The barracks were quiet now, something I hadn’t had in a while. It was strange, really, lying there in the dim light, hearing nothing but the soft whistle of birds outside. It would have been peaceful under different circumstances. I shifted on my cot, the frame creaking beneath me. The room, usually filled with the sounds of Mongrels moving about, was empty now. Only Cyrus remained, his steady breathing filling the silence as he slept in the cot beside mine. 

I reached down to the bag next to me and fumbled for the small mirror I’d found, half-buried in the dirt during one of our training sessions. It was scratched, but clear enough to see what I needed to. It had been a while since I looked at my own reflection.

Cyrus would never be honest about how bad I looked, so I had to see the damage for myself.

I held the mirror up and my breath caught in my throat at the sight. It was worse than I thought. Cy had been using his ability to heal me faster, but I could still see where damage had been done.

There was a bruise on my left cheek from where the King slapped me, my right cheek was still red and throbbing from the burn of the brand– and there was a gash on my forehead, presumably from when I smacked my head against the King’s marble floor. 

I looked like hell.

I stared at my reflection for a long time, my eyes tracing the lines of the demonic brand under my red eye. The contrast between it and the angelic brand on my left cheek, beneath my silver eye, felt like a cruel joke. 

The brands felt heavier than just scars– they were reminders, burning marks that set me apart. It reflected the chaos within me, the battle between not just angel and demon blood– but my thoughts and Kako’s. I was trapped between two different worlds that I didn’t want to be a part of. While the King never knew about my possession, he certainly gave me something that reminded me of it. And, just like I’d never be rid of these brands, I’d never escape the King.

I didn’t want to keep looking, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The brands, the bruises, the marks– each one a constant reminder that I was nothing more than a pawn in this twisted game. And now, Cy would be tied to me through that same fate. I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of it all settle heavily on my chest. Then, suddenly, the creak of the door interrupted my thoughts.

I quickly put the mirror back in my bag as little Miriam shuffled into the room, her head bowed as she approached, her hands clutching a stack of uniforms. Despite her blindness, she moved with a quiet surety, her steps careful but certain.

“S-spearhead Vermisial,” she stammered, her voice small. She didn’t look up as she neared the cot, her fingers trembling. “L-lieutenant Vexe has asked me to bring you new uniforms. He said the King ordered these ones to be s-specially made for you.”

As she held them up, I noticed why. Unlike the others, the uniforms weren’t just black or white. They were both, split straight down the middle– black on the right side, white on the left. 

“I didn’t realize the King was so into fashion,” I sarcastically muttered as I reached for the clothes.

Miriam handed them to me, her hands shaking slightly. “S-Spearhead Verm-”

“Stop calling me that,” I interrupted her. She winced at my tone and I instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry,” I said softer. “I only meant that ‘Noemi’ is fine. None of that ‘Spearhead’ stuff, okay?”

She nodded quickly, her pale, pupil-less eyes never quite meeting mine. “N-Noemi,” she whispered, as if trying it out. “I-I’m really sorry about… about the vision. I didn’t mean for them to hurt you. I should have been m-more careful.”

I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t blamed Miriam– not really. How could I? She was just a child, blind in more ways than one.

“It’s not your fault, Miriam,” I finally said. “You didn’t know. Even so– it’s too late for that now.”

Miriam hesitated before sitting on the edge of my cot, her small frame dwarfed by the oversized uniform she wore. “C-can I ask you something?” 

I felt my muscles tighten. I wasn’t in the mood for talking, not about what happened. Not about anything, really. But, her voice was so timid, so full of concern, that I couldn’t bring myself to shut her out.

“Go ahead,” I muttered.

“W-what did the King d-d-do to you?” she asked.

Her question caught me off guard. My cheeks grew hot and I slowly pulled my legs into my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I rested my chin on my knees. My hair fell forward, hiding my face, but it couldn’t hide the shame burning in my chest. How could I explain it without falling apart? I pulled my legs in further, willing to make myself smaller. I couldn’t meet her eyes, even though she couldn’t see me. 

“He…” my voice cracked. “He took away an ability of mine,” I finally whispered, the words bitter on my tongue.

She stayed silent for a moment, only the soft sounds of our breathing filling the room. 

“S-so you can’t fight anymore?” Miram asked, hesitantly.

I can’t take this conversation anymore.

Just as I was about to tell her to drop it, a voice broke through the tension. “Miriam, what’s going on?” Cy’s voice was thick with sleep, but it still held that steady warmth that always soothed me.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. My grip on my legs tightened, and I buried my face deeper, hoping to disappear.

“I-I was just br-bringing Noemi her new uniforms,” Miriam said quickly, clearly nervous. “B-by order of Lieutenant Vexe.”

I peeked at Cyrus through my silver eyelashes as he sat up, rubbing a hand through his mess of curls. He glanced at the new uniforms, then at me. “New uniforms? Why?”

“They’re black and white, now,” I muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched me. I could feel his eyes on me, burning with the weight of his concern, and it only made me feel worse.

He is only going to marry me out of duty. He doesn’t want a broken wife.

I could feel the walls closing in, the weight of everything crushing me. I wasn’t just broken. I was a burden and a curse. I had both bloodlines, a demon inside of me, and now– I couldn’t perform the one thing he probably wanted out of this marriage: children. 

“I don’t have any p-parents,” Miriam said randomly, her small voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. She was looking past Cyrus now, her head tilted. “Do you?”

Cyrus nodded, his expression softening. “Yea. My dad’s still around. My mom… she died when I was young.”

I felt a pang in my chest at his words. Cy never liked talking about his mother. She died giving birth to his sister, who hadn’t survived either. Cyrus always blamed himself for not knowing how to use his ability to heal them, even though he was just a boy then. That's what forced him to get stronger. After his mom and sister died, he trained every day, silently going house to house asking if any Mongrels needed a healer. He was well known in the Mongrel district due to his generosity, but it also got him in a lot of trouble. 

That’s how he learned he couldn’t heal himself.

“What about you, N-Noemi?” Miriam asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

“No,” I whispered. “I don’t have either.”

Cyrus’s gaze flickered to me, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You have my dad, Noemi.”

I shrugged, avoiding his eyes. I didn’t want to be comforted right now. I wanted to sink into my bed and wallow in self pity over the last few days. Hell, I wanted to wallow about my entire life thus far.
Sensing my need for space, Cyrus gently nudged Miriam. “Why don’t you grab us some extra blankets, huh? Maybe some water too.”

Miriam nodded, eager to help, and scurried out of the room. The silence that followed felt heavy with the words we weren’t willing to say.

When she was gone, Cyrus walked over and sat beside me on the cot, his presence comforting but overwhelming at the same time.

“Nemmi,” he whispered. “What can I do? Are you in any pain or would you like anything? Just tell me what you need.”

“No,” I replied, my throat tight. I just wanted to sleep. I want to sleep for a long time.

His fingers brushed against my jawline, soft and warm. “Nemmi,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

I reluctantly lifted my gaze to meet his, unable to hold it for long. I looked away, the shame creeping back in.

I know I told him not to get involved when I was being forced away to the King, but maybe… deep down I wish he had. I wish that he would have stepped in and done something. 

But I know there was nothing he could have done that wouldn’t have gotten him hurt as well. 

And, I told him not to do anything.

But, why does he listen to me!?

“Nemmi, I’m here for you,” he whispered, his hand resting against my cheek, and his thumb still stroking my skin. His face was so close to mine, making me feel uneasy with the lack of space. “You know that, right?”

I peeled my gaze from him once again and looked to my left. I wasn’t staring at anything particular, just avoiding having to stare at him. 

“Maybe,” I started, feeling pain flood my throat from what I was about to say. “When we are finally free of the King… you don’t have to be with me anymore. You can walk away from the marriage, Cy.”

His hand froze, his breath catching. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m broken, Cy. I can’t give you–”

“Stop,” he interrupted. “I’m not against marrying you, I’ve told you that. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

“You don’t have to be nice just to make me feel better. I don’t want to hinder you from ever having a family,” I replied sternly. “After we are free, you won’t have to be there anymore. Consider our marriage void, and you and I will still remain friends, obviously.” 

Cyrus stared at me, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “You really think that’s what this is about?” His voice cracked, but he quickly composed himself. “You think that's the only thing I care about?”

His hand dropped from my face, the distance between us growing. Suddenly, he stood up and took a step back, running a hand through his curls in frustration. “You know, you don’t have to keep pushing me away, Nemmi. But, if that’s what you want, I won’t fight you.”

His voice sounded hurt, and for a moment I’d regretted everything I’d just said.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry we are having to do this in the first place, Cy,” I croaked.

Cyrus turned, his back rigid and his voice dropped. “Don’t be,” he said. He didn’t look back as he walked toward the door. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”

I watched him leave, his footsteps fading down the hall, and something inside of me cracked. I had pushed him away– probably for good this time. The silence that followed was unbearable, and I instantly realized I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I should have said something, should have stopped him… but instead, I sank further into the bed, letting the darkness creep in.