Chapter 357 — Talk I

Vermont nodded understanding, then stood and moved toward the door.

The Unnamed Four followed him out without prompting, giving privacy to those who needed it.

Adrian looked up from his position beside Elizabeth, his young face showing exhaustion, and quietly left as well, closing the door behind him.

Damian extended his Willpower and Perception, scanning the building and surrounding area for any surveillance or spying attempts.

Then he looked at Elizabeth, who still sat facing the wall, her shoulders trembling slightly.

"Elizabeth."

She didn’t turn. Just sat there staring at nothing.

Damian’s voice came out flat.

"You were meant to die today."

That got her attention. Her head turned slowly, eyes red and swollen from crying, dried tear tracks marking her face.

"One of my sealed memories unlocked. That’s how I found you."

He moved closer despite the pain shooting through his healed leg, each step deliberate.

"It triggered at the exact moment you were about to die. The old beggar mentioned you in that memory. Said you were one of the people with the strongest potential. Said you died before reaching it."

Elizabeth’s voice came out hoarse.

"Then you... you knew. Before coming. You knew what would happen."

"I knew you were supposed to die. I didn’t know anything else."

He stood beside her bed now, close enough that she had to look up at him.

"Do you know who orchestrated this?"

Elizabeth shook her head as fresh tears formed.

"What’s going on in your family?"

Her laugh came out broken and bitter.

"What isn’t going on? Main lineage became weak after Father died in his so-called accident. One of the branch heads is acting family head now. Aunt was the only S rank left in the main lineage protecting us..."

Her voice cracked.

"Now she’s dead too."

"Your grandfather?"

Elizabeth’s smile was helpless.

"Grandfather is too busy with important matters."

Damian’s jaw clenched.

"...Too busy to care that his family is being systematically murdered?"

"He’s always been too busy... For years. Even before Father died."

Her hands twisted in her lap, knuckles white.

"Right now, many powerful awakeners have gone somewhere. Their whereabouts aren’t known. Everyone strong enough to matter is... elsewhere."

’Convenient timing for an assassination attempt.’

Damian stayed quiet for a moment, processing.

"Stay in the Academy, start hiding your whereabouts and don’t go out for missions."

Elizabeth looked away, staring at the wall again.

"I was the one who was supposed to die. If... you hadn’t come, Aunt would still be–"

"She made her choice."

Elizabeth’s head snapped toward him, anger flashing in her eyes for the first time.

"You–"

"She chose to protect you. That was her decision... Not yours."

"She died because of me!"

The words exploded out of her, raw and desperate.

"She died because I was too weak! Because I couldn’t defend myself! Because I–"

"Because someone tried to kill you."

Damian’s voice cut through her spiral like a blade.

"People came to assassinate you. They involved hundreds of awakeners with multiple S ranks. Probably planned it for weeks, maybe months. Your family lineage is dying, and you’re facing assassination after assassination."

He paused, his crimson eyes boring into hers.

"And your thought is to what? Die? Let them win?"

Elizabeth looked down at her hands, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"You don’t understand. I can’t... I can’t live knowing she died just to save me. The guilt... it’s suffocating me. Why do I get to live when she–"

"Stop."

She flinched at the harshness in his voice.

"Just stop... Listen to yourself."

Damian pulled a chair over and sat directly in front of her, close enough that she couldn’t look away.

"Let me ask you something. When your aunt decided to use that forbidden skill, when she chose to sacrifice herself... did she ask your permission?"

Elizabeth blinked, thrown by the question.

"What?"

"Did she turn to you and say, ’Elizabeth, I’m going to die for you now. Is that acceptable? Do you approve of this decision?’"

"That’s not... she didn’t have time to–"

"Exactly. She didn’t have time. She didn’t need permission. She saw a situation and made a choice based on what mattered most to her."

His voice was calm and logical, stripping away the emotion to expose the structure underneath.

"So tell me... if the decision was entirely hers, if she made it without asking you, without needing your approval... how is her death your responsibility?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth, closed it. Her brow furrowed.

"Because... because if I was stronger, she wouldn’t have needed to–"

"If the assassins hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have needed to either. If your grandfather had protected his family, she wouldn’t have needed to. If the branch families weren’t trying to murder you, she wouldn’t have needed to."

Damian leaned forward slightly.

"You’re taking responsibility for a choice that wasn’t yours to make, while ignoring everyone who actually caused this situation. Why?"

"Because she’s dead and I’m alive!"

The words came out anguished.

"Because I’m sitting here and she’s not! Because every time I close my eyes, I see her face, and I know she died so I could keep breathing!"

"...And?"

The single word hung in the air like a challenge.

Elizabeth stared at him, confusion breaking through her grief.

"And? What do you mean ’and’?"

"You feel guilty because she died for you. I understand that. But what does your guilt accomplish?"

He tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes never leaving hers.

"Does your guilt bring her back? Does it honor her sacrifice? Does it protect you from the next assassination attempt?"

"That’s not the point–"

"Then what is the point?"

His voice remained calm, but there was steel underneath.

"You’re wallowing in guilt like it’s some kind of tribute. Like feeling terrible enough will somehow balance the scales. But guilt without action is just... indulgence."

The word hit her like a slap.

"How dare you–"

"It’s comfortable."

Damian’s voice dropped lower.

"Guilt is comfortable, self-pity is comfortable, crying about how you don’t deserve to live is comfortable because it means you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to make hard choices. You don’t have to face the people who killed her."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"You’re not grieving her death, Elizabeth. You’re hiding behind it."

Elizabeth’s hands clenched into fists, tears streaming down her face.

"You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly–"

"Look at me."

His voice cracked like a whip.

"Actually look."

She did, and what she saw made her breath catch.

Something suppressed behind those crimson eyes. Layers upon layers of grief and rage and self-hatred compressed into such absolute control it was terrifying.

’He’s... how is he...’