Ch. 85 – I Came for You

Rhys stood frozen in the entryway of his own home, the heavy silence in the living room pressing down on him like an physical weight. But behind the mental exhaustion, his tactical instincts honed over years as Omen kicked in instantly. The mask clicked firmly into place. He let his expression shift to show just the right blend of tired concern and bewildered confusion—the exact look a devoted house husband returning late from a weird errand ought to have.

It made sense for Lira to be here; it was her house, after all. And Rhys could piece together why Durin was sitting at the table looking utterly crushed. The dwarf was likely back from earlier in the day, bitter and frantic because the "rare, medicinal" tea Rhys had given him to soothe Rhea had turned out to be completely useless.

What truly made Rhys’s stomach drop, however, was Marcus. Standing near the kitchen, Rhys’s brother-in-arms looked ghastly—noticeably thinner, hollow-cheeked, and pale, almost like a wraith compared to the vibrant hero Rhys had seen just days ago.

And then there was Vespera.

Sitting comfortably in the armchair, swirling her wine glass with her leopard-spotted tail swaying in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, she looked like she had been having the absolute time of her life while Rhys was away. Her slitted amber eyes met Rhys’s the second he took in the scene, her lips curling into a wicked, knowing grin as if she could read every single private, furious thought running through his mind. From the dark satisfaction in her gaze, Rhys knew instantly that she hadn't just dropped by—she had come specifically to play with him.

And Marcus was clearly paying the price for it, reduced to a hollow, drained shell. What the hell has she been doing to you, man? Rhys thought, a sharp pang of sympathy for his oblivious friend cutting through his own fatigue.

Marcus, completely unaware of how haggard he looked, chimed in first, his voice weak. "Rhys... man, you need to go help like you did last time. It seems Rhea really needs you specifically to heal her..."

That’s the clueless fool I know, Rhys thought bitterly to himself. Aloud, Rhys kept his posture relaxed and spoke coolly. "Surely she needs better help than me, Marcus. Professional help." Like a psychiatric ward, he added mentally.

Durin slammed his fists on the table, his dwarf stubbornness flaring through his grief. "No! You fixed her before, Rhys! You can do it again!" Durin’s voice cracked, tears brimming in his eyes. "She’s worse than before. She won't eat, she's throwing up... she's fading, Rhys!"

Rhys didn't outwardly react, but a localized pulse of kinetic air rippled invisibly around his boots.

Lira misread the shift entirely. Seeing the dark, lethal edge creeping into Rhys’s eyes, she assumed he was reaching his absolute limit after struggling all night with Shula’s demanding "donor" contract. She looked at him with gentle, fiercely supportive eyes, stepping forward to pat his arm.

"It's okay, honey," Lira said softly, offering him an understanding smile. "I know you're exhausted, but go help Durin. I'll stay up a little longer and wait for you to come to bed."

Rhys almost wanted to laugh at the tragedy of it all. She doesn't understand a single thing. Little did his wife know, he hadn't just been negotiating a contract—he had just survived a sensory war against an army of Ifrit clones and a ravenous fallen angel, only to be tossed straight back into another honey trap that Lira herself was unwittingly encouraging him to enter.

As Rhys’s mind raced, desperately searching for a way to untangle himself from this growing lie without blowing everything up, Vespera saw her moment to strike.

"Oh, come now, Rhys," Vespera purred from her armchair, her voice smooth as silk as she tilted her head. "You're practically obliged to go after the miracle you worked the first time. And surely... a real MAN wouldn't leave a poor, defenseless woman in distress."

She didn't need to speak the final words out loud, but Rhys heard the silent projection as clearly as a shout: Right, Omen?

Rhys’s skin crawled, his kinetic core flaring violently in his chest. Even Lira flinched slightly, taken aback by the sudden, terrifying flash of fury on her husband's face. But Rhys caught himself, taking a long, slow breath to force the thermal flare back down.

He couldn't handle the endless, suffocating chatter anymore. The "bite" of his dark alter-ego took the wheel entirely, tightening his civilian mask like a vise.

Without a word, Rhys walked past them into the kitchen, poured himself a long glass of cold tap water, and drank it down in one draft—his first drop of nourishment all day. He walked back into the living room, looking directly at the grieving dwarf.

"Lead the way, Durin," Rhys commanded flatly.

Before they could move, Vespera gracefully glided up from her armchair. "I believe I'll tag along as well," she announced smoothly, adjusting her tailored collar.

Rhys wasn't the only one who looked rightfully bewildered. Marcus stepped forward, his puppy-dog eyes filled with hurt and concern. "Vespera? Why do you need to go too?"

Vespera didn't even bother looking Marcus in the eye. "Drastic situations in the neighborhood can be terribly inconvenient for my property values, darling," she dismissed coldly. Then, her slitted amber eyes locked onto Rhys with a cruel glint. "And god forbid someone actually dies in one of my housing units."

The tension in the living room turned suffocatingly thick. Rhys exercised every ounce of self-control not to roll his eyes into the back of his head. He simply turned and walked out the front door into the cool night air, with Durin hurrying after him and Vespera trailing closely behind like a lingering predator. Behind them, Marcus and Lira stood in the doorway, looking like two confused survivors left behind in the wreckage.

The short walk to Rhea and Durin’s house was done in total silence. Rhys had walked into their home before—last time, it had been a bright, warm, welcoming suburban house. Tonight, stepping over the threshold felt like entering a cold, forgotten tomb. The lights were dim, the air was stale, and an oppressive sadness hung over every room.

"I'll go look for her upstairs," Rhys told Durin curtly, not waiting for a response as he moved toward the staircase.

Vespera followed him up the steps, leaving Durin alone in the dark kitchen without a single word of comfort. Her tail flicked with ecstatic amusement. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she leaned down and whispered something low to the dwarf below—words Rhys didn't care to parse through his ringing ears.

At the end of the second-floor hallway, Rhys heard the heavy, rhythmic patter of a running shower.

He pushed open the door to the master bathroom. Steam filled the cold room. Sitting in the deep porcelain tub under the cascading water was Rhea. She was completely undressed, her golden skin gleaming ethereal and otherworldly under the dim bathroom light, yet she sat motionless—staring blankly into the dark tiles like a hollow, lifeless shell.

Rhys let out a quiet, heavy sigh, the crushing, absurd weight of his entire existence pressing down on his chest. He stepped across the tile toward the tub.

As his shadow fell over the water, Rhea slowly blinked. Her dark eyes focused on his face, and in a single microsecond, her vacant, dead expression vanished entirely. She came alive instantly, her eyes beaming with unbridled joy and intense, desperate relief.

"Rhys...?" she gasped, her voice trembling as if staring at a saving grace. "Is it... is it really true? Is it really you?"

Rhys stopped analyzing. He stopped calculating the blackmails, the loan sharks, the fallen angels, the genies, and the crumbling foundation of his marriage. He simply acted.

Without bothering to take off his clothes, Rhys climbed straight into the bathtub, positioning himself directly over Rhea as the warm shower water cascaded over both of them. He wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders, looking down into her wide, tear-filled eyes.

"I came for you, Rhea," Rhys whispered, his voice steadying as the water soaked through his shirt. "I'm right here."