Chapter 51: Arielle’s Condition

Eiravelle sat behind Qazaethel in her dragon form, her arms were wrapped tightly around the alpha’s neck as they soared through the sky. The strong wind whipped past them, pulling at her hair and stinging her eyes, but she barely noticed any of it because all she could feel was the warmth of Qazaethel’s scales beneath her, the steady rhythm of the dragon’s powerful wings beating against the air, and the cold knot of fear that had settled in her chest the moment she learned Arielle was still unconscious.

The world below them blurred past in shades of green and gold, the familiar landscape of Solkanaia stretched out beneath them like a flash from memories and regrets, and Eiravelle found herself thinking about how strange it was that she had once dreamed of seeing the world from above, had once imagined what it would be like to fly free and unburdened by the weight of her shame.

But now that she was here, now that she was experiencing something she had once thought impossible, all she could think about was the sister who had sacrificed everything for her.

The sky stretched endlessly before them, an ocean of pale blue that seemed to go on forever, and the clouds parted around Qazaethel’s massive form as if they recognized her authority, as if even the elements themselves bowed to the sovereign of Solkanaia.

Eiravelle tightened her grip on Qazaethel’s neck, feeling the powerful muscles shift beneath the scales with every beat of her wings, and she tried to find comfort in the steady rhythm of their flight.

But there was no comfort to be found, not when every passing moment carried her closer to the manor she had been cast out of, closer to the family that had abandoned her, closer to the sister who was lying unconscious because of her.

They remained silent during the entire trip, and Qazaethel never dared speak a word. She wanted to say something, anything, that might ease the tension she could feel in Eiravelle’s body, the way her arms trembled against Qazaethel’s neck, the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps that spoke of barely contained panic.

But every word she thought of seemed inadequate. What could she possibly say that would make any of this better? What could she say that would undo the damage she had caused, that would erase the months of pain and isolation Eiravelle had endured because of her silence? The truth was that no words could fix what had been broken, and Qazaethel knew that better than anyone.

Sigh... I wish Eiravelle could give me a second chance to make amends.

The words ran inside Qazaethel’s head, circling endlessly like a prayer she wasn’t sure she had the right to make. She had spent so long searching for Eiravelle, had torn the world apart to find her, had commanded armies and moved mountains in her desperation to locate the omega who had captured her heart.

And now that she was here, now that Eiravelle was finally within reach, Qazaethel was more terrified than she had ever been. Because finding Eiravelle was only the first step, and earning her forgiveness, earning her trust, earning the right to be part of her life and the life of their child, that was a battle Qazaethel wasn’t sure she could win.

I should have told her the truth from the beginning. I should have been honest about who I was and what I wanted. But I was afraid. I was afraid she would hate me, afraid she would reject me, and afraid that my position as the Sovereign would make her uncomfortable.

But that was no excuse, and Qazaethel knew that now. She had been a coward, and her cowardice had cost Eiravelle dearly. It had cost her months of pain and isolation, months of being judged and shamed by people who should have protected her. And now, it might cost her Arielle as well.

I hope my sister is fine... This is clearly all my fault.

The words that ran in Eiravelle’s head were completely different from Qazaethel’s. She wasn’t thinking about the alpha who had lied to her, wasn’t thinking about the betrayal that still burned in her chest like an open wound.

All she could think about was Arielle, her sister, her protector, the one person who had always been there for her no matter what. Arielle, who had held her when she cried, who had defended her when everyone else turned away.

If I hadn’t been so foolish, none of this would have happened. If I had just been stronger, had just been more careful, sister Arielle wouldn’t get hurt.

The thoughts spiraled endlessly, each one was darker than the last. Eiravelle had spent so many years being told she was a disgrace, a failure, a burden on everyone around her. And now, it seemed, she had finally proven them right. She had brought nothing but pain to the one person who had ever truly loved her.

The flight seemed to stretch on forever, each moment was an eternity of silence and guilt and fear. And then, finally, they began to descend. The Arthion manor came into view below them, its familiar walls and towers rised from the landscape like a memory made solid. Eiravelle’s heart clenched at the sight of it, the place she had once called home, the place she had been cast out of like garbage.

They landed in the courtyard, Qazaethel’s massive form touched down with a grace that belied her size. Eiravelle got down immediately, her feet was hitting the ground before Qazaethel had even fully settled.

She rushed inside the manor without looking back, without waiting to see if Qazaethel was following, because the only thing that mattered was getting to Arielle.

"Sister?! Sister?!"

Eiravelle’s voice echoed through the halls as she ran, her footsteps were pounding against the polished floors. Servants scattered out of her way, their eyes turning wide with shock at the sight of the disgraced omega had returned so suddenly.

Qazaethel followed behind, her human-like form returned, her expression was a careful mask of composure that hid the turmoil beneath. She watched Eiravelle run, watched the desperation in every line of her body, and felt her heart clench with guilt.

A few more rushed steps, and Eiravelle reached Arielle’s bedchamber. She burst through the doors without knocking, without announcing herself, and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight that greeted her.

The room was filled with people. Her parents were there, Arthion stood stiffly near the window with his face, a mask of guilt, pride and ego, and Elaria seated in a chair near the bed with her eyes red from crying.

Her sisters were there too, Arisia and Ariphale standing together in a corner with expressions that were a mixture of worry and anger. And there, in the center of it all, lying on the bed like a broken doll, was Arielle.

Eiravelle felt the breath leave her body. Arielle looked so small, so pale, and fragile. Her skin was waxen, her lips were colorless, and her chest rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths that seemed to pain her even in unconsciousness.

This was not the sister Eiravelle remembered, the strong, vibrant Alpha woman who had always seemed invincible. This was a shadow, a ghost, a shell of the person who had once been her greatest protector.

"Lady Eiravelle," Dale, the healer, said, stepping forward with a respectful bow. "Lordess Arielle needed Master Ragnar’s magical peaches."

But Eiravelle barely heard him. She was already moving toward the bed, her eyes were fixed on her sister’s pale face, on the way her hands lay limply at her sides, on the faint sheen of sweat that covered her brow.

"Sister!"

The word came out as a sob, raw and broken, and Eiravelle felt the tears finally break free. They streamed down her cheeks freely, hot and relentless, and she remembered how Arielle used to wipe her tears for her, how Arielle would pull her close and whisper that everything would be alright, that she would always protect her no matter what.

Eiravelle approached the bed and settled on the edge, her hands reached out to take Arielle’s. The skin was clammy, feverish, and Eiravelle felt her heart clench with fear.

"Sister, wake up," she pleaded, pressing her forehead against Arielle’s hand. The touch was cool against her heated skin, and Eiravelle closed her eyes, willing her sister to respond, to move, to do anything that would prove she was still there. "Please... Just open your eyes. You’re gonna be fine."

The words were a prayer, a promise, a desperate plea to any Deity that might be listening. Eiravelle had never been religious, had never believed in anything except the strength of her sister’s love, but in this moment, she would have prayed to every god and demon in existence if it meant Arielle would open her eyes.

"I... I will go..." Eiravelle said, her voice trembling. "I will go and fetch those peaches from Master Ragnar’s manor."

She didn’t even bring up the topic of how Arthion had thrown her outside the manor. She didn’t mention the shame, the humiliation, the way she had been cast out like garbage. None of that mattered. All that mattered was Arielle.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. And then Qazaethel spoke.

"Arthion."

Her voice was cold, commanding, the voice of a sovereign who would not tolerate defiance. Arthion flinched at the sound of his name, his face was draining of what little color it had left. He had been standing near the window, trying to make himself small, trying to avoid the weight of what he had done. But there was no hiding from Qazaethel. There was no escaping the judgment that was about to fall.

"What you did to the Prime Minister of Solkanaia is unacceptable," Qazaethel continued, her eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that made him shrink back. "You attacked your own daughter, caused her serious injury, and for what? Pride? Ego? A refusal to admit you were wrong?"

Arthion opened his mouth to speak, but Qazaethel didn’t give him the chance. She stepped forward, her presence was filling the room, and Arthion felt the weight of her authority pressed down on him like a physical force.

"As punishment for what Lord Arthion has done against the Prime Minister of Solkanaia, he shall receive fifty strikes of lightning. Three weeks suspension from his position, and a whole month of banishment from the palace. He is not allowed to leave his estate, as it will be taken as divine offense."

The room fell silent. The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and everyone stared at Qazaethel with shock and disbelief. Fifty strikes of lightning, suspension, and banishment. It was more than anyone had expected, more than anyone had dared to hope.

Arthion’s face went white. His hands were trembled at his sides, and for a moment, he looked like a man who had finally realized the magnitude of his mistakes. But then his pride reasserted itself, and his jaw tightened with defiance.

"Your Majesty," Elaria said, her voice was trembling as she rose from her chair. She had been crying, her eyes were red and swollen, but there was a desperate strength in her voice that spoke of a wife’s love for her husband. "Don’t you think that’s too much?"

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, driven by a need to protect the man she had married, the father of her children. But even as she spoke, Elaria knew she had made a mistake. She saw the way Qazaethel’s eyes narrowed, saw the cold fury that flickered in their depths.

"Elaria—" Arthion started, his hand are reaching for her arm.

But Elaria shook him off, her chin lifting with a defiance that was almost admirable. "He’s my husband. I have to—"

"Aren’t you grateful enough that it was not one hundred strikes?" Qazaethel interrupted, her voice was cutting through Elaria’s words like a blade.

Arthion immediately shook his head, his composure was crumbling. "N-No, that’s not what my wife meant, Your Majesty."

His voice quivered, and Qazaethel rolled her eyes away with contempt. She had no patience for this, no patience for the man who had caused so much pain against Eiravelle and Arielle.

"Ngh~"

The soft whimper came from the bed, and Eiravelle gasped. Arielle’s hand had suddenly tightened around hers, weak and barely gripping, but it was movement. It was a sign of life.

"Sister? You’re awake?" Eiravelle asked, leaning closer.

But Arielle didn’t respond. She continued to whimper, her face was contorting with pain, and the sudden flush in her skin told Eiravelle that her sister was burning up. Eiravelle reached out and touched Arielle’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating from her skin.

"You’re burning," Eiravelle murmured, her voice was thick with worry. "What is going on, really? If this is just a simple injury, my sister would be able to withstand it."

The words were directed at no one in particular, but Dale stepped forward, his expression troubled.

"Your sister spent most of her energy and mana back when you were poisoned from Night Dazzling Flowers, Lady Eiravelle," Dale explained, his voice was gentle but firm. "She did not leave your side until she made sure you had recovered. And because of that, the impact she received when Lord Arthion used his powers against her was too much for her body to handle."

The words hit the room like a physical blow. Elaria covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes are filled with fresh tears. Arthion’s face went slack with shock, and the guilt that had been simmering beneath his pride finally broke through the surface. He had done this. He had done this to his own daughter.

Arisia’s face twisted with anger, and she took a step forward, ready to unleash the fury that had been building inside her. But Ariphale held her back, wrapping her arms around her sister and pulling her close.

"Don’t," Ariphale whispered. "Not here. Not now."

Arisia struggled for a moment, her entire body was trembling with rage, but then she collapsed against Ariphale, her anger was giving way to grief. The two sisters held each other, their tears are mingling as their sorrow were shared.

Eiravelle’s gaze slowly darted back toward Arielle, at her sister’s pale face, at the feverish flush on her cheeks, and the way her body trembled with pain even in unconsciousness.

"Why do you always do everything for me?" Eiravelle asked, her voice was quivering. "Why are you being so kind to me, sister... I can’t..."

Her voice broke, and her entire body trembled violently with each sob she tried to hide. She had spent her whole life being told she was worthless, a burden, a disgrace. And yet Arielle had always believed in her, had always protected her, and had always sacrificed everything for her.

Then Eiravelle leaned forward and kissed her older sister’s forehead, a gesture so tender, so full of love, that it made everyone in the room look away. When she pulled back, she was smiling, a smile that was filled with grief and love that would never waver.

"Let me do my part now too, okay?" Eiravelle said softly.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come, and then she looked back at Qazaethel.

"Your Majesty... Can you take me to Master Ragnar?"

Qazaethel looked at her for a long moment, at the omega who had been through so much and yet still found the strength to fight for the people she loved. And in that moment, Qazaethel knew that she would do anything, anything, to help this omega.

"Anything you need," Qazaethel said, and her voice was soft, almost gentle. "I’ll take you to him. I’ll do whatever it takes."

Eiravelle nodded, a small, tired movement, and then she turned back to Arielle, squeezing her sister’s hand one last time.

"I’ll be back soon," Eiravelle whispered. "I promise."

And then she rose, and together with Qazaethel, she left the room, leaving behind the wreckage of a family that was torn apart by pride and guilt, and the fragile hope that maybe they could find a way to heal.