Here I am, Father, completing my first month here, far from everything familiar, and far from all of you.
I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes, seeing nothing but your faces as longing kills me. I miss my mother's warmth and her gaze that used to give me security.
I wonder how she is now—does she miss me as I do? Did she pass by my room and sigh, remembering my presence?
I miss Jack, my brother, whose laughter never left my ears. I wonder how he spends his time without me? Does he remember me in moments of fun, or has my absence cast a shadow over his days?
As for Zoe, my childhood companion—I long for her non-stop chatter and her stories that used to fill my days with noise and joy. How I wish to hear her voice now, telling me the life-filled details of her day.
I see her laughing, and I hear her voice ringing in my ears.
My dear Father, you are the only one I still see everywhere.
I see you in my own facial features, and I hear your voice whispering in my ear. You are alive in my heart, and your memory is what gives me the strength to endure.
My tears poured down bitterly, and my sobs grew louder. Father, Mother, Brother, Zoe... I repeat your names between my sobs, my heart squeezing with the pain of longing, but I will continue to draw my strength from you until destiny brings us together again.
Tears stream from me like an unstoppable waterfall, and my sobs increase until my very foundations shake.
I wrap my arms around my body, trying to embrace your void and imagine you all near me, while I occupy the cold floor, leaning against the edge of the bed. I watch the moon from the balcony—that moon that used to witness our meetings and laughter, and which has now become the companion of my loneliness.
I wonder if you are looking at it too. Does this moon unite us without us knowing?
Does it accompany me as I accompanied you?
Morning broke over my room with its pale light, carrying none of the colors of joy I once knew. Drowsiness did not leave my eyes, for I had spent the entire night crying until my tears dried up, leaving behind a bitter trace.
I slowly rose from my place to head to the bathroom.
I stand before the mirror, looking at a face
I barely recognize. My eyes, which once shone with life, have become red and swollen; my nose, too, is congested from excessive crying. I take a deep breath—not out of relief, but out of determination.
I wipe my face with my hand firmly, as if wiping away all traces of weakness that longing had drawn on my features. I mutter to myself in a low voice, barely audible:
"That idiot must not see me weak."
I adjust my posture, lift my head, and take a breath. I will wear the mask of strength I am accustomed to.
My days have begun to revolve around Nate. Each day is a replica of the one before it: harsh training to try and control this power exploding inside me.
I try hard to show him that I am capable, that I am strong, but every time I lose control, my eyes remember his rare smile that only appears in certain moments.
He made me fall for him day after day, but he remains like a rock—unaffected, indifferent.
I don't know how or when this happened, but I realized I am drowning in him. Drowning in his eyes, in his silence, in his few words that carry so much coldness.
I am drowning in him against my will, as if he is a current pulling me toward him and I cannot resist.
I smile with bitter irony as I leave my room, muttering to myself:
"Damn you, Nate Winter."
I head toward the breakfast hall, preparing myself to act. Upon entering, my eyes fall on everyone gathered around the breakfast table. Nate presides over it, sitting with calmness and stability.
I walk toward my seat, ignoring everyone as if they were merely furniture in this hall. I give a faint morning greeting and sit down.
I had no appetite for food; sadness and longing had drained me. I just move the food around my plate with a spoon, one hand on my cheek.
I feel everyone's gaze on me, but I didn't care.
My eyes meet his scrutinizing ones; he watches every move I make and every gesture. I paid no attention, ignoring his gaze as if it meant nothing to me.
I continue stirring the food with the spoon, my heart screaming with pain, and my mind never stopping thinking about him and what I will do on this day—which differs from the one before it only in that my heart has become heavier.
A hand touches my shoulder, and I lift my head to find Julia looking at me with clear concern in her eyes.
"Are you okay, Cyra?"
she asks in a low voice.
"Your face is pale; have you been crying?"
I brush her hand off my shoulder coldly and answer in a dry tone:
"I'm fine, you're imagining things."
I take the glass of water to drink and lean my back against the chair. My gaze meets Laureen, Arin, and Klaus, and I find in their eyes the same concern I saw in Julia's.
"What?"
I say in surprise. "What is this strange look?"
Laureen answers,
"You don't look well, Cyra."
I sigh, feeling Nate's gaze piercing through me. I slowly lift my head and meet his eyes.
"What are you looking at?"
I ask him sharply.
He knits his brows in wonder, as if I hadn't existed before this moment.
"What's wrong with you?" he asks with his usual coldness.
I laugh with bitter irony, tears nearly escaping my eyes.
"Really?" I say. "Nate, I can't take it anymore."
I stand up from my place and leave the hall quickly, leaving behind the astonished looks of everyone, and Nate, who still sits in his chair as if nothing happened.
I need some fresh air, some space to breathe, to escape all these feelings gnawing at my heart.
I sit in the garden, my breath coming out of me trembling, trying to calm my soul which is on the verge of exploding. The scent of roses fills the place, easing the intensity of the pain squeezing my heart.
Laureen and Julia sit beside me in silence, as if they realize I need this moment of quiet before I completely break down.
I can't bear it anymore; my voice trembles and threatens to cry as I mutter:
"I am not okay. I am not okay."
I cannot show weakness, but I can no longer control my feelings. I want to scream, to cry, to empty all the pain inside me, but I hold myself back.
Laureen and Julia reach out their hands to me, and I grab them as if they are a lifeline. Their gazes give me strength, but my heart still screams.
I feel as if every part of my body is aching, and every cell in my body is begging for help. But I cannot ask for it; I cannot show my weakness before anyone.
I close my eyes, trying to gather my strength and return to that strong Cyra I used to be. But it's hard; my feelings have overcome my firmness. I'm not okay, and I want to scream it at the top of my voice.
Julia's tender voice and Laureen's words full of promise were like a key opening a dam I had been holding all my feelings behind.
"We are beside you,"
"We will never leave you." These two sentences were not just words; they were a declaration of the end of my patience.
I couldn't hide it anymore; suddenly, everything inside me—sadness, suppression, and pain—exploded.
I burst into tears violently—a crying not like the crying of last night, but stronger and more intense, as if it were draining every drop of tears trapped in my eyes. I let out my sobs, which rose to fill the garden, as if they were an echo of my soul's moaning.
They didn't hesitate for a moment; they extended their arms and hugged my trembling body tightly.
I felt their embrace like a refuge, as if it were gathering all my scattered pieces. In their embrace, I felt the safety I had missed since my father's departure, and the love that was given to me without limits by my family.
They weren't just trying to comfort me; they were saving me from drowning in my sadness, returning to me a part of my soul that I had lost.
In their arms, I cry and sob, and the more the intensity of my crying increases, the stronger their embrace becomes. I am not alone now, and I am not weak.
I am just a human being in pain, and they are beside me to remind me of that, and to tell me that I am not the only one.
I felt his presence behind me, like a shadow haunting me, but I paid him no attention. My attempts to appear strong were no longer useful; all my defenses had collapsed.
"I missed them, Julia,"
I say in a voice trembling from the intensity of crying.
"I missed them so much, Laureen."
They increase the strength of their embrace, as if they are trying to bring back every part of my soul that I felt fading away.
"I missed my mother's voice, my brother's laughter, and Zoe's chatter,"
I mutter in a faint voice, then fall silent for moments, as if gathering all the fragments of my heart.
"And I missed my father."
I say in a stronger voice,
"I missed his whisper as he said: I am proud of you, Cyra."
After I felt Julia's and Laureen's arms withdraw from around me, I let out a deep sigh filled with the relief of crying that had drained my energy.
I raised my hand and wiped my remaining tears, then whispered
"Thank you"
without looking at them. But no response came, which prompted me to lift my head and search for them, only to find Nate standing before me alone, while both Julia and Laureen had gone.
I sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of confusion, as I said quietly:
"What do you want?"
He sat beside me, asking in a low voice:
"Do you feel better?"
I replied cautiously:
"Why do you ask?"
Silence fell for a moment, and he said, as if it didn't matter to him:
"You wouldn't want your family to see you like this."
I looked at him in disbelief.
"What?" I asked, "Don't joke with me, Nate."
He eyed me calmly, then said: "I'm not."
I blinked several times and asked him hesitatingly:
"Do you mean what you're saying?"
He sighed and nodded his head.
I screamed with immense joy and moved to hug him tightly, burying my face in his neck.
"Thank you, Nate, truly thank you,"
I say in a voice choked with joy.
I felt his shock and the stiffening of his body, so I realized what I was doing and pulled away quickly. I chuckled from embarrassment and said:
"I got excited."
He looked at me, still under the effect of the shock. I frowned in embarrassment:
"Don't look at me like that!"
He regained his composure and straightened his stiffened body, his words coming out cold as an ice blade:
"I'll wait in the car. Don't be late."
I gave him a quick nod, as if receiving an order that left no room for refusal, and ran toward my room.
I washed my face with cold water to drive away the paleness, changed my clothes as fast as possible, then headed toward the back gate.
There, I spotted his black car; he was sitting in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel. I opened the door, sat beside him, and asked, my voice barely audible:
"Are we going?"
My eyes met his sharp ones for a moment, then we set off, leaving the palace behind us, on our way toward the pack.
Silence reigned, heavy and suspicious, filling the void between us.
Half an hour passed like an eternity, both of us drowning in our thoughts, no one daring to break the silence. Suddenly, after additional minutes of stillness, he handed me a bag and placed it on my thigh.
I looked at him inquiringly, a question mark forming on my face.
"What is this?"
I asked, my faint voice breaking the silence. He gave me a sideways glance and said in a shy tone I wasn't used to from him:
"You didn't eat anything, so I brought a little food."
His words shocked me. I looked at him in astonishment while he stared at the road ahead, suspicious of my reaction. He was slightly flustered, as if his secret had been revealed.
I really don't understand him. Moments ago he was harsh, and now he's polite. I'm sure he has a split personality, or maybe his personality is more complex than I imagined.
"Well, it's good that you thought of this."
I spoke simple words, but gratitude was clear in my tone. I fell silent for a moment; I truly feel hungry. I took the bag and opened it, and a cheese and meat sandwich with hot sauce appeared before me. It was truly delicious; with every bite, I felt heat filling my gut, removing all the tension that had controlled me.
After I was full, I felt a heavy drowsiness invading my eyes. I closed them and surrendered to sleep, leaving all the complex thoughts and feelings spinning in my head and focusing on sleeping.
I woke up to a quiet voice calling me.
I opened my eyes slowly, staring at him in wonder.
"We have arrived."
He said it in a tone devoid of any tension.
I finally arrived, and the waiting became a thing of the past.
I jumped out of the car eagerly and rushed toward the gate, as if something was pushing me forward.
"Hello guys, tell my brother I'm here!"
I shouted with excitement, then went back to grab his hand and pull him inside with me.
A feeling of nostalgia permeated my depths as I saw everything familiar.
The trees, the scent of damp earth, and every corner of this place.
"How I missed my pack,"
I said to myself in a faint voice, then pointed with my hand:
"This way!"
He was walking behind me, completely surrendered, as if following an irresistible current. We finally reached the door of the house; I pushed it forcefully, as if I wanted to announce my arrival.
At that moment, my mother appeared, coming from the source of the sound. Upon seeing me, she placed her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in disbelief.
"Cyra!"
She cried out, her voice trembling with joy.
I shouted in turn and threw myself into her arms. I cried, and all my tears carried all the longing I had suppressed in my chest.
"You don't know how much I missed you, Mother."
I whispered, my head on her chest, drowning in the warmth of her embrace that had been absent for so long.
While I was drowning in the warmth of my mother's tender hug, my brother burst into the room with a wide smile on his face. He shouted joyfully:
"Cyra!"
I hugged him in turn and he spun me around, our innocent laughter filling the place. Nate cut that moment with a faint clearing of his throat, and signs of annoyance appeared on his face.
I quickly managed the situation; I approached him and hugged his hand, then turned to my mother, saying:
"Mother, this is my mate, Nate Winter, King of the Kingdom of Shadows."
My mother smiled tenderly and stepped toward him, saying in a warm voice:
"Welcome, my son."
She extended her hand to shake his, and he shook it, thanking her.
Then I said, staring at Nate to ease his tension:
"Let's sit down; you know each other, so there's no need for introductions."
Signaling to my brother as I quietly pulled him to the sofa.
While my mother was in the kitchen preparing juices and sweets for us, Nate and I sat face to face on the sofa.
The atmosphere was strange and tension-inducing. Jack was trying to ease the situation, but I couldn't ignore my feeling that there was something yet to be revealed.
My mother returned and sat with us, trying to restore an atmosphere of familiarity. She asked Jack questioningly:
"How are you all?"
My mother replied quietly:
"Fine, dear!"
I nodded my head; suddenly, I remembered the matter of my power.
I looked at my brother, then at my mother.
There was something connecting all these things, and I felt it was the right time to reveal the truth.
"Jack."
I spoke his name with determination.
Then I turned to my mother and repeated the question that was pressing on me:
"Mother, who am I?"
Both Jack and Mother looked at each other in confusion, which confirmed my suspicions that they were hiding something from me. I felt anger and confusion, so I continued my speech in a sharper tone:
"Mother, I know you are hiding something regarding my father that concerns this power... tell me the truth, I don't want any more secrets!"
Silence was the only reply, but their confused looks were more than enough to tell me that I was on the verge of discovering a dangerous secret.
I sat waiting, the silence weighing heavily on the room. My mother's tense face and Nate's and Jack's worried looks were enough for me to realize that I was on the brink of the truth.
My mother let out a deep sigh, as if gathering the fragments of her strength, then looked at me and said in a faint voice I barely heard:
"Listen to me, Cyra... your father did not die because of the war."
Those words were like a cold slap to my face. Time stopped around me, and the distance between me and the wall shrank. My eyes stared at her, but my mind refused to absorb what I heard.
While my mother paused for a bit, she gripped her trousers tightly, which increased my anxiety. Then she completed in a shaky voice:
"He was killed, because he is from the Cratoris clan, and he possesses a unique power they wanted desperately."
I felt dizzy, as if the ground were shaking beneath me. The Cratoris clan? She continued her speech:
"But they couldn't get to him, so they killed him."
Those words were enough to make me freeze in my place and make breathing a near-impossible task.
In that critical moment, I felt Nate's hand gripping mine; I felt its warmth and strength, so I held onto it tightly, as if searching for anything to link me to reality.
Jack looked at me with eyes full of pity and sadness and completed my mother's words:
"And you inherited it from Father, so we hid the matter from you to protect you."
That moment was the end of my old world—a world I built on lies, living in the illusion that my father died a hero.
I discovered that I am living in a nightmare, and that my family hid a very dangerous secret from me. Now, after the secret has been revealed, fear has become the master of the situation.
I no longer feel safe; who killed my father, and are I and my family in danger?
All colors faded from the room, turning into a pale gray as I froze in my place.
My entire body was paralyzed, and my mind refused to absorb the new facts.
My father was killed, snatched from me by those seeking power. They had hidden this secret from me all my life, and I had been living in a world of lies.
"Damn this power... damn it."
I whispered it in a barely audible voice, while the fires of anger and pain were fueled inside me. I couldn't bear this amount of pain;
I exhaled forcefully and looked at them with eyes full of blame and reproach.
My brother Jack felt my distress and tried to calm me down, saying tenderly:
"We were forced to do that. We didn't want to lose you as well."
But his words did not succeed in extinguishing the fires inside me.
How could they hide a matter like this from me? How could they deprive me of knowing the real reason for my father's death?
In a faint voice, I said:
"I'm going to my room."
I couldn't stay in the same room with them; anger was eating me up. Before I left, I looked at Nate and found in his eyes a deep understanding.
"Do you want to go?"
I asked him, and he stood up immediately and followed me.
His presence beside me was a source of comfort; perhaps he is the only one who understands my pain now.
He followed me to my room, which was my only refuge. The features of the room hadn't changed since the last time I entered it; everything was in its place.
I smiled bitterly, as if smiling at beautiful memories I didn't know how many of were real. I threw myself onto the bed randomly, trying to escape the shock of reality.
As for Nate, he was inspecting the room with interest, as if studying every corner of it.
His eyes were wandering around the room until they fell on a picture hanging on the wall.
It was an old picture of me when I was five years old, hugging my brother Jack lovingly and with a wide smile. I saw in Nate's eyes a look I couldn't understand.
I felt extreme embarrassment; his presence in my room reminds me of his strangeness, and the presence of this picture reminds me of a beautiful past that was destroyed.
"Don't you want to sit?"
I said it in a faint voice, while he was staring at the picture as if trying to recall something. He looked at me, then moved to sit beside me on the bed, leaving the picture behind him.
I lay on the My body was moving with a completely different will.
I began to step toward him with a grace that wasn't my own; my body obeyed another's volition while a playful smile—Siran's cold smile—remained unshakable on my lips.
I wrapped my hands around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin, but this warmth was not enough to bring me back to my senses.
I buried my head in the crook of his neck and inhaled his sense-numbing fragrance—the scent of coffee and dark chocolate.
He was watching my every move, encircling my waist with his hands, as if surrendering to a magic whose nature he did not understand. Inside me, I screamed in despair:
"That idiot! What is he doing? Why doesn't he move away?"
His body suddenly stiffened, and his eyes widened in astonishment when I spoke with her voice—Siran's stirring and terrifying voice:
"I want to mark you."
"Damn it! Curse you, Siran!"
I screamed internally, trying to regain control, but she ignored me completely.
I was a prisoner in my own body, a spectator to a coming disaster, helpless to do anything.
Siran did not give him a chance to respond; instead, she began kissing his neck.
His body was relaxing under the influence of her actions.
"I will kill you, Nate! I will kill you!"
I screamed inside, seething with rage, but my cries were in vain. I felt his hand move from my waist to my head, drawing me even closer to him.
He was panting, affected by her.
"Damn it, damn it!"
I repeated in internal despair while Siran sank her fangs into his neck.
A feeling of ecstasy washed over me—a strange and frightening sensation, as if a part of me was enjoying what was happening. I heard a slight moan escape his lips, enjoying this feeling.
"I will kill you, Nate Winter!"
I thought with indescribable anger. My body was boiling while Siran enjoyed her ecstasy.
I was unable to do anything, trapped in a body that did not obey me, a mere spectator to a disaster occurring before me that I could not stop.
I pulled away from him—or rather, Siran pulled away. A smile of victory did not leave her lips, that cunning smile over which I had no control.
Her glowing eyes embraced his numbed eyes, which were lost in a sea of ecstasy. Siran's eyes sparkled with irony, while his eyes widened like someone lost in a beautiful dream only to suddenly wake up to a nightmare.
"And now, I shall leave you with the raging bull,"
Siran said, stroking his cheek as if caressing a child. Then she winked at him, as if leaving him to face a fate he knew nothing about.
In that moment, I felt consciousness slowly returning to me, as if I were waking from a deep sleep.
My facial features returned to the calmness I possessed before Siran took control. But this calmness was merely a mask hiding a storm of rage.
My eyes avoided looking at him while I prepared the reprimand I was about to pour over his head.
I looked at him, not with Siran's fiery glow, but with a lethal coldness that left nothing in my eyes but void.
"What was that? Huh?"
I asked him in a calm tone loaded with threat, as if I were trying to gather the scattered remains of my dignity.
I remembered his previous words:
"Leave it to me."
As I approached him slowly, my steps were calculated.
"And what did you do? You let her do whatever she wanted!"
I tilted my head slightly, then stopped.
"Don't you want to say something?"
He was staring at me quietly, with a bit of confusion appearing in his eyes, but this confusion was not enough to satisfy my internal fires.
"You don't even consider me a mate..."
I said in a low tone, then my voice suddenly rose into a resounding scream that shook the silence of the forest:
"Tell me, why did you let her mark you? You don't even care about me! And this coldness of yours—I've grown to hate it!"
My voice trembled at the end, and I stopped screaming suddenly while he looked at me, surprised by my sudden outburst.
"Nate, I really don't want to hate you. Don't make me hate you,"
I said with lethal coldness once more, then I turned around and went back to the house, leaving him with the shock he had received and my conflict that had not yet ended.
I went up to my room, my eyes empty of any emotion, as if all the anger that had been burning in me had completely exhausted me. I headed toward the bed and threw my body onto it, closing my eyes, trying to bury everything that had happened.
After a few minutes, I felt him enter. I didn't need to open my eyes to know it was him. He leaned beside me on the bed, and his presence was heavy.
I was breathing intermittently, each breath coming out as if tearing me from the inside because of the intensity of the anger that had not yet cooled.
I felt him turn toward me, and I knew he was staring at me, but I kept my eyes closed, refusing to face him. I sighed internally and ordered myself:
"Come on, Cyra, just sleep. Sleep."
This inner voice was my own—the voice of despair that did not want to face the truth.
I felt him lift his hand, and at that, my heart skipped a beat. It wasn't a violent touch; rather, it was soft and light as he brushed my hair away from my forehead.
It carried within it something of tenderness, but I couldn't understand it. Then he touched my cheek while I was frozen in my place, unable to move.
"What the hell is he doing?"
screamed within me, while my body was affected by this unexpected touch.
Suddenly, I heard him sigh—a deep sigh—then he moved his hands away and went back to staring at me.
But this wasn't enough to satisfy my fires; his coldness was killing me.
"Come on Cyra, just sleep. Sleep," I ordered myself, trying to ignore his presence.