Last Born Of The Desdemona Chapter 92: A sense of enough

Chapter 92 – A sense of enough

"Big sister, I hope you are aware of the enormous risk I am taking because of you." Dorian said, holding his phone against his ear, standing at the top room of his Bliss’s House, watching Tuesday slowly co to an end, the night spreading over everything.

"I know well." Morgan’s voice bood through the phone, gentle yet firm, landing in his ear as if teleported directly inside his head. "But you are the only one who can help with this, Dorian. My First Shadow Manifestation is far too weak for to even think about attempting a rank-up to Tier Four."

At the end, her voice went wry.

Dorian sighed under his breath, his strange yet srising crimson pulsing eyes glowing even in the darkness of his room.

"Why are you in such a hurry, big sister?" He asked. "You reached Third Rank at your age and even hit the very limit of it. Why not relax, enjoy life, clear your head, and wait until everything settles before stepping higher?"

"And how should I enjoy life?" Morgan snickered. "By letting myself be fucked like you?"

"You know, sister," Dorian’s lips twitched, clearly annoyed, "I will not accept slander on my na while I am risking my entire business for you. I am gaining nothing out of any of this."

"Just shut up." Morgan replied, not caring, knowing full well Dorian would never abandon her. "I will enjoy life when I am strong enough to do so."

"Humour , sister, and define what strong enough ans to you."

Morgan didn’t answer imdiately. She fell silent abruptly. It felt as if, all this ti, she had never quite thought about that question, only holding within her a vague, unexamined sense of what strong enough ant.

That was why, even through the phone, Dorian could hear the gears in his sister’s head working furiously to produce an answer.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "This has always been your problem." He said, shaking his head, looking out at the city below his window. "Since we were young, Morgan...since we were young, you have never had sothing quite crucial for living happily in this world."

"And what is that?" Her voice was harsh and annoyed.

"A sense of enough." Dorian said, simply and imdiately. "You always want more. Always and always. Could you not, sotis, try to be satisfied with what you have? Otherwise, I assure you, Morgan, you will do sothing purely for more, without thinking it through enough, and you will end up regretting it deeply. And as you know, regret is—"

"—immortal." She finished. "I know. But Dorian, little brother, are you pointing your finger at while forgetting yourself?"

Her voice dropped. "All your brothels, your casinos, your inns that serve as covers, your shady dealings with assassins and even with my Servants of Shadow...and don’t even make start on how you use your body. I don’t care, it’s yours. But all of that is for what, exactly?"

She didn’t wait for an answer.

"It’s for you to expand — and I am only quoting you — your empire. So tell now, what is the difference between you and I?"

"The difference, big sister, is that I do not risk what I have and need for sothing I don’t have and don’t need." Dorian said plainly, causing Morgan to frown audibly through the phone. "And I know when to stop. I know my goal. I know when to be satisfied with my progress and take a rest to let my mind catch up. You know none of that. You only seek strength after strength after strength. I am not saying that is inherently bad, but sister..."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"...this world has more to offer than getting strong like mindless animals." He scoffed. "Vorn’s breath, even those monsters stop being only that after reaching Tier Four."

"And all the things you speak of can only be obtained and protected through strength." Morgan countered imdiately, stubbornly.

"So now, brother, let’s stop this useless talk and tell what I want to know."

The second born of the Desdemona shook his head wryly and fell silent. Once again, his big sister refused to hear him.

’Ah well. Nothing new. As the firstborn of our family, strength was the first thing you ever knew. The first thing father and mother taught you.’

Dorian couldn’t bla them.

They had been new parents, learning and doing their best, and had believed that making their firstborn strong was the most important thing they could do for her in this cold world.

They weren’t entirely wrong. But now Morgan had grown up with nothing but the goal of getting stronger and protecting them all.

A noble goal, but one that didn’t match Morgan’s reckless approach, which could doom her at any mont.

’I don’t need protection, idiot sister.’ Dorian thought, sighing. ’I am not helpless. I am Dorian of Desdemona. The twins are fine by themselves, those two will never die as long as they are together. And Cassius... ah, my pookie will be fine. Better than all of us, even. You know his Aspect. You know his special birth. Damn you, Morgan, why do you insist on carrying a burden no one ever asked you to take up?’

It was frustrating. But it was Morgan. And knowing this about her was the only reason he was helping her at all, because he feared what reckless nonsense she would do without him watching over things.

’They say I am the most problematic one in the family. What a damned lie.’ He thought at last, irritated, before finally replying.

"I have already selected the girls who will be chosen for the Selection for the Royal Event." He said.

"Nothing’s gone wrong yet?"

"Nothing." Dorian said. "And I hope it stays that way."

"As do I."

"However, sister," Dorian said, his tone hardening, "I can only help you create enough disturbance to buy you ti. Everything else is on you. Don’t get caught."

He heard Morgan smile through the phone. "I won’t, little brother."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "I don’t believe you, but I will trust you anyway. Now goodbye. Talking to you hurts my fucking head."

"I love you too." Morgan said with a short laugh. "Though I love Cass more than you."

"That’s mutual. I love even a single strand of my pookie’s hair more than you, sister."

"You fucking—!"

BIIIPPP!

Dorian hung up, grinning mockingly at his phone, already picturing Morgan raging on the other end.

He shook his head, stored the phone in his trouser pocket, and looked back at the lively night below.

He closed his eyes and exhaled.

"I will need a break after this event." He decided, already hoping Saturday would co fast so that everything would be over.

...

Cassius’s ti in the palace passed quickly.

After Tuesday — which he had spent entirely with his grandmother, getting to know her better and building a genuine bond with her — nothing truly interesting had happened.

He had tried to speak with Esray, who had found him and Morenna laughing together and seed to take an imdiate, instinctive dislike to him.

She hadn’t spoken a word to him, looking at him as if he were unworthy of her attention.

Instead, the Princess busied herself giving orders about the Selections of servants and entertainers who would attend the Event and add life to it.

Cassius could only smile wryly at the dismissal. Morenna sighed in regret, clearly aware of the reason behind it.

Beyond that, Cassius had also crossed paths with Anesthesia quite a few tis — she was now strangely permanently attached to Raven’s side — but had never found a good opportunity to rile her up.

Not only because Anesthesia herself had now learned her lesson, but because Raven’s red eyes tracking him said more than enough about where he stood. And Sarah was always trailing behind the two like a shadow.

That last part was the interesting thing.

Sarah now always looked at him, as if trying to say sothing she couldn’t quite bring herself to say aloud.

Cassius already knew what it was. She had even told Océane she wanted to et him sooner.

He had refused. He had said Friday for a reason: he needed her to be steadier in whatever decision she had made.

And just like that, Tuesday and Wednesday passed.

Thursday had co. And Cassius was ready for his eting with the youngest daughter of the Wealth family.

The eting with adow Wealth herself.

—End of Chapter 92—