Damon Bloodborn’s POV

The gloomy atmosphere of the room lingered, thick and suffocating after Ariadne’s confrontation. I ran a hand through my hair, untangling the unruly curls as frustration bubbled inside me. She hadn’t just found us—she’d threatened to inform the Patriarch without sparing a moment to hear us out. The idea of pleading with the Patriarch felt ridiculous, but the unyielding seriousness in her gaze unsettled me. She wasn’t bluffing.

My thoughts raced for a solution, yet nothing came. How could I have let this happen? I’d entrusted Nora to keep Ariadne away—but that plan had failed miserably. Now, the looming specter of the Patriarch’s judgment felt inescapable. He would punish us mercilessly.

The sharp sound of glass shattering cut through my thoughts. I turned to see Kalon hurl an orb across the room, shards scattering near Proteus. The drunt cowered beneath Kalon’s fury, pleading for mercy.

“I’ll be damned if I let that girl speak!” Kalon snarled, his eyes wild. “She’s heading to the Patriarch. I can catch her. I’ll stop her from saying anything.” His voice was laced with desperation, and the reckless suggestion left me stunned.

“Stop!” I barked, narrowing my eyes at him. “You’ll only make things worse. We need a better solution.” My words were sharp, cutting through the tension. This wasn’t the time for rash decisions.

Kalon’s expression twisted in frustration. “What’s the point of excuses? The Patriarch won’t care what we say once he finds out!” He gestured to the room in exasperation. “We could just put everything back in the storage pouch and pretend none of this happened!” His voice cracked with the weight of his panic.

That was it. I couldn’t hold back any longer. Anger surged through me, and before I knew it, I had Kalon by the collar, shoving him back. Our foreheads nearly touched, and our eyes locked in a fierce clash.

“This—all of this—is on you, Kalon!” I growled through gritted teeth. “It was your idea to smuggle these corpses. You thought you could save Enoria. You dreamed of a better world. And now—look where that dream has brought us.”

“I was inspired by that dream. Confronting the Patriarch is inevitable. It’s a burden you’ll have to carry,” I hissed, my voice strained, rising into a yell. “Don’t lose your nerve now!”

Kalon’s expression faltered, his once fiery demeanor dimming as his gaze fell to the ground. The weight of my words sank in, dragging him into silence. “I know,” he muttered, his voice low and filled with resignation.

Before I could say more, an oppressive force pressed down upon us, heavy and suffocating, like the sky collapsing. We stumbled, gripping the steel table for support as it trembled beneath the crushing pressure. The door burst open with a deafening slam, and there he stood—Lord Cian—his presence like a storm embodied in flesh.

His piercing gaze swept the room, lingering on the twisted corpses of demons, a deep frown etching into his stern face. Ariadne and Nora followed silently behind him, their faces tense and pale. There was no one else.

For a moment, relief flooded through me. Master had come alone—no other elders, no public judgment. But that comfort was fleeting.

“Master—” I began, my voice trembling with forced composure, only for his thunderous voice to cut me off.

“Insolent children!” His words struck like thunder, reverberating through the room. “Do my warnings mean nothing to you? You dared to bring demons into my home—endangering everyone!”

His anger poured over us like a tidal wave, forcing us to our knees beneath the unbearable weight of his power. It felt like gravity itself had turned against us.

“Who is responsible for this?” His voice was cold and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“I am.”

I turned, stunned, as Kalon stepped forward. His voice was calm, resolute, unyielding. “Damon and Proteus had nothing to do with it. I captured these demons. It was my idea.”

I froze, disbelief washing over me like ice water. Kalon was taking the fall. Guilt churned in my chest, threatening to spill from my mouth. I couldn’t let him do this.

But then Kalon shot me a sharp glance—a warning. Stay silent.

“Damon,” the Patriarch's voice rumbled. “Do you agree with his words?”

Master’s gaze bored into me, heavy with disappointment. He saw through the lie with ease. To him, we were open books—every fear, every regret, every truth laid bare.

A dense mass of blood coalesced in Master’s hand, dark and heavy, like a storm contained in his palm. His arm moved in a smooth, deliberate arc—a backhanded slap. It wasn’t particularly fast, but the sheer force behind it resonated through the air like a thunderclap. The impact exploded with a deafening boom.

The blow struck Kalon squarely, sending him hurtling across the room. He crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, crumpling to the floor like a broken marionette.

Master advanced toward him slowly, each step deliberate and unyielding. His hand, still clenched into a fist.

“Playing savior will not end well for you, Kalon,” Master said, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.

My breath hitched as I dared a glance at Kalon, desperately hoping to find the spark of defiance in his gaze—the determination I had always admired.

‘Please, get up’ I thought.

Then, slowly, his head lifted. Blood trickled down from a gash on his forehead, tracing crimson lines over his dark face. His eyes opened, clouded with pain but still brimming with that unyielding resolve.

Master gave him a cold, unreadable look before glancing over his shoulder, pinning me with a stare so sharp it made my heart stutter.

“Leave,” he commanded.

The door slammed shut behind me, leaving me outside in the dim corridor with Nora, Ariadne, and Proteus. Proteus crumpled to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

Nora stepped toward me, her eyes soft with sympathy. She reached out as if to comfort me, but I shrugged her off, too tense, too angry to be consoled.

Ariadne let out a deep sigh, her disapproval plain in her expression. “You two shouldn’t have done that.”

Ignoring her, I straightened up, steeling myself. "Follow me. You’ll see the reason for yourselves."

I led them away from the dungeon, deeper into the heart of the citadel, where the corridors grew narrower and darker. We were heading to the Inner Circle—the hub of the citadel’s most skilled healers.

The Inner Circle wasn’t a place just anyone could access. Only a handful of Lamians with profound mastery over healing magic were permitted to enter, each recognized personally by the Patriarch. Kalon and I had earned that privilege, working closely with the elders on delicate matters.

The air here was thick with the weight of mana—potent, ancient, and precise. This was where the most dangerous healing rituals were performed, where wounds that bordered on fatal were mended... and where secrets were buried.

We reached the entrance, where two guards stood at attention. They gave me a curt nod, recognizing me immediately. But their gazes flicked to Nora and Ariadne with suspicion.

“These two aren’t allowed in,” one guard said flatly.

I gave a tight smile. “They’re with me.”

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, weary of my actions.

Igor’s broad figure stood in stark contrast to the solemn atmosphere of the Inner Circle. His casual demeanor didn’t quite fit the tension in the air. “Damon,” he called out with a sharp smile, though his gaze flickered with unease. “I see you’ve come to visit.” His eyes shifted toward Nora and Ariadne, his lips curving slightly as he leaned in closer. “What are they doing here? Is it okay for them to pass?”

I met his gaze, keeping my expression neutral. “One just achieved high-level healer status,” I said, tilting my head toward Nora. “The other… let’s just say she’s an acquaintance of the Patriarch.”

Igor smile faltered for a moment before he gave a slow nod. “I see.” With a wave of his hand, the guards stepped aside, and the massive doors creaked open, revealing the sight that never failed to unsettle me.

As I led them inside, the real question lingered in my mind: Would they understand why we had done what we did? Or would they only see the unforgivable sin in our actions?

The grand hall stretched out like a silent battlefield, divided into smaller units filled with nursing beds. Each bed held a patient—a grim reminder of the toll that ‘mana-shift’ had taken. I spotted a young dryad lying near the entrance, his once-vibrant hair now brittle and dull, like a tree in the throes of winter. A thin branch jutted from the side of his head, gnarled and twisted as if struggling to remain alive. His right arm, a mass of interwoven roots and sprouting plants, gave the eerie impression of a body caught between life and decay.

Beside him lay a small girl, her skin a pallid grey, the color of lifeless stone. One of her eyes was obscured by a makeshift patch—a thin sheet of metal riveted to her face. The way it fused into her flesh suggested it had been done out of necessity, not cruelty.

They were far from the only ones. Celestials filled the hall, each twisted in strange, grotesque ways, their bodies scarred by the aftermath of mana-shift. Some bore wings that had withered into skeletal remnants, while others had horns that curled unnaturally, growing through their skin like invasive vines. They were the lucky ones—the ones who hadn’t fully succumbed to demonization.

I glanced back just in time to see the look of pure shock on Nora and Ariadne’s faces. Nora’s lips quivered, and her eyes were wide with disbelief. It was her first time here, her first time witnessing the price paid by Celestials who had survived the shift but not without consequence.

Ariadne’s hands trembled uncontrollably. Tears welled in her eyes, but she stubbornly held them back, her mouth pressed into a thin line. The emotions in her gaze flickered between horror, sorrow, and disbelief.

“What… what is this?” Nora whispered, her voice barely audible over the stillness of the hall.

I folded my arms across my chest, exhaling slowly. “These people—” I began, but the weight of it all settled in, making it hard to finish.

Ariadne’s breath hitched, and her fists clenched tightly at her sides. “These are… Celestials?” she whispered, her voice trembling as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

I nodded grimly. “They survived the mana shift.”

Her lips parted in disbelief as she took a step closer, staring at the broken beings that once resembled the perfect image of Celestial grace. The shift hadn't killed them, but it had left them trapped in this strange limbo—part beast, part demon, part Celestial.

The room was thick with a mixture of pity and guilt, emotions I tried to suppress every time I visited. This place was a reminder of everything Kalon and I had fought for—and everything we had failed to prevent.

“How… how did this happen?” Nora asked, her voice quaking with emotion.

I ran a hand over my face, exhaustion weighing heavily on me. “When the shift happened, the ambient mana changed so suddenly it warped their bodies.” I gestured toward the dryad’s gnarled arm and the little girl’s patchwork eye. “They were caught mid-transition. Their forms tried to adapt, but not fast enough.”

Ariadne’s fists tightened, her knuckles white. “And you’re telling me this—this abomination is what you were trying to save?” Her voice cracked under the weight of anger and despair. “This is the reason you dragged demons into the citadel?”

I met her gaze without flinching. “Yes.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Ariadne’s tears threatened to fall, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She looked at me with a mixture of betrayal and understanding—a bitter realization that there were no easy answers.

“This is why,” I whispered, my voice heavy. “This is what we’re fighting to fix.”

For a moment, no one said anything. The truth hung in the air like a storm cloud, impossible to ignore. The horrors of the mana-shift, the desperation that had driven Kalon and me to break the rules, and the quiet plea for understanding—it was all laid bare before them.

Nora hugged herself tightly, as if trying to ward off the cold reality of it all. Ariadne simply stood still, her breath shaky, as if struggling to process everything she had seen.

Finally, Ariadne broke the silence. “And what now?” she whispered. “What are you going to do about it?”

Her words hit me harder than any slap or reprimand. Because the truth was, I didn’t know.

“These are the victims of the mana shift,” I said quietly, my voice heavy with the weight of the truth. “They barely survived, but the shift’s effects linger. Their flesh is twisted, corrupted beyond what we know. Even blood magic cannot restore them.”

I paused, watching Nora and Ariadne take in the horrifying reality. “This is Kalon’s reason,” I continued, “for indulging in the forbidden. To save the infected across Enoria. To bring change—even if it means defying the laws we’ve followed our entire lives.”

The two approached the beds cautiously, hesitant but unable to look away. Their eyes were glassy with tears, their faces a mixture of sorrow and disbelief.

Nora reached out, her hand trembling as her fingertips brushed the twisted bark-like skin of the dryad boy. A small gasp escaped her lips, as if she could feel the suffering etched into his withered form.

Ariadne, on the other hand, stopped by the young girl’s side. Her breath hitched when she saw the metal sheet fused over the child’s face, covering what was once a bright, Celestial eye. Slowly, Ariadne placed her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. But it was no use.

“How could this have happened…?” Nora whispered, her voice fragile, as if speaking too loudly would shatter her.

I gave a bitter smile, though there was no humor in it. “That’s the question we’ve been asking ourselves since it began. None of us could predict the shift, nor the devastation it left behind.”

Ariadne wiped at her wet, swollen eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming.

“We didn’t do it for glory or power. We did it because no one else was willing to act.” My voice dropped lower. “The Patriarch forbade us from finding answers, but we couldn’t stand by while people were left like this—stuck between life and death, between mortal and demon.”

For a moment, the only sound in the grand hall was the shallow breaths of the patients lying in the beds.

Ariadne sniffed, trying to compose herself. “And you believe this will help? The demons… that they’re the key to fixing this?”

I met her gaze, unflinching. “We don’t know yet. But we have to try.”

Nora closed her eyes, her expression a mixture of grief and reluctant understanding. “You should’ve told us sooner,” she whispered.

Ariadne placed a hand on the child’s shoulder, her touch as light as a breeze. “This…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It isn’t just your burden to carry, Damon.”

I looked at both of them, their swollen eyes, their shared sorrow. For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe—just maybe—they wouldn’t condemn us after all.