Chapter 23: DISAPPOINTED
"It was just a normal day... the usual summer breeze and the usual me scrolling through my phone," Darling murmured. Her voice, soft yet resonant, caressed the air as though stroking invisible harp strings.
She shook her head, eyes momentarily closing as if she could still taste the sunlight of that memory.
"Just then," she continued, her tone deepening, richer yet still melodious,
"then the weather changed. The sky dimmed without warning, like the heavens had drawn a long breath before a tempest."
She gave a small, incredulous laugh and looked down at her interlocked fingers resting upon her lap, as though her hands were trying to console one another.
"Crazy, right?" she asked, glancing up.
Dax could not look away. Every time she chuckled, her lips curved with a softness that seemed to bloom like dawn over stone; her beauty did not simply appear, it unfolded, petal after petal. He only nodded despite himself, while she continued.
"The summer sky... it just flipped," she said, "and there I was, alone in the house. Dad was at work, and Mom had gone to her stall to sell." She paused, a small tremor in her expression.
She paused.
Dax understood the undertow of that silence. It was the pause of someone picturing faces they might never see again. He, too, had parents out there.
And though it was insane, he actually trusted the Devil’s promise that they were safe... trusted the same being who had once whispered power into his veins. Crazy, wasn’t it? Yet in his gut he still believed.
The Devil’s words coiled in his mind like a viper, dangerous but strangely protective.
Darling’s voice, once bright, had now darkened into a tremulous note. It carried a weight of worry so tangible it felt like a cold hand pressing on the back of Dax’s neck. Her eyes slid to the table as she dredged up the memory.
"A monster," she whispered.
"I thought I was dreaming, until it lunged at me. I ran for my life as it tore through the walls behind me." She exhaled sharply, and the sound was like a shutter rattling in a storm.
"It might sound plain the way I tell it, but hell, I screamed so loud the windows quivered. I dialed 911, but for the first time in my life the call didn’t go through. Just then..."
She tugged down the collar of her dress, revealing three thick scars raking diagonally across her neck, dark, angry grooves like claw marks carved into marble. The scars did not simply mar her skin; they testified. The surrounding flesh puckered like frozen waves.
Dax’s eyes widened. Shock streaked across his face so raw that he forgot to blink. His jaw hung like a door knocked off its hinges; his breath caught as though the scars had reached out and throttled him.
For a heartbeat, he could only think: It gutted her. The words were too heavy to voice.
"I was surprised to wake up here with only scars," she continued softly.
"But all I care about now is my parents. I hope they’re safe." She shook her head, green eyes flashing panic.
"And the house, who knows if that beast is still there?"
Dax answered, his tone low and reassuring, a cool river over fevered skin.
"The beast must have been dealt with by now. And I’m sure your parents are fine."
Some of the tension in Darling’s shoulders eased. She turned back to the feast and helped herself to a plate of saffron-spiced rice heaped with glistening strips of phoenix-grilled fowl and a silver bowl of honey-roasted roots.
This time she ate slowly; the hunger was no longer savage but cautious.
Dax picked up a golden-rimmed dish of smoked venison drizzled with molten herb-butter and dark bread sprinkled with crystal salt.
He had sworn to taste every single delicacy on the table. Yet now, confronted by towers of platters and rivers of sauces, the vow looked impossible.
He pictured himself ballooning like a mythic toad, or giving birth to a baby made entirely of bread. The thought made him stifle a laugh and nearly choke on the eel.
He reached out for a goblet of amber-sparkling cider, about to ask Darling to pass it, when he noticed a figure striding toward them.
Immediately, Dax craned his head backward to see who it was. The newcomer’s voice cut in with the perfect timing of a rehearsed insult.
"Is this some kind of weak-willed gang up?"
Darling, who had been ignoring whispers all evening, couldn’t let this slide. She turned with a flourish; her violet hair flared behind her like a banner.
"Excuse me?"
Behind them stood a boy whose skin was a chalky pale, stretched over a body both plump and hulking, like dough left to rise too long. His round face was dotted with faint freckles. A scatter of wiry black hairs perched on his scalp in anxious tufts, as though unsure they belonged there at all.
He chuckled; a wet, doughy sound... belly wobbling.
"You heard me," he said.
Darling tilted her head, eyes narrowing in disbelief. The boy looked like a caricature of a bully drawn by a bored god.
"I think you should ask your mama," she shot back, and even Dax blinked at her boldness.
The boy’s chuckle deepened into a low bully’s growl.
"You’re siding with the Beyonders now, you high-ranked but weak-willed garbage."
Darling rose, her chair screeching back. The size difference between her and the boy was laughable; like a rapier facing down a battering ram, but she did not care.
"Quit behaving like this Beyonder-style trash and show yourself some respect as a pure guy!"
A loud ripple of sound flowed through the hall as all attention was now on them.
Dax smirked, but it was not a friendly smirk. It was thin and sharp, a smirk with edges. Something about Darling’s last words cut deeper into him than expected. The words weren’t for him, but somehow he knew it referred to him indirectly, together with the rest of the beyonders.
He pushed his plate of celestial boar roast aside, rose without a word, and started walking toward the hall’s exit.
That movement automatically triggered his Maltheron, Naya. She had been laughing with friends, but duty yanked her attention like a hook.
The celebration wasn’t mandatory anymore; anyone could leave now. But according to custom, a newly initiated who wished to leave had to be escorted to their quarters by their Maltheron.
Naya got up from her seat, several people chuckling at her obvious annoyance as she stalked over to Dax.
"What’s wrong with you? Can’t you just wait a little longer before leaving?"
Dax, not yet understanding why his decision involved her, retorted, "I’m not your baby, Naya."
"Oh wow, really?" she threw back, frustration simmering.
He didn’t answer again until they’d stepped out of the hall. Finally, uncomfortable with her trailing him, he asked, "Why are you still following me?"
Naya exhaled sharply, slapping a palm to her forehead.
"I have to show you to your room."
Dax was about to argue, but she cut him off with a wave.
"There’s no two ways about it, Dax. Come on... follow me."
"Oh God..." Dax breathed as he followed her to the large balcony. She reached into her pouch, pulled out what looked like a miniature toy bike no bigger than her palm, and flicked it open.
The metal unfolded like a blooming flower, gears whirring, panels sliding, chains snaking into place. In a heartbeat the little trinket swelled into a sleek, life-size hover-bike with polished black fins and glowing runes tracing its frame.
Even now, the transformation startled Dax, though not as much as the first time.
"Clamber on," Naya said after mounting and kicking the engine to life. A low hum built into a roar like a caged storm.
Dax hesitated for a heartbeat, then swung himself up behind her. As the bike lifted from the balcony and surged forward, the wind struck his face like cold silk. Instinctively, he gripped Naya’s waist, fingers tightening as they hurtled through the night.
The flight was brief. Soon they were touching down on the vast balcony of the Beyonders’ Tower; a stone platform open to the sky, edged with elegant balustrades instead of bars.
Without a word, Naya led him inside. They passed through a vaulted antechamber lined with glowing sigils, then down a corridor whose marble floor mirrored the light like a river. Steps spiralled up, then levelled into a long hallway; at intervals, crystalline panels hummed like sleeping spirits.
Finally they reached the sleeping wing, a grand corridor stretching ahead, doors aligned on either side like soldiers at attention. Each door bore the etched name of a newly initiated Beyonder, letters shimmering faintly as though breathing.
They found Dax’s door easily enough, and then Naya turned to leave, but...
"Naya," Dax called, his voice low and calm, carrying a depth that could command seas.
She stopped without turning.
"Thank you," he said. The words came out chilled and soothing at once, like water over heated stone.
Naya’s head dipped of its own accord. She turned back to him, her expression softer now.
"Goodnight then," she murmured, before walking away.
Dax opened the door and stepped inside. The room was a masterpiece: a vast space with a king-sized bed draped in midnight-blue linens, a carved desk set beneath a large window veiled by velvet curtains, a towering bookshelf lined with empty journals waiting to be filled, and a wardrobe big enough to house armour and robes alike.
Intricate lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting warm pools of light that seemed to sway like slow heartbeats.
A small sitting area held a low table and cushioned chairs, and a faint scent of cedar drifted from the polished floor. The room didn’t just accommodate him, somehow it seemed to watch over him.
Calmly, a smile flickered across his face, and like a child slipping into a cradle, he THREW himself upon the bed.
But, but...
He fell through it...
"AAAAARRRRGGGHH"