Cherreads

Chapter 6 - What Cannot Be Held

It had been a month since Alden returned from Antithesis.

His days passed in the usual blur—war preparations, troop selections, endless discussions with nobles that often went nowhere. He kept his expression unreadable, his role as crown prince dutifully intact. To others, it was just another chapter of empire business, nothing more.

But behind closed doors, away from the eyes of court and council, Alden had begun something else—something secret.

He was researching ways to hide an otherworldly presence. Studying illusions, suppression spells, blood seals—anything that might make someone like her seem... human.

Because in his heart, he was certain: if Aurenya ever chose to come to his world, he would be ready. He had to be ready.

For now, it was a day like any other. A day of this and that—typical for the crown prince of an empire.

But Alden's gaze often drifted toward the east, toward the invisible place where two worlds had once touched. And his resolve quietly burned.

---

Night again.

Alden lay in bed, the silk sheets kicked to the floor, the moonlight tracing lines across his bare chest. The blood thread in his heart was warm—too warm.

He couldn't really see the thread. It wasn't light or shadow, but a presence that hummed in his bones, faintly. Every time she reached through it, his chest felt warmer, like her voice had been carved into his heartbeat.

He'd thought of her. Again. Her wings. Her mouth. The way her lips moved when she asked, *What is a kiss?*

And this time, as before, his hand wandered. His breath caught. And just as he neared the edge—

A voice.

"Why do you keep doing that every night?"

Shock! 

Alden's soul almost left his body. He shot upright so violently the pillow flew off the bed.

"WHAT—??"

He scrambled for his robe, yanking it over his head backwards, spun in place—twice—trying to find where the voice had come from.

"A-Aurenya—?!" His voice cracked. "You can—see me?!"

There was a beat of silence. His face flushed a terrifying shade of crimson. Eyes darting, jaw clenched, robe half‑tied—he looked ready to dig a hole through the floor and vanish into it.

Then her voice came again, calm and curious.

"Oh. You were thinking of me so deeply that I could. But what exactly were you do—"

Alden's face was still burning when the thought hit him.

"Wait—if you could see me this whole time... why didn't you ever say anything until now?"

There was a pause. Then Aurenya's voice came, softer than before, almost shy.

"I couldn't. Not at first. I can only see you when you feel... very strongly about me or call out my name. Just like how I can only hear your voice when it's filled with that same feeling. Otherwise... you're just a quiet shadow in my mind."

Alden blinked. "So you've only been seeing me during—" He broke off, horrified.

"During times when you call me out by my name" she admitted, her voice small. "Like tonight."

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "...Alright, but if you could see me, why didn't you talk back sooner?"

Another pause, this one edged with embarrassment.

"Because I didn't know how. I... had to call for Kaelira to come. She showed me the way to send my voice through the thread. Until then... I was only watching. Quietly."

Alden buried his face in his hands. "...Gods above."

"Don't be angry," she murmured. "I was only learning."

"Learning?" His voice rose in disbelief. "You mean... studying me like some strange creature?"

"Oh... exactly. Yes. Right. That."

"STOP." His voice jumped an octave.

He was drenched in sweat, tying knots in his robe that didn't help. Somewhere far away, across the veil of worlds, in Antithesis, Aurenya blinked, genuinely confused.

"I was only asking," she said softly. "Your body shakes. And your breath quickens. It happens every time you think of me at night."

Alden looked like he might physically perish from embarrassment.

"...Aurenya. Please. For the love of all gods, don't describe it."

"Is it... dangerous?" she asked, now concerned. "And what is that thing between your legs? Never seen that. What does it do?"

He collapsed onto the floor, face buried in both hands.

"I am so sorry. Please. Stop talking."

There was a long, long pause. Then, very softly:

"Alright... I will stop for now, outsider."

A breath escaped his lips—a laugh this time. Fragile. Threaded with heat and something dangerously close to longing.

Outsider.

They still hadn't even exchanged names. He had just overheard others calling her by name: Aurenya. He hadn't even told her what to call him.

But his chest still ached with the warmth of her voice.

Alden dragged himself back into bed, half‑dead with embarrassment, robe still on backwards, blanket barely over one leg.

The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the faint pulse of gold in the air. And the last thing he thought was:

Tomorrow. I'll tell her my name... tomorrow.

---

For the whole month after their first meeting, Alden pored over ancient texts, consulted forbidden archives, and commissioned enchantments that pushed the boundaries of mortal magic. His goal was singular: to create a way for Aurenya to walk safely in the human world.

He worked in secret, away from prying eyes and court intrigue. Most of the actual legwork fell to Limon, his long‑suffering aide, who was used to the prince's eccentric requests—but not like this.

The necklace was forged from silver imported from Ravencliff, once prized by the dark elves themselves. It was inlaid with moon‑polished riverstone and fine gold wire, both chosen for their stability in holding enchantments. Into that delicate metalwork, Alden's enchanters wove concealment spells—binding magic designed to cloak the wearer like a second skin. The work was fragile and precise; too strong, and it would smother her true nature. Too weak, and mortal eyes might glimpse what she really was.

One evening, as he oversaw the work, Limon crossed his arms and sighed.

"Why do you make me do so many strange things, your highness? Ever since you came back from that dark elf attack, you've been... different. Acting oddly. You weren't swapped by them or something, were you?"

Alden glanced at him with a faint smirk.

"Oh? And if I was?"

Limon shrugged dramatically.

"Well, I suppose I'd have to tell the court before you sprout horns."

Alden leaned in, voice dropping into mock menace.

"Or... I could just cut your throat now to keep my secret."

Limon rolled his eyes.

"Ah, so definitely swapped. Good to know."

The joke faded, but the necklace work continued—quiet, delicate, and meant for only one person in all the worlds.

When he finally finished and showed it to Aurenya, her gaze followed the intricate twists of metal and stone through the shared vision that connected them.

"What does it do, Alden?" she asked softly. Now learning his name, she called him by it.

"It will hide your wings," Alden said, voice low. "To human eyes, you'll appear as one of us—like any other mortal."

The weight of his words hung between them, a bridge stretched taut over worlds.

Aurenya's heart fluttered unexpectedly. "You prepared this for me... if I ever want to come to your world?"

He met her gaze steadily. "Don't you want to see the world I live in—with your own eyes?"

Curiosity lit her like fire. The temptation shimmered in the air, irresistible to someone who longed to learn everything.

But then a shadow crossed her face. "My sister, Kaelira, she would not want me to leave. And more than that... I must ask Virelya if I am even allowed to leave. I can't leave without her permission anyway."

Alden nodded, understanding the weight of tradition and duty binding her.

"When the time comes," he said gently, "I will be waiting."

Aurenya looked away, conflicted, torn between the roots that held her and the world that called her forward.

Days passed like petals drifting on a stream—soft, slow, strangely golden. Alden no longer blushed when she spoke, no longer stumbled over his words or hid behind formality. Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped guarding himself. Now, he simply... savored.

He loved to listen when she asked questions, no matter how strange or simple.

"Why does your voice sound like that?" she asked one night, head tilted thoughtfully. "It's different when you speak to others. But when you speak to me, it's softer. Warmer."

Alden blinked, taken aback by how plainly she said it. Then he gave a quiet laugh, the kind that barely left his throat. "Maybe... because you're the only one I'm not pretending with."

Her eyes widened slightly, as if startled by the truth in it.

"Pretending?" she echoed.

"Being a prince means playing a part," he said. "Smiling when I don't want to. Speaking when I'd rather be silent. But with you, I don't have to act."

Aurenya looked down, fingers tracing patterns into the bark of the golden tree she sat beneath.

"Then I'm glad," she whispered, "that I'm not part of your pretending."

Another time, she asked—quite seriously—"How are children born in your world if there are no Trees?"

Alden nearly dropped his pen. "I—uh—well—" He cleared his throat, cheeks turning faintly pink for the first time in weeks. "It's... not quite the same as your world. We don't grow from trees."

She blinked, utterly absorbed. "Then how do they grow?"

His expression shifted, unreadable. "It's something you probably shouldn't ask me yet."

Aurenya tilted her head. "Why?"

He hesitated, looking vaguely to the side. "...It may have some... effects."

She leaned in. "Is it dangerous?"

A strangled noise escaped him. "Depends on who you ask."

Her questions came endlessly, like rain on a quiet evening.

"Why do your eyes go dark when you're angry?"

"Maybe because I'm angry??" he replied dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Why does my heart beat faster when you look at me like that? It doesn't happen when my sisters—"

Alden froze.

Her voice trailed off. "...Is this something I shouldn't talk about?" she asked quietly, puzzled by his silence.

He let out a breath like a man barely holding on.

"Oh gods, no. Keep talking," he said, nearly begging, leaning his forehead against his desk.

She blinked. "...But you looked like you were dying."

"I am. But it's the good kind."

She didn't understand, but she smiled anyway, glowing like firelight behind a silk veil.

And then one evening:

"Why do mortals sleep?"

"Because we're tired," he murmured, half‑dozing himself. "And because dreaming is sweet, sometimes."

She would pause sometimes at his answers, trying to memorize the tone of his voice. Her hand would hover over her chest like she was trying to understand a sound only she could hear.

She didn't eat. She didn't sleep. But she lived for these conversations, and he knew it. So he never rushed them.

He found himself looking forward to dusk now—when his duties were done, and he could retreat into that flickering red thread that led to her. Their worlds were divided, but this thread was their bridge, thin and sacred.

Sometimes, he'd read to her. Sometimes she would hum in response—odd melodies that made the air in his chambers shimmer faintly.

And one evening, without thinking, she said:

"You are not like the others."

He smiled. "Neither are you."

They didn't say it out loud, but both of them knew: she was beginning to fall in love with the world beyond the trees. And he, in the silence between her questions, had already fallen for the curious girl quite a long time ago.

---

While Alden and Aurenya laughed softly through their secret thread, another prince was working—quiet, hidden, no less dangerous.

Prince Aran.

He had given his researchers a clear order: build something powerful. Something loyal. Something that would never question or break.

Golem.

Shaped from stone, metal, and magic—designed to be perfect soldiers. No fear. No mind of their own. No need to rest.

The first attempts failed. Too slow. Too weak. So Aran pushed harder.

He gave them something darker to work with: the chaos thread.

But no material could hold it.

That thin, black strand—dense with power—burned through iron, shattered stone, melted silver, cracked soul‑glass. No matter how carefully his team worked, the result was always the same:

Failure.

The reason behind his obsession? He never said it aloud. But some guessed:

A hunger for what he could never have.

What Alden had, Aran believed should have been his.

"He's just a scholar," they said.

"He's harmless."

"He's quiet."

And Aran made sure they kept saying it.

He was subtle. Perfectly so.

He kept his voice tinted with humor, his gestures measured. 

Even the crows on the palace roof never looked his way twice in doubt.

Not a single soul suspected what he was truly building beneath the floorboards of the empire.

Not yet.

The horror was looming, unknown to all.

---

More Chapters