's already halfway to the door, bare feet padding against the cold stone as she rushes out, leaving the door swinging behind her.

It feels like hours. Hours of lying there in the dark, haunted by the ghosts of the men I murdered.

I can't stop seeing my blade, soaked in blood, weaving between panicked soldiers. My hands moving with mechanical precision. The violet glow in my eyes reflected in their terrified faces. The madness curling in my smile.

How many of them were fresh recruits? How many had families? People waiting for them to come home?

How many died thinking I was some kind of monster?Because that's exactly what I was.

I close my eyes and let the crushing weight of it all bury me alive.

I don't know how long I lay there, but the door creaks open eventually. I don't move. I just listen to the soft shuffle of footsteps. Three sets.

Then I hear her voice.Soft. Warm. Familiar.

Cecilia.

"I'm back Ayato" she says.

My eyes flutter open despite myself, and there she is smiling. She's alive. She's okay. A second later I realize why she no longer had injuries.

Next to her was Awakened Manhar the healer and behind her was Cain. Silent. Watching. His arms are crossed, but there's tension in his jaw, and his eyes are sharp. Guarded.

I can't even look at him.

I lower my gaze and close my eyes again, retreating into the darkness. It's easier there. At least the shadows don't judge.

"Ayato," Manhar says "How are you feeling? You've been unconscious for nearly two weeks. We were starting to grow concerned."

My throat feels like it's lined with sandpaper. I try to speak but only manage a croak. "Water..."

Manahar chuckles under his breath, almost embarrassed. "Right. Of course." He leaves and returns a few moments later with a heavy jug. I greedily gulp it down.

Cecilia watches with soft amusement, her hazel eyes glowing with something I can't place. Maybe...relief?

Cain, though he hasn't said a word. He just watches me like a man trying to decide if the wild beast in the cage is still dangerous.

Manahar clears his throat. "So now that you can talk, Awakened Daath—are you okay? Any pain? Injuries?"

I stop drinking and lower the jug. My voice is quiet, raw.

"I have no pain that you would be able to fix, healer."

Manahar just studies me clearly unimpressed with my answer. He stares at me for another long moment, then sighs, long and tired. "Of course you don't. If you have no pain, I will make my leave then. I'm sure you would much rather speak to your friends privately, and I have already wasted more time here than I would have liked."

I let out a low, dry chuckle at his bluntness, the sound scraping out of my throat like rusted metal.

Before stepping out, he pauses briefly and places a hand on Cain's shoulder. A quiet gesture. Cain doesn't react his eyes haven't left me once.

Manahar bows his head stiffly, the gesture more obligation than respect, and then he's gone.

And now it's just the three of us in the room.Cain. Cecilia.And me.The monster in the bed.

No one moves for a moment after Manahar leaves. The silence sits heavy, pressing down on all of us. Cain leans against the far wall, but I can see it in the tension of his jaw, the subtle shift in his stance. He doesn't know what to say. Maybe he's waiting for me to say something first.

I can't.

My throat works, but no words come.

Then, suddenly, the silence cracks.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is freewebnøvel.coɱ.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Cecilia squeals, the sound so warm, so bright, it nearly makes me flinch. "Gods, you idiot I was so scared when I woke up to the sounds of fighting. I thought ..." She cuts herself off, then marches right over to me and plops down on the bed beside me with all the grace of an elephant. Her hands are warm as she cradles my face and forces my head up to meet her gaze.

I blink, startled, caught off guard by how close she is—by the worry swirling in her hazel eyes.

"You are okay, right, mon amour?" she asks, voice softer now, threaded with something I don't understand.

My brow furrows at the foreign words. "Mon... what?"

She just smiles, even through the faint glassiness of her own eyes. "It's nothing. Just answer the question."

I want to look away again, but her grip tightens slightly, grounding me. I sigh and nod, but it's not convincing even to me. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just..." The memories claw up my throat the laughter that wasn't mine but at the same time was, the screams, the bodies falling like broken dolls. "Just the memories."

I try to lower my gaze again, but she pulls me back, firm and unrelenting.

"Listen to me, Ayato." Her voice is gentle, but there's steel under it. "It's not your fault. Elite powers... they take time. Training. Discipline. That's what the Academy is for. And you - you bear three marks. Of course the strain on you is worse than it is for anyone else."

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away. I don't understand her. I barely know her. Why is she being so kind to me? Why isn't she afraid?

I shake my head, voice raw with disgust. "Tell that to the families of the men I butchered."

Her expression breaks, just a little, and tears spill from her eyes as she leans closer.

"Yes... mon amour," she whispers, the words trembling. "That's something you'll have to live with. But you needn't do it alone."

She leans in and kisses me softly, gently like I'm something fragile.

Cain clears his throat loudly, the sound awkward and weird in the stillness. It jolts both of us, a sudden reminder that we're not alone.

My eyes widen as my mind catches up.

Wait... Cain and Cecilia are in the same room. Which means they've met. They've talked. That's... not what I wanted.

But to my surprise, I find I don't care. Not right now. Maybe not at all anymore.

Cecilia jumps slightly at Cain's interruption and spins around to face him, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. "Sorry, Awakened Nekran... I forgot you were there."

Cain's expressionless mask finally cracks, the cold detachment slipping away like melting frost. His usual lopsided smirk returns, that cocky, effortless grin he wears. "Ahh, I see. I must be quite the forgettable person, is that it, Miss Lakeborn?"

Cecilia's cheeks flush pink, and she stammers. "I didn't mean it like that!!!"

"I'm only teasing," Cain chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. "Though I do believe I've told you already... Cain is fine."

"Right... sorry," she mumbles, still flustered.

He runs a hand through his tousled blond hair and lets out a quiet sigh. His tone softens, just a little. "Cecilia, if you don't mind... could you give us a moment? I'd like to speak with my apprentice. Alone."

Her gaze flickers to me, hesitant for just a breath, and then she leans in and kisses my forehead again. "I'll be back as soon as you guys are done talking," she promises, her voice low and warm.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She rises, glancing at her bare feet, and huffs as she goes to the corner of the room where her boots sit forgotten. She tugs them on quickly, mutters something about how cold the floor is, and with one last glance at me, she slips out the door.

The moment it clicks shut, the room feels heavier.

Just me and Cain now.