Chapter 257: You Can Let Go
Her trembling hands finally brushed the curve of her son’s tiny fingers. They were stiff. Her head fell forward, hair curtaining her face as the sob that finally broke free sounded more animal than human.
Damien finally forced himself forward, step by heavy step, until he stood before Morvakar. The mage’s arms still stretched to the heavens, fingers curled. His whole body trembled with exhaustion, yet he refused to let go. For a moment Damien only looked at him, saw the raw torment carved into the man’s face—the sweat dripping into his hollow cheeks. He had given everything, maybe more than his own life could spare, and still clung on. "You can let go, Morvakar. Let go. It’s not your fault." His hand hovered, uncertain, before resting on the man’s wrist.
Morvakar’s head tilted just slightly, as though Damien’s voice was a thread pulling him back from the abyss. His eyes shifted, bloodshot and glowing faintly red, to meet Damien’s. "I broke her heart."
"No," Damien said firmly, leaning closer. "You didn’t. You did no such thing." He tightened his grip on Morvakar’s forearm. "You gave everything for our child. More than any of us had a right to ask. You fought the heavens themselves, Morvakar. You’ve done your best. Now let go." His other hand rose, prying the mage’s stiff arms down. For a moment, Morvakar resisted, before collapsing into Damien’s grasp, shoulders caving inward as if the weight of the sky had been crushing him all along.
Thessa sat slumped, her hair a dark curtain around her pale face. She stared at the pedestal with the empty gaze of the defeated, unable to look away from the child she had failed. Her lips trembled as though she might speak, but no sound came. Her silence screamed louder than words.
As Morvakar’s arms lowered, the frozen moon above, so defiantly hanging in the morning sky, began to retreat. Its glow dimming as the true sun rose with a brilliance so sharp it hurt to look at. Golden light flooded the courtyard, spilling over the stone walls, painting everything in harsh relief. The vampires present did not move, did not scramble for shade as instinct demanded. They didn’t care. The grief had hollowed them too deeply, and the sting of sunlight against their skin was nothing compared to the agony in their hearts. They stood, statues of despair, glowing faintly as the sun began to sear.
Then, so faint it was almost lost to the silence, Thessa’s lips parted. "He’s alive," she whispered. Her eyes widened, glistening with sudden tears, as though she couldn’t trust her own sight. "He’s alive."
Damien froze, Morvakar stiffened, both of them turning sharply toward her. Disbelief was etched across their faces, and yet—like men desperate for a lifeline—they couldn’t stop their eyes from darting to the pedestal.
And there it was. The scars on the child’s battered skin were knitting together, slow as the turning of seasons but undeniable. The shallow gashes smoothed, the angry bruises began to fade.
"He’s alive." This time Thessa’s voice carried more strength, more certainty. She staggered to her feet, her body moving before her mind caught up. Sunlight bit into her exposed arms, blistering faintly against her skin, but she didn’t slow. Her bare feet slapped against the stones as she raced to Luna, urgency burning brighter than pain.
"Your Highness," Thessa called to Luna. Her hands were outstretched, palms quivering slightly, but her eyes shone with a certainty that made Luna freeze. Morvakar and Damien both leaned closer, their shoulders brushing as if drawn by the same desperate gravity. They exchanged a glance—king and sorcerer united in silent worry. "Let me take a look at him," Thessa said.
Luna didn’t understand—her body was numb, her thoughts scattered—but hope crept up her spine. She wanted to believe. Her lips trembled as she looked down at her child’s still face. Could it be? Could she dare? Behind her, Damien’s hand hovered at the small of her back.
Thessa stepped closer. She leaned in, putting the baby’s tiny, delicate face close to her ear. Then—Thessa’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a sudden, radiant smile. "He’s alive!" she gasped again.
Luna’s knees nearly gave out. She swayed, a strangled cry leaving her throat. The world blurred around her, and tears spilled hot and fast down her cheeks. She looked to Damien, her mate, her king, searching his face for confirmation, for the anchor she always found there.
Morvakar, who had been standing like a worn pillar, tilted his head toward the rising sun. "Well, I’ll be damned," he whispered. He shook his head slowly, a smile tugging at his lips as his gaze returned to the tiny child in Thessa’s arms. "He needed both. The moon and the sun." His eyes flicked to Luna and then to Damien.
"No time for gawking, Your Majesty. Inside—quickly." She whisked the child and hurried inside. Luna hurried after her.
Behind them, Damien watched them go, pride swelling in his chest as he saw his queen fierce and desperate, chasing after their child. He longed to follow, but his instincts tethered him beside Morvakar. The sorcerer’s shoulders sagged, his breath rasping shallowly, and though the tension had eased from his face, his pallor was ghastly. Morvakar exhaled a long, ragged breath that sounded almost like a laugh, and then his legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the cold stone floor with the heavy finality of a man who had poured out every last drop of his strength.
"Morvakar!" Damien lunged forward, catching the sorcerer before his head could strike the ground.
"Damn you," Damien whispered hoarsely, though his arms tightened protectively around the exhausted sorcerer. "Damn you for giving too much." His chest ached, torn between gratitude and anger, love and guilt.
"Is that the thanks I get?" Morvakar chuckled trying to sit up.
"Thank you, thank you. I’d give you my throne if I could." Damien laughed.
"Keep your throne. No one on that throne gets any peace." Morvakar snapped.
"What did it cost you Morvakar? Defying the heavens? What did it cost you?"
"Everything..."