# Bite of Destiny
## Chapter 12: Battle for the Soul
---
The truth burned inside Demri like a second sun.
He left the mosque in a daze, the recovered memories still arranging themselves in his consciousness like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. A name echoed in his mind—*Azarion*—the celestial who had orchestrated his fall. His former mentor. His trusted superior. The being who had taught him everything about being a Guardian of the Threshold, and then used that knowledge to destroy him.
*Azarion*, the curse confirmed. *One of the highest-ranking members of the celestial hierarchy. If he is the one who framed you, the implications extend far beyond your personal case.*
"Why would he do it? What did he have to gain?"
*That, you still do not remember. The memories of his motive remain locked. But the fact of his betrayal is now undeniable.*
Demri walked through streets that seemed somehow different—sharper, more vivid, as if the veil between his perception and reality had thinned. He had been innocent. For all these centuries, through all the suffering and self-doubt and desperate resistance, he had been innocent. The curse had been imposed unjustly, the hunger manufactured, the fall engineered by someone he had trusted completely.
The anger that rose in him was unlike anything he had felt since his condemnation. Pure, righteous, cosmic in its intensity. He wanted to storm the gates of heaven, to drag Azarion before the celestial court, to expose the truth that had been hidden for so long.
*Patience*, the curse counseled. *Rushing to confront Azarion now would be suicidal. He has power you can barely imagine, and centuries of preparation against exactly this scenario.*
"Then what do you suggest?"
*Build your case. Gather evidence that even the celestial court cannot dismiss. Find allies who can corroborate your recovered memories.* A pause. *And deal with the immediate crisis first. Your revelation means nothing if the mortals you've promised to protect are destroyed in the meantime.*
The reminder of his terrestrial responsibilities cut through the fog of cosmic fury. Tomás. The corruption. The community still vulnerable despite Derek's arrest. He had been so focused on his own vindication that he had almost forgotten the people depending on him.
*The curse is right*, he admitted to himself. *Justice for the past cannot come at the expense of protection for the present.*
He quickened his pace toward the apartment, his mind already shifting to the challenges that awaited.
---
Aylin was waiting for him when he arrived, and her expression immediately told him something was wrong.
"Where have you been?" she demanded. "I woke up and you were gone. No note, no message, nothing."
"I had to... I went to the mosque. To remember."
"To remember what?"
"Who I was. Who betrayed me. Why I was condemned." Demri moved past her into the living room, suddenly exhausted from the morning's revelations. "I know the truth now, Aylin. I know who framed me."
Her anger shifted to concern. "Framed you? You mean you really were innocent?"
"Yes. A celestial named Azarion—my former mentor—fabricated the evidence against me. I don't know why yet, but I know it was him." He sat heavily on the couch. "I've spent centuries believing I might be guilty. And all along, it was a lie."
Aylin was quiet for a moment, processing this information. Then she sat beside him, her hand finding his. "That's... that's incredible. If you can prove it—"
"I can prove it. The memories I recovered are vivid, undeniable. But proving it to the celestial court is another matter. They believed Azarion once. They'll need overwhelming evidence to reverse their judgment."
"Then we'll find that evidence."
"We?" Demri looked at her. "Aylin, this is a celestial matter. It's dangerous in ways you can't imagine."
"So is everything else we've been dealing with. Shadow-kin, supernatural corruption, mortal developers backed by dark forces—we're already in dangerous territory." Her jaw set with familiar determination. "I'm not going to let you face this alone."
The declaration should have felt like support. Instead, it filled Demri with dread. Aylin's involvement in celestial politics would make her a target. Azarion, if he learned of her existence, might strike at her to silence the investigation.
"There's something else," he said, knowing he could not delay the harder conversation any longer. "Something that happened last night, during the celebration."
"What?"
"Tomás. I..." The words caught in his throat. "I corrupted him."
Aylin's hand went still in his. "What?"
"It was an accident. We were talking, and I was frustrated, and the darkness... it slipped out. I said things that carried supernatural weight. Things that planted despair in him." Demri forced himself to meet her eyes. "I did what I've been fighting against since I arrived. I hurt one of your friends."
The silence that followed was worse than any accusation could have been. Aylin's expression cycled through disbelief, confusion, and finally something that looked terrifyingly like betrayal.
"You corrupted Tomás," she repeated, her voice flat.
"Not completely. Not deliberately. But yes."
"And you didn't tell me immediately because...?"
"Because I was ashamed. Because I didn't know how to explain. Because I hoped I could fix it before you found out."
"Fix it how?"
"I asked Priya to talk to him. To counter the despair with hope. The curse said the odds were roughly equal that she could reach him."
"The curse." Aylin stood abruptly, putting distance between them. "You consulted the curse about how to repair the damage you caused."
"It's the only source of information I have about how corruption works."
"It's also the thing that wants you to corrupt everyone! Did it occur to you that its advice might not be entirely trustworthy?"
"It occurred to me, yes. But what was the alternative? Doing nothing? Trying to help Tomás myself and risking making things worse?"
Aylin paced the room, her agitation evident in every movement. "I trusted you. I told everyone you were safe, that you were different, that despite everything you claimed to be, you wouldn't hurt us. And you—"
"I hurt one person. Accidentally. And I immediately took steps to address it."
"You hurt one person so far!" Her voice rose. "How many more 'accidents' are waiting to happen? How many times can you slip before the damage becomes permanent?"
"I don't know," Demri admitted. "That's the truth. I don't know how long I can resist, or how many mistakes I'll make along the way. All I know is that I'm trying."
"Trying isn't good enough! Not when people's souls are at stake!" Aylin stopped pacing, facing him directly. "I have to tell the others. They have a right to know what you are, what you can do."
"If you tell them, they'll never trust me again. Everything we've built—"
"Everything we've built is based on a lie. They think you're a normal person with a mysterious past. They don't know you're literally cursed to destroy them."
"I'm not going to destroy them."
"Can you promise that? Can you look me in the eye and guarantee that you'll never slip again, never accidentally plant another seed of despair, never do exactly what you did to Tomás to anyone else?"
Demri could not. And his silence was answer enough.
"That's what I thought." Aylin's voice was cold now, the warmth that had characterized their relationship frozen over. "I need time to think about this. About what to do. About whether I can still..." She didn't finish the sentence. "Just... stay away from the center today. Stay away from everyone."
She left the apartment without looking back, the door closing behind her with a finality that felt like condemnation.
---
*Well*, the curse observed into the silence. *That could have gone better.*
"Is that supposed to be helpful?"
*Nothing I say is helpful. I'm merely commenting on the obvious.* A pause. *She's not wrong, you know. Your control is imperfect. More accidents will happen. The question is whether your allies can accept that reality or not.*
"And if they can't?"
*Then you'll be alone again. As you were in heaven, after the trial. As you've been for most of your existence.* The curse's voice carried something that might have been sympathy. *Solitude is not the worst fate. I have been alone for millennia. One adapts.*
"I don't want to adapt. I want to be better. I want to prove that the curse doesn't have to define me."
*Noble sentiments. But nobility without community is just stubbornness. If Aylin turns against you, if the others follow, what then?*
Demri had no answer. He sat in the empty apartment, surrounded by evidence of the life he had built here—Aylin's plants, the photos on the refrigerator, the worn comfort of the couch they had shared—and felt it all slipping away.
---
Hours passed. Demri did as Aylin had asked, staying in the apartment, avoiding the community center, waiting for a verdict he could not influence. The uncertainty was excruciating.
Around noon, his phone buzzed with a message. Not from Aylin—from Jade.
*We need to talk. Meet me at the coffee shop on Third. One hour.*
The directive was characteristically blunt. Demri considered ignoring it—Aylin had told him to stay away from everyone—but Jade was not someone who asked for meetings without reason. And her message carried an urgency that suggested something had changed.
He went.
---
Jade was already at the coffee shop when he arrived, occupying a corner table with a clear view of both entrances. Her expression was unreadable as he approached.
"Sit," she said. "And don't bother lying. Aylin told me everything."
Demri sat. "What exactly did she tell you?"
"That you're some kind of supernatural being. That you were sent here to corrupt people but you're fighting against it. That you accidentally corrupted Tomás last night." Jade's eyes bored into him. "Did I miss anything?"
"That covers the essentials."
"Good. Then let's talk about what happens next."
Demri had expected anger. He had expected accusations, demands that he leave, threats of exposure. What he had not expected was Jade's almost businesslike calm.
"You're not... angry?"
"I'm furious. But fury isn't useful right now." She leaned forward. "I went to see Tomás this morning. He's in bad shape. Priya's been with him all night, but whatever you did to him is still there. I could see it in his eyes—this hopelessness that wasn't there before."
"I know. I'm—"
"Sorry? Yeah, I'm sure you are. But sorry doesn't fix him." Jade's voice was sharp. "Here's what I need to know: is there a way to undo what you did? Not just counter it, not just hope it fades, but actually reverse the corruption?"
"I don't know. The curse says corruption can't be erased, only countered."
"The curse says." Jade's laugh was bitter. "You know, when I first met you, I thought you were either a con artist or a lunatic. Turns out you're something much worse. You're exactly what you claimed to be."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"It's supposed to make you think. You've been operating on the assumption that you can resist this curse through willpower alone. But willpower failed last night. So either you find a better strategy, or you accept that you're going to keep hurting people."
The assessment was brutal, but not unfair. Demri's resistance had been based on determination—a refusal to give in, a commitment to being better than what the curse demanded. But determination had not prevented the accident with Tomás.
"What do you suggest?"
"I suggest you stop trying to do this alone." Jade pulled out her phone and set it on the table. "I've been doing some research. Turns out, there are people in this city who deal with supernatural problems. Exorcists, sensitives, practitioners of various traditions. Most of them are probably frauds, but some of them might be real."
"You want me to consult with mortal occultists?"
"I want you to explore every possible option for fixing what you broke." She tapped the phone. "There's a woman—Dr. Helena Reyes—who runs something called the Institute for Liminal Studies. Academic credentials, published research, and according to the rumors, actual practical experience with the supernatural."
"How do you know about this?"
"I'm an artist. We run in weird circles." Jade's expression softened marginally. "Look, I'm not saying I trust you. I'm not saying I forgive you for what you did to Tomás. But I'm also not ready to write you off entirely. You've been fighting this curse since you got here, and mostly you've succeeded. One failure doesn't erase all of that."
"Aylin doesn't seem to share your perspective."
"Aylin's hurt. She put her faith in you, and you let her down. Give her time." Jade pushed the phone toward him. "In the meantime, call Dr. Reyes. Tell her what you are. See if she has any ideas for how to fix Tomás—or how to prevent this from happening again."
"Why are you helping me? You barely know me."
"Because Tomás is my friend, and you're the only one who might be able to save him. Because Aylin cares about you, even if she's too angry to admit it right now. Because..." She hesitated. "Because I've spent my whole life believing in things other people can't see. Art, meaning, the possibility that the universe isn't just chaos. If you're real—if celestial beings and cosmic curses actually exist—then maybe some of those other things I believe in are real too."
It was a surprisingly philosophical response from someone who usually communicated in sarcasm and threats. Demri felt something shift in his perception of Jade—a recognition of depths he had not previously suspected.
"Thank you," he said. "For not giving up on me."
"Don't thank me yet. If Dr. Reyes can't help, if Tomás doesn't recover, if you hurt anyone else—I'll be the first one calling for your head." Jade stood, gathering her things. "Call her. Today. And try not to corrupt anyone else in the meantime."
She left before he could respond.
---
Dr. Helena Reyes answered on the third ring.
"Institute for Liminal Studies. This is Dr. Reyes."
"My name is Demri. I was given your number by a friend who said you might be able to help with a... supernatural problem."
A pause. "What kind of supernatural problem?"
"The kind that involves celestial beings, cosmic curses, and the accidental corruption of human souls."
A longer pause. Then, in a voice that had shifted from professional to intensely interested: "I can see you this afternoon. Three o'clock. The Institute is on the fifth floor of the Ardmore Building. Don't be late."
The line went dead before Demri could confirm.
---
The Institute for Liminal Studies occupied a single floor of a nondescript office building in the academic district. From the outside, nothing suggested the nature of the work conducted within—no mystical symbols, no dramatic lighting, just a simple brass plaque beside the elevator identifying "ILS - Dr. H. Reyes, Director."
The interior was similarly understated: bookshelves crammed with academic texts, filing cabinets labeled with incomprehensible codes, and a cluttered desk behind which sat a woman in her fifties with gray-streaked hair and eyes that seemed to look through rather than at.
"You're the celestial," Dr. Reyes said without preamble. "The fallen one."
Demri stopped in the doorway. "How did you know?"
"I've been studying supernatural phenomena for thirty years. I can recognize a cursed being when one walks into my office." She gestured to a chair. "Sit. Tell me everything."
He did. The fall, the curse, the hunger, the resistance, and finally the accident with Tomás. Dr. Reyes listened without interruption, her expression revealing nothing.
"Fascinating," she said when he finished. "I've encountered descriptions of fallen celestials in the historical literature, but never a living subject. Your case presents some unique challenges."
"Can you help Tomás?"
"Perhaps. But first I need to understand the nature of the corruption you inflicted." She rose and moved to a cabinet, pulling out a device that looked like a cross between a telescope and a medical scanner. "This is a spectral resonance analyzer. It can detect traces of supernatural influence on human subjects. If your friend would consent to an examination, I could determine the extent of the damage."
"He doesn't know what happened to him. He just thinks he's going through a difficult time."
"Then we proceed carefully. Frame it as a mental health consultation, which is not entirely inaccurate. The effects of supernatural corruption often mirror conventional psychological disturbances." Dr. Reyes set down the device. "But there's a larger question we need to address."
"Which is?"
"Whether you can be trusted around people at all." Her gaze was clinical, assessing. "You've demonstrated that your control can fail. You've described a curse that actively works against your resistance. The rational response would be to isolate you from potential victims."
"Isolation would leave the community unprotected. There are other supernatural threats—shadow-kin, dark forces that were backing Derek Thornton—"
"I'm aware. The supernatural ecology of this city is more complex than most people realize." Dr. Reyes returned to her desk. "Here's my proposal. I will help you develop better control techniques—methods for recognizing and preventing accidental corruption before it occurs. In exchange, you will provide me with information about the celestial realm, which has been notably resistant to academic study."
"You want to study me."
"I want to understand you. The difference is significant." She folded her hands. "I believe you're sincere in your desire to resist the curse. That sincerity, combined with proper training, might be enough to prevent future incidents."
"And if it isn't?"
"Then we explore other options. Containment, binding, possibly exile to a realm where your presence cannot harm mortals." Her expression was not unkind, but neither was it soft. "I'm offering you help, Demri. But I'm also prepared to do what's necessary to protect the innocent."
It was, he had to admit, a reasonable position. Dr. Reyes was neither blind to his danger nor dismissive of his potential. She was treating him as a problem to be solved, which was perhaps the best he could hope for.
"I accept your proposal."
"Good. Then let's begin."
---
The training started immediately.
Dr. Reyes produced a series of exercises—some physical, some mental, some that defied easy categorization. She had Demri meditate on the sensation of the curse, learning to recognize its movements, its triggers, its moments of maximum danger. She taught him breathing techniques that could create momentary barriers between his darkness and the world. She explained theories of supernatural corruption that had never occurred to him, perspectives that reframed his understanding of what he was fighting.
"The curse is not simply an external imposition," she said during one session. "It has integrated with your consciousness. It uses your emotions, your thoughts, your relationships as conduits. When you corrupted your friend, it was not because the curse overpowered you—it was because you and the curse were, in that moment, aligned."
"We weren't aligned. I didn't want to hurt him."
"Not consciously. But you were frustrated, weren't you? Sympathetic to his despair? In that moment, your emotions created a channel that the curse could flow through." She made a note on her tablet. "The key to control is recognizing these moments of alignment before they become dangerous. Emotional awareness. Self-monitoring. The ability to step back when you feel the curse rising."
"That sounds like what I was already doing."
"You were doing it intuitively. I'm teaching you to do it systematically." Dr. Reyes looked up from her notes. "Intuition works most of the time. But in moments of high stress, high emotion, high stakes—intuition fails. That's when you need practiced techniques, automatic responses that don't depend on conscious control."
The training continued for hours. By the time Dr. Reyes called a halt, Demri was exhausted in ways he had not known were possible.
"You're making progress," she said, escorting him to the door. "Come back tomorrow. And in the meantime, try to apply what you've learned. Notice when the curse stirs. Observe your emotional state. Create distance between stimulus and response."
"What about Tomás?"
"I'll need to examine him before I can determine the best intervention. Arrange a meeting—frame it however you need to—and contact me with the details." She paused at the door. "And Demri? Try not to add any new subjects to our treatment list."
"I'll do my best."
"See that you do."
---
The walk home was longer than usual. Demri took backstreets, avoiding the community center and any locations where he might encounter the people he was trying to protect. Dr. Reyes's lessons echoed in his mind, a new framework for understanding his condition.
The curse uses your emotions. Create distance between stimulus and response. Notice when it stirs.
Could it really be that simple? Not simple, exactly—the training had been grueling, the techniques demanding—but methodical. A set of practices that could reduce the risk of future accidents.
*She's not wrong*, the curse observed. *Your previous resistance was admirable but unsophisticated. With proper training, you might achieve a level of control I had not anticipated.*
"You sound almost disappointed."
*I am surprised, which is different. I assumed you would either give in or burn out. This third path—systematic resistance through learned techniques—was not something I had fully considered.*
"Does that worry you?"
*Worry is not in my nature. But I confess to curiosity about where this leads. If you achieve true control over your impulses, what becomes of me? Am I still a curse if you can override my influence at will?*
"You'd still be here. The hunger would still exist."
*Yes, but without the ability to express itself. A curse that cannot curse is merely... a passenger.* A pause. *There are worse fates, I suppose. At least I would still have my front-row seat to the drama of your existence.*
The philosophical implications were interesting, but Demri had more immediate concerns. He needed to check on Tomás, to arrange the examination with Dr. Reyes, to somehow repair the damage to his relationship with Aylin.
One crisis at a time.
---
His phone buzzed as he neared the apartment. A message from Priya.
*Something's wrong with Tomás. He's getting worse. Please help.*
Demri's heart sank. He had hoped the corruption would stabilize, that Priya's intervention would at least slow its progress. But if Tomás was deteriorating...
He changed direction, heading for Tomás and Priya's apartment on the east side of Millbrook.
---
The scene that greeted him was disturbing.
Tomás sat in a corner of his living room, knees drawn to his chest, staring at nothing. His eyes, which had once burned with passionate idealism, were empty. The spark that had made him such an effective activist had been extinguished, replaced by a hollow despair that Demri recognized all too well.
*The seed has begun to grow*, the curse confirmed. *Faster than I expected. Either your corruption was stronger than you realized, or his underlying faith was weaker.*
Priya hovered nearby, her medical training evident in the way she monitored Tomás's condition. "He stopped responding about an hour ago," she said, her voice strained. "He was talking—rambling, really—about how nothing mattered, how we were all just delaying the inevitable. And then he just... stopped."
"Has he eaten? Slept?"
"Not since yesterday. He won't do anything. He just sits there." Priya's eyes were red from crying. "I don't know what to do. I called his family, but they're hours away. I called a crisis line, but they want to send him to a hospital, and I'm not sure that's—"
"It wouldn't help." Demri moved closer to Tomás, careful not to touch him. "This isn't a conventional psychological crisis. This is something else."
"What do you mean?"
He had to tell her. There was no way to help Tomás without explaining what had caused his condition.
"What I'm about to say is going to sound insane. But I need you to believe me, because Tomás's life might depend on it."
Priya's expression hardened into the focused determination of a medical professional facing an emergency. "Tell me."
Demri explained. Everything—his nature, the curse, the accidental corruption, the supernatural forces at play in Millbrook. Priya listened without interruption, her analytical mind processing information that contradicted everything she had learned in medical school.
"You're saying you infected him," she said when he finished. "With some kind of... spiritual virus."
"That's not an inaccurate analogy."
"And now the virus is spreading, taking over his mind, making him—" She gestured at Tomás's catatonic form. "—this."
"Yes."
"And conventional treatment won't work because the cause isn't conventional."
"Correct."
Priya was quiet for a long moment. Then, with the pragmatism that Demri had come to expect from her: "What do we do?"
"There's a woman—Dr. Helena Reyes—who studies supernatural phenomena. She has equipment that can analyze Tomás's condition and potentially develop an intervention." Demri pulled out his phone. "I can call her now."
"Do it."
---
Dr. Reyes arrived within the hour, carrying a case of equipment that looked like it belonged in a science fiction film. She examined Tomás with detached professionalism, running scans, taking measurements, muttering observations into a recording device.
"The corruption is advanced," she said finally. "More advanced than I would expect from an accidental transmission. Either the curse is stronger than you described, or there's something about this subject that made him particularly susceptible."
"Can you help him?"
"Possibly. But not here. I need to take him to the Institute, where I have more sophisticated equipment." She looked at Priya. "Are you his next of kin?"
"His girlfriend."
"Close enough. I'll need you to sign some consent forms. The treatment will be unconventional, and I want documentation that you understood the risks."
Priya signed without hesitation. Within an hour, Tomás had been transported to the Institute, where Dr. Reyes and her small team of assistants began the process of extracting the corruption.
Demri watched from an observation room, feeling the weight of his responsibility with every passing moment. This was his fault. Whatever Dr. Reyes was about to do to Tomás—whatever pain or risk the treatment involved—it was all because he had not controlled himself for one crucial moment.
*Guilt is not productive*, the curse observed. *What's done is done. Focus on the future.*
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to live with this."
*On the contrary. I live with everything you live with. Your guilt is my guilt, your shame is my shame. We are more connected than you like to admit.*
The treatment took three hours.
Dr. Reyes used a combination of technological devices and what she called "liminal intervention techniques"—rituals that Demri recognized as distantly related to celestial practices, adapted for mortal use. She projected focused beams of pure-spectrum light into Tomás's chest, disrupting the corruption's hold on his soul. She chanted phrases in languages that predated human civilization. She drew symbols in the air that glowed with borrowed celestial power.
And slowly, incrementally, the darkness in Tomás began to recede.
By the time the procedure concluded, Tomás was unconscious but stable. The hollow despair had faded from his features, replaced by the peaceful expression of ordinary sleep.
"He'll recover," Dr. Reyes said, emerging from the treatment room. "The corruption has been neutralized. But he'll need monitoring for the next few weeks. Supernatural trauma leaves traces that can resurface without warning."
"How did you do that?" Demri asked. "The techniques you used—they shouldn't work for mortals."
"They shouldn't. But I've spent thirty years adapting celestial practices for human practitioners. Trial and error. Many failures. A few successes." She pulled off her gloves. "The important thing is that it worked. Your friend will be fine."
Relief flooded through Demri—relief so intense it left him lightheaded. "Thank you. I can't express—"
"Thank me by not creating more patients. Today's intervention was costly—in energy, in resources, in the personal toll it takes on my team." Dr. Reyes met his eyes. "We can do this again if necessary. But I would prefer not to make it a regular occurrence."
"Understood."
"Good. Now go home, get some rest, and return tomorrow for your next training session. The best way to prevent future crises is to develop the control techniques we discussed."
---
Demri left the Institute as the sun was setting, emotionally drained but cautiously hopeful. Tomás would recover. The damage had been repaired. And he now had tools—both from Dr. Reyes's training and from the experience itself—that might prevent similar accidents in the future.
His phone buzzed. A message from Aylin.
*We need to talk. Come home.*
Two sentences. No emotion, no context, just a directive. Demri had no idea what awaited him, but he was too exhausted to fear it.
He went home.
---
Aylin was sitting on the couch when he entered, her expression guarded but no longer hostile.
"Jade told me about Dr. Reyes," she said. "About the treatment."
"Tomás is going to be okay."
"I know. Priya called." Aylin was quiet for a moment. "I was too harsh this morning. I was scared, and I took it out on you."
"You had every right to be scared. I did something terrible."
"You did something you didn't mean to do. And then you immediately tried to fix it." She looked at him. "That's not what a monster does, Demri. Monsters don't feel guilty. Monsters don't seek help. Monsters don't care about the damage they cause."
"So what does that make me?"
"It makes you someone who's struggling. Someone carrying a burden that would break most people." She stood and crossed to him. "I'm sorry I walked out this morning. I was afraid that if I stayed, I would say something I couldn't take back."
"And now?"
"Now I've had time to think. About you, about us, about what I'm willing to accept." She took his hands. "I'm not going to pretend the risk doesn't exist. I know you might hurt someone again, despite your best efforts. But I also know that walking away from you won't make that risk go away—it'll just mean you're facing it alone."
"I don't want you to stay out of pity."
"It's not pity. It's choice." Her grip tightened. "I choose you, Demri. With all your complications, all your darkness, all the cosmic baggage you're carrying. I choose to fight beside you, not because I think I can save you, but because I think we can save each other."
The words broke something open inside him—a barrier he had not known he was maintaining. For so long, he had been bracing for abandonment, preparing for the inevitable moment when his nature would drive everyone away. But Aylin was not running. She was choosing to stay.
"I don't deserve you," he said.
"Probably not. But you're stuck with me anyway." She smiled—the first genuine smile he had seen from her all day. "Now come on. You look exhausted. Let's get you some food and then figure out our next move."
"Next move?"
"You said you learned who framed you. Some celestial named Azarion." Her smile sharpened. "I assume we're going to do something about that."
"We can't confront him directly. He's too powerful."
"Then we find another way. We build our case. We gather allies." She led him toward the kitchen. "We do what we always do—fight smart, fight together, and refuse to give up."
*She's remarkable*, the curse observed. *Stubborn to the point of irrationality. But remarkable nonetheless.*
"Yes," Demri agreed silently. "She really is."
---