Eryon sat in the corner of the chamber, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. His skin had lost its warmth, now pale as the moonlight streaming through the narrow window. His once steady heartbeat was gone, replaced by an eerie silence that echoed in his chest. The thirst clawed at him—a gnawing, insatiable hunger that turned his thoughts dark.
Seraphine stood nearby, her pacing restless. She wrung her hands, her silver eyes darting toward him with a mix of guilt and sorrow. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, almost to herself. Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the turmoil beneath her composed exterior.
Eryon glanced up at her, his amber eyes now dulled, lacking their former warmth. “What was supposed to happen?” he said, his voice raspy, edged with bitterness. “That I’d thank you for making me a monster?”
Seraphine flinched at his words. “I saved you,” she replied, though her tone lacked conviction. “There was no other way.”
Eira entered the chamber, her expression calm and calculating. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her tone sharp. “He’ll adjust. They all do. The thirst will drive him for a while, but he’ll learn to control it. Or he won’t.”
Seraphine shot Eira a glare. “Do you have to be so callous?”
Eira shrugged, her cold eyes flicking toward Eryon. “You’re the one who made this choice. Don’t act like you didn’t know the cost.” She stepped closer to Seraphine, her voice lowering to a hiss. “You’re too soft. This attachment you’ve developed—it’s a weakness.”
“He’s more than a pawn,” Seraphine snapped, turning to face Eira fully. “You think I don’t see what this is doing to him? You think I don’t care?”
Eira smirked, her words cutting. “Care? You? Let’s not rewrite history, Seraphine. He’s not your son. He’s your creation—a tool to be sharpened, not coddled.”
As their voices rose, Eryon stood abruptly, the movement unnervingly swift. “Stop,” he growled, his voice low but commanding. The air around him seemed to chill as his presence filled the room. “Arguing about what I am won’t change anything.”
Seraphine’s gaze softened as she looked at him. “Eryon, I—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone colder than ever. “You’ve already made your choice. Now I have to live with it.”
Eira watched him carefully, her lips curling into a faint smile. “You’re stronger now. Faster. The thirst will teach you discipline—if you let it.”
Eryon clenched his fists, the veins on his hands stark against his pale skin. “The thirst?” He let out a humorless laugh, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “It’s not just thirst. It’s like a part of me has been ripped away and replaced with... this.”
Seraphine stepped forward hesitantly. “You’re still you, Eryon. You’re just... more.”
“More?” he echoed, his voice rising. “More like a predator? More like a machine?” His amber eyes flicked toward Seraphine, but they carried none of the warmth they once did. “I don’t feel like me anymore.”
Eira’s expression remained impassive. “You’ll adjust. You’ve already begun.”
Seraphine turned back to Eira, her voice trembling with anger. “I won’t let you push him like this.”
Eira’s gaze sharpened. “Then you’ve already failed. If he’s to survive, he must embrace what he’s become. If you can’t handle that, step aside.”
Seraphine looked away, her heart heavy with the weight of her choices. As Eryon turned and walked toward the door, his movements unnervingly precise, she reached out but stopped short, her hand hovering uselessly in the air.
“I’ll find my own way to live with this,” Eryon said without looking back. His voice was devoid of emotion, and it sent a chill down Seraphine’s spine.
As the door closed behind him, Eira stepped closer to Seraphine, her voice low and cutting. “You’re letting your lies cloud your judgment, Seraphine. He’s not your son. Stop pretending he is.”