Unauthorized Reincarnation

  Chapter 11: The Price of Saving

  Morning sunlight spilled across Aurelia’s chamber, brushing pale gold against silk drapes and polished marble floors. The faint chiming of bells from the cathedral tower echoed through the city, marking the hour of prayer.

  Aurelia sat before the mirror, her long hair cascading like liquid silver as deft hands moved behind her. Her most trusted servant—soft-spoken, gentle, the one she allowed closest to her—fastened the final clasp of her azure vestments.

  “My lady,” the servant murmured, offering a sealed parchment. “This was delivered in the early hours. The rider bore the crest of His Highness.”

  Aurelia’s hand stilled. The seal pressed in crimson wax bore the unmistakable mark of the crown: the Veylor sigil. She broke it with trembling fingers.

  The words inside were few, yet each was a blade pressed to her heart:

  *“Mother, one day a soul shall descend bearing a Blessing as their special skill. When that day comes, inform me at once. That soul is the key to the destiny of this kingdom. Do not fail me.

  —Your son, Alaric Veylor.”*

  The parchment slipped in her grasp, her reflection in the mirror staring back at her with the same poised calm she had always worn before others. Yet inside, the letter was a storm she could not silence.

  If she obeyed Alaric, she betrayed the gods she served. If she stayed loyal to the gods, she betrayed her only son.

  That day stretched long, her mind returning to the words no matter how fervently she prayed. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Every summoning became a trial. Each time she knelt before the altar and called a soul from beyond, her lips whispered the same plea:

  “Please. Let them be ordinary. Let them not bear a Blessing.”

  And each time, relief followed. None carried a special skill touched by divinity. None fit the prophecy. For two years, the letter faded into memory, tucked away like a forgotten wound.

  Until him.

  The day Aurelia summoned Sarvar began no different from the others. The circle flared with light, and a new soul appeared, bewildered and trembling. She guided him as she always did—calm voice, steady hands, gentle reassurance. But when his presence was announced from the Arcane Tower, the city trembled with awe.

  Projected against the heavens, Sarvar’s status revealed it plainly:

  Special Skill — Blessing of Nyx, Goddess of Chaos.

  A hush fell across the tower. No soul in recorded history had ever descended with such a gift. Even the most hardened attendants whispered in fear, their voices carrying like ripples through still water.

  Aurelia’s knees weakened beneath her robes. The letter’s prophecy had arrived.

  Word spread like wildfire through Luminas. Within a week, the name Sarvar was on every tongue. And inevitably, it reached Alaric’s ears. His reply was swift: he would ride to Luminas without delay.

  The night before his arrival, Aurelia could no longer endure the silence. Cloaked in shadow, she slipped through the cathedral’s hidden passages, her steps soundless against stone. She found Sarvar in the guest quarters, restless, his eyes sharp even in darkness.

  He turned when she entered, suspicion flashing in his expression.

  “Saintess Aurelia. Why visit me in secret?”

  She hesitated, her hands tightening around the folds of her cloak. Her voice was low, urgent, stripped of ceremony.

  “Because tomorrow will decide your fate. And if you remain here, you will not live to see another dawn.”

  Sarvar frowned, crossing his arms. “What are you saying?”

  “You must leave Luminas,” she pressed, stepping closer. “Tonight. Abandon your name if you can. Alter your face, your form—anything. Just vanish before he arrives.”

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  He narrowed his eyes. “He? Who do you mean?”

  Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to stillness. “I cannot say more. But believe me when I tell you: the moment he sets eyes on you, everything will end.”

  Sarvar studied her in silence, his jaw tight, disbelief warring with unease.

  “You speak in riddles. Why should I trust you?”

  Aurelia’s calm mask cracked just slightly, enough for him to glimpse the raw plea beneath. “Because I am the only one who has reason to save you. Whether you heed me or not… will decide whether you live or die.”

  She turned before he could reply, her steps echoing faintly as she disappeared into the corridor’s gloom.

  Left in silence, Sarvar clenched his fists, her words echoing like an omen.

  And Aurelia walked into the night, whispering a prayer no god would answer—

  That saving him would not damn her.

  The next morning, the scent reached her first.

  Aurelia stirred awake with a start, the sweetness of incense replaced by the sharp, copper tang of blood. Her breath hitched, the air thick and metallic, wrong. She rose from her bed in silence, her heart hammering against her ribs, and crossed to the door.

  The moment she stepped into the corridor, her blood froze.

  Ten of her handmaidens—faithful girls who had served her since her youth—lay sprawled across the marble, their lifeless forms bathed in crimson. Pale fingers clutched at wounds that no longer bled. Their faces were slack, eyes open to the vaulted ceiling, robbed of the light they once carried.

  And among them, standing as though admiring his handiwork, was a man.

  Golden hair caught the morning light like a halo. His face was sharp, handsome, unmarred—yet his smile twisted the beauty into something unholy. Blue eyes glimmered with mirth, and in his hand a sword dripped with fresh blood.

  “Alaric…” Aurelia’s voice cracked, faint as a whisper.

  Her son turned toward her, his smile widening as if this reunion were the most natural thing in the world.

  “Mother.” He spread his arms, sword still glistening. “Do not look so stricken. I know you would never betray me. That much, I believe with all my heart.”

  He gestured carelessly at the corpses littering the floor.

  “But that meant there had to be a traitor among your servants. So I rid you of them all. Consider it an act of mercy.”

  Aurelia’s hands trembled beneath the folds of her sleeves. Her voice barely held.

  “They were innocent.”

  “Innocent?” Alaric laughed softly, stepping over a body as though it were no more than a broken vase. “Innocence is a mask, Mother. Treachery festers in silence. Better to purge the doubt than let rot grow beneath your roof.”

  His gaze sharpened suddenly, a glint of obsession breaking through his smile.

  “And besides… there are greater matters at hand. The boy, Sarvar, was only the beginning.”

  Aurelia’s lips parted, but no sound came.

  “There will be another,” Alaric continued, lowering his sword until its bloody tip kissed the marble. “A girl. Unlike Sarvar, she will carry not one, but two divine blessings. The gods themselves will quake at her presence. And she will belong to me.”

  Aurelia’s breath faltered. Two blessings…

  Alaric’s smile returned, softer, almost tender—yet his eyes burned with ruthless clarity.

  “When she arrives, you will inform me at once. Keep her here in Luminas until I return. No matter the cost. Do you understand, Mother?”

  Aurelia swallowed hard, her throat dry, but forced herself to nod.

  “Good.” He turned, wiping his sword across the hem of a dead servant’s gown without pause. “For now, I must travel. First to the land of the elves. Then to the dwarves. Pieces are moving, and I will claim them all.”

  As he strode down the bloodstained corridor, Aurelia remained frozen, her hands pressed tight against her chest. The morning light poured through stained glass windows, illuminating crimson pools around her fallen servants.

  Her son’s smile lingered in her mind, colder than any blade.

  And in the silence that followed, Aurelia understood the true weight of her role:

  to save a soul meant betraying Alaric,

  but to obey Alaric meant betraying every soul yet to come.

  Years passed.

  The city of Luminas thrived, its bells still chiming with the same reverence, its towers still gleaming with sanctified light. To its people, the Saintess Aurelia remained untarnished: a pillar of faith, unyielding, radiant as the dawn.

  But still.

  When Lily Miller first stepped into the world as the girl with two divine blessings, Aurelia’s hand trembled as she wrote the words that would reach Alaric. It had been the hardest letter she had ever sealed. Yet once done, the rest came easier.

  As Lily traveled, Aurelia’s quill followed. Every month, every season, every change of her path was recorded and dispatched:

  She has reached the Adventurers’ Guild.

  She trains in swordsmanship under new companions.

  She grows stronger—her skills sharpen with each battle.

  For one long year, Aurelia sent her reports like clockwork. Each message was a silent knife, carving deeper into the faith she once claimed to hold sacred. Yet she told herself, again and again: This is the price of saving him.

  Then, when Lily went to Cindralith, she sent the final one. Her last confession in ink:

  To His Highness Alaric Veylor,

  The girl remains. She bears her two blessings proudly, and now wanders the northern lands. At present, she is in Cindralith, hunting monsters of greater rank. She has grown bold. Perhaps too bold.

  You asked me to hold her here until you arrived. Forgive me, my son. She is no longer a child easily tethered. If you mean to claim her, you must come swiftly. She will not wait for anyone.

  —Aurelia Solenne

  When the wax seal hardened and the courier vanished into the dawn, Aurelia leaned back in her chair, her hands resting still upon her lap.

  She did not weep this time. Her heart had already dried itself hollow.

  For one year she had betrayed the gods. For one year she had betrayed the girl.

  And with this letter, she knew—she had betrayed herself as well.

  the finale of Season One, and I promise it’ll be a blast. I’m pouring everything into it.