Chapter 224: I See You Different

"I finally found you."

Ulrich blinked slowly.

At first, his eyes did not focus.

The deck above him moved in blurred shapes. Dark sky. Wet wood. The pale outline of the mast. The last smoke from the burning ram drifting toward the sea.

Then Airam’s face became clear.

She knelt before him.

Her dark hair had come loose and clung to her wet cheeks. The rain had stopped, but water still ran from the ship’s railings and gathered in thin streams across the deck. Her expression looked calm at first glance, almost empty.

Yet her eyes gave her away.

They were dark.

Too dark.

Tears rested along her lashes.

Ulrich tried to move.

Pain tore through him.

His body responded before his mind understood why. His breath caught, and a faint sound escaped his throat. He looked down.

His left arm was gone.

The stump beneath the elbow had been tightly bound, though blood had already darkened the bandages. The sight made him wince. The pain had become a deep, constant throb that reached through his shoulder and into his chest.

He winced.

He was not dead.

Somehow, he had survived.

The thought should have brought relief.

Instead, all he felt was exhaustion.

His body was empty. His mana core felt hollow. Even breathing hurt. His lungs burned with every shallow breath, and his heart beat too slowly beneath the weight pressing through his chest.

He felt close to death.

Too close.

Then Airam moved.

She leaned forward and pressed herself against him.

Ulrich realized he was reclined against the broken ramp near the prow. His back rested against the wet wood. Airam was close enough that her knees settled on either side of his legs as she wrapped both arms around him.

She held him tightly.

Ulrich looked down at the top of her head.

Her dark hair covered most of her face. She had pressed it against his bloodied chest, as though she needed to make certain he was truly there.

"Why?"

She asked.

Her voice shook.

The question was quiet, almost lost beneath the sound of the sea striking the ship.

Ulrich raised his gaze toward the moon.

Clouds still covered most of the sky, but a pale light had begun to break through above the harbor. The fire at the ship’s ram had almost died. Only red embers remained beneath blackened wood.

"I gave my word," he said.

Airam’s arms tightened around him.

"To us," she whispered.

Ulrich hesitated.

Shelter.

Protection.

His name.

His House.

The promises he had made to the sisters were tied together. He had adopted them. He had taken responsibility for them. He had brought them into House Rubenhart and told them that they would be safe.

But that was not the entire truth.

He had made another promise before any of that.

"To your mother," Ulrich said.

Airam shuddered against his chest.

For a while, she did not speak.

Ulrich could feel her breath against his shirt. They came out broken. Her fingers tightened in the bloodied fabric beneath her hands.

Then he heard her voice again.

"She...mother lost her powers because of me."

The words were weak.

Airam’s tears fell against Ulrich’s chest.

"They were taken because of me..." She continued. "And then she died because of me."

Her hands clenched harder.

"It is my fault," she wept.

Ulrich looked down at her.

Her face remained hidden against him. Wet raven-black hair covered her cheeks and forehead. He could not see her expression clearly, but he could feel the way her body shook.

"I only bring misfortune," Airam said.

Her voice broke.

"Everything becomes worse around me. Mother lost her power. Hermione and Esther suffered because of me. Your knights died because Valdris came for me. You lost your arm because of me."

Ulrich remained quiet for a moment.

The harbor was still.

The surviving sailors had disappeared below deck. The dead Valmorian knights remained scattered across the rain-soaked planks. Somewhere near the shore, a bell rang faintly through Hiddleston.

Airam waited for him to agree.

Perhaps she expected him to say nothing.

Perhaps she expected him to pull away.

Ulrich’s right hand rose.

He placed it carefully against the back of her head.

"She did not die because of you," he said.

Airam shook her head against his chest.

"She did not lose her powers because of you either."

"You do not know."

"I know enough."

Airam went still.

Ulrich’s gaze remained on the moon.

"I know enough about a mother’s love," he said.

The words came more quietly than before.

"There are many people responsible for Anna-Maria’s death. You and your sisters do not come close to being responsible."

Airam’s breath shook.

"If she still had her powers..."

"It doesn’t matter," Ulrich cut her off.

Airam’s fingers tightened.

"Powers or no powers, she would still have protected you."

She did not answer.

Ulrich continued.

"That is what a mother does. She protects her children. Even when it costs her everything."

Airam shook her head again weakly against her chest, unable to accept that.

"You cannot change the past," he said. "You cannot return to that moment and force her to choose differently. But do not insult what she did by calling it your fault."

Airam slowly raised her head.

Her eyes were wet.

She looked at him with an expression he had rarely seen from her. Airam was usually guarded. Even when angry, she kept herself controlled. Even when frightened, she stood straight and tried to protect Hermione and Esther from seeing it.

Now she looked young.

Actually, like the fifteen-year-old girl she was.

"If she had her powers," Airam whispered, "she would have survived."

"Maybe."

"And if she survived, we would not be here; she would still be with us."

Ulrich did not answer that.

There was no answer that could make the absence smaller.

Airam looked down again.

"You hate witches," she said.

The words were almost a question.

Then she forced herself to continue.

"Your mother was killed by one." Her eyes returned to him. "Then why did you come for me?"

Ulrich looked toward the sea.

He remained silent for several seconds.

Then he spoke.

"I hate witches."

He did not look away from the water.

"My mother sacrificed herself to protect me," he said. "A witch tortured her and cursed her with a death curse."

His voice remained controlled.

But the memory had changed it.

The hatred had not disappeared. It lived too deeply inside him.

"I watched her suffer for months," Ulrich continued. "She could not leave her bed. Every wave of the curse tore through her body. There were days when she could barely speak. There were nights when her screams woke everyone in the Estate."

His hand tightened slightly against the wood beside him.

"I was there."

Airam listened without moving.

"She kept smiling at me," Ulrich said. "Even when she was in pain. She kept telling me it was not my fault. She told me she would be fine."

His eyes darkened.

"But she was not fine."

"One day, another wave of agony came. Worse than the others. She could not breathe. She could not speak. I stood beside her bed and watched her take her last breath."

Airam’s eyes filled again.

Ulrich’s face did not change.

But he could still see it.

The room.

The curtains.

The servants standing frozen outside the door.

His mother’s hand growing colder beneath his own.

The helplessness.

The rage.

For months, he had watched the curse consume her.

No healing worked.

When she died, hatred had been easier than grief.

Hatred gave him a direction.

Hatred gave him someone to blame.

So he blamed witches.

He blamed every story he heard. Every coven. Every dark spell. Every woman using witchcraft.

He blamed them because he could not bear blaming himself.

A trauma.

That was certainly the word to describe what happened to him.

He looked back at her.

"Yes. I hate witches."

Airam’s eyes lowered.

Ulrich watched her face.

Airam had feared this question.

He could see it now.

She had believed his protection came with conditions. She had believed that one day his hatred would become stronger than his promise. She had believed he might save Hermione and Esther because they were children, yet let her go because she was the dangerous one, the eldest one, the one who carried the strongest part of Anna-Maria’s legacy.

"You are different," Ulrich said.

Airam’s face changed slightly.

Then Ulrich stopped.

No, the words did not feel right.

Airam was different.

She was different from the witch who had cursed his mother. Different from the covens that had raised her. Different from the enemies who had hunted her family.

But that was not enough.

It was not the reason he had come.

He did not care about her because she was an exception to his hatred.

He cared because she was Airam.

Ulrich’s eyes remained on hers.

"I see you different," he whispered.

"!"

Airam’s breath caught.

More tears slipped from her eyes, her lips trembling.

She then buried her face against his chest again, clinging to him.