Chapter 466: Elin’s pain and cries
After Elin finished administering the first treatnt to Ariah’s curse, Nathan noticed a faint but undeniable change. The tension that had been etched deep into Ariah’s features seed to loosen, as though the invisible claws of the curse had retracted just enough to grant her a breath of relief. The pain was still there—Nathan could see it in the slight tremor of her hands, in the shadow of strain lingering in her eyes—but with Odin’s Eye, he saw more.
The dark threads of the curse that had been woven through her essence had thinned, retreated ever so slightly. It wasn’t victory, but it was progress. And progress, in cases like these, was as precious as gold.
“Take care of her,” Nathan said to Auria, his voice carrying a quiet but firm authority.
Auria nodded, a flash of determination in her gaze.
Nathan then left with Servilia.
Elin followed behind them, but Nathan quickly realized how much of herself she had poured into the healing.
Her usual composure seed faded. Her skin was pale, her breath slightly uneven. Every step looked heavier than the last, as though she was dragging herself through molasses.
The curse had taken its toll not only on Ariah, but on her healer as well.
Elin’s knees wavered, her body tilting forward. Before she could crumple, Nathan stepped in, his hands closing firmly around her shoulders. His grip was solid, a grounding force against her sudden weakness.
“I… I feel tired,” she whispered, her voice fragile, her eyelids heavy.
“You’ve done enough,” Nathan said, his tone softer now. Without another word, he swept her up—this ti not over his shoulder like he often did, but cradled her in his arms, holding her as one might hold sothing irreplaceably precious.
Elin’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected gesture, and a flush of crimson spread across her cheeks.
“E… m… ummm…” she stamred, her voice trembling with an unspoken emotion.
She didn’t dare et his eyes. Her fingers clutched lightly at his cloak, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. The strength of his arms enveloped her, not in a suffocating way, but in one that made her feel… safe. Safer than she had felt in a long ti.
“You’re leaving?” Servilia’s voice broke the mont, though her tone betrayed that she already knew the answer. The question sounded foolish even to her own ears, but she couldn’t help herself.
Perhaps it was because she hated the silence of her grand estate since her son was gone. And Nathan was filling that small hole it seems. For all its sprawling marble halls, lavish Roman décor, and immaculately kept gardens, the place always felt… empty.
“I am,” Nathan replied simply. He turned to leave, but paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. Wait for here.”
Then he was gone, striding out without hesitation.
Servilia found herself pressing a hand against her chest. She didn’t know why his words made her heart feel lighter. He hadn’t ant anything intimate by them, she was sure. But still, for him to tell her to wait—to promise that he would return—felt unexpectedly comforting. He hadn’t needed to say it. Yet he had.
For that, she was grateful.
Above the city, Nathan flew through the cool night air, Ro stretching beneath him like a sleeping beast. The streets glimred faintly in the moonlight, the shadows of its countless buildings reaching long and thin. In his arms, Elin rested against him, her weight slight but steady, her breath brushing faintly against his chest.
He was taking her back to her quarters so she could recover.
Elin tilted her head upward, her gaze drifting toward the night sky. The stars were clear tonight, and the moon cast a soft silver glow. Sothing about the sight stirred a deep, aching nostalgia within her.
“…Septimius,” she murmured.
Nathan glanced down at her. “What?”
“What’s your true na? The one from Earth?” she asked, her voice quiet but carrying an edge of longing.
He studied her for a mont, catching the glisten of moisture in her eyes.
“Nathan,” he answered, his voice low but honest.
“Nathan…” she repeated softly, as if testing the sound. “Do you miss Earth?”
The question caught him off guard. He considered it in silence for a few breaths.
“I don’t know,” he admitted at last. It wasn’t entirely untrue. He had grown accustod to this brutal, war-stained world, and the thought of returning to a peaceful Earth felt… distant. He tried to imagine himself there again, but the image felt incomplete without Khione, without the won who had stood by him here.
“I… do miss Earth,” Elin whispered suddenly, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly. “I miss my mother and my father. I miss my sister. I miss Sweden. I miss… everything.” Her voice broke, and she bowed her head, the tears falling more freely now.
Nathan looked down at her, unsure what he should say.
It had been two years since they’d been torn from their ho and thrown into this world of cruelty. Two years of blood, fear, and struggle. Of course she missed the place they ca from. In her position, anyone would.
And for the first ti in a long while, Nathan realized… maybe a part of him did too.
For Nathan, the thought of Earth was less about people and more about peace.He wouldn’t say he missed his father—not in the way Elin longed for her family. What he yearned for, if anything, was the quiet life Earth offered. A place where skies weren’t always shadowed by war, where nights weren’t disturbed by the sll of blood or the threat of an ambush.
For Elin, it was entirely different.
She still had sothing pure to return to—a mother who loved her without condition, a father who would cross oceans for her, and a younger sister who adored her. That kind of bond made this exile so much harder to bear. To be ripped from all of that in an instant, without a chance to say goodbye… it left wounds that no magic could heal.
If two years had passed back on Earth as well, then to them, she was gone forever. Dead, lost in so unthinkable accident they could never understand. Her family must have been heartbroken, carrying her mory like an open wound.
She wanted nothing more than to go back, to return to the warmth of their embrace. But the cruel truth was that the path ho was unknown. No one—not even the wisest mage nor the most ancient god—truly knew how to open the way back.
“Once I find a way back,” Nathan said after a long pause, “I’ll tell you.”
Elin’s eyes widened, shimring in the moonlight. She tilted her head up toward him, hope glimring in her expression. “R… really?”
“Yes,” Nathan replied, but his voice grew firm, “but only after you heal Ariah.”
Elin puffed her cheeks in mild protest. “I’ll heal her regardless.”
“Whatever,” Nathan said with a faint smirk. “Just make sure you don’t tell anyone my na. Keep it secret.”
“I won’t,” she promised quickly. Then, after a hesitant breath, she added in a softer tone, “But… when I’m alone with you… I can call you Nathan, right?”
Nathan gave her a strange look, his brow lifting slightly.
The realization of how her words sounded hit Elin all at once, and her face flared red. “I…I just an… like now, when it’s just us!” she blurted, fumbling over her own voice.
“For what reason?” Nathan asked, his tone dry. “Just call Septimius until Caesar is no longer in power.”
Elin’s pout deepened, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she looked at him with a more serious gaze. “Are you… going to kill him?”
“No,” Nathan replied coldly. “I’ll do sothing worse.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Elin didn’t ask.
Instead, Nathan shifted the conversation. “Did you do what I asked?”
Elin’s expression dimd. “Freja is preparing herself… but I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?” Nathan pressed.
“I don’t want Freja to be hurt.”
“She needs to get hurt if she wants to survive—and for everyone else to survive. I’ve already told you both that,” Nathan said, his voice firm but not unkind.
“I… I know,” Elin murmured, “but I’m still scared sothing will happen to her.”
Nathan understood easily. If sothing happened to Freja—Elin’s greatest source of comfort, almost like an older sister—Elin would crumble. Losing her might break Elin entirely, sending her into a spiral of grief she might never escape.
“Nothing will happen,” Nathan assured her as he landed softly on the marble terrace of the Senate Castle. With silent steps, he made his way through its dim corridors toward the upper floors to the quarters reserved for the Amun-Ra Heroes.
Elin’s grip on him tightened. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m here,” Nathan said.
He wasn’t about to let a handful of overconfident Heroes get in his way. He had encouraged Freja to stand up to her troubleso classmates partly for her own growth—and partly to avoid having to deal with them himself. Killing Cleopatra’s Heroes outright was out of the question; he loved Cleopatra, and he wanted her to have strong, capable allies.
But if Freja’s life was truly at risk, he would step in without hesitation.
To Nathan, both Freja and Elin were invaluable. They would be key to strengthening Cleopatra’s position once they returned to Alexandria.
Elin didn’t respond, but Nathan could feel the tension in her slowly easing.
When they reached her chambers, he lowered her gently onto her bed. Freja, sleeping deeply didn’t stir.
Nathan turned to leave, but before he could vanish into the shadows, Elin’s voice stopped him.
“…Thank you, Nathan.”
He didn’t answer before he stepped into the night.
User Comments
0 comments from readers