Eleazar's eyes drifted toward Xavier again. The glow beneath Xavier's skin flickered like a distant heartbeat of something ancient.

"I am," Eleazar said quietly, "a slave."

Luther stiffened. "A slave? To whom?"

Eleazar shook his head. "Not a person. Not a master. Not a kingdom or throne."

His eyes dimmed a little as he continued.

"A slave to destiny. To a cycle written long before either of us existed. I carry a bloodline I never asked for, a burden I cannot refuse, and a purpose I do not get to define."

He exhaled slowly, the weight behind it old enough to silence a room.

"What I know, I know only because I must."

"What I can do, I can do only because it was demanded of me."

"And for him"—Eleazar looked at Xavier—"I am nothing more than a caretaker sent ahead of the storm he will become."

Luther felt the words settle under his skin. He didn't believe in fate. He didn't believe in prophecy. He didn't believe in destinies shaped by gods or monsters. But as much as he refused to admit it, he had no choice but to believe in it.

But this man… this man didn't sound like someone boasting.

He sounded like someone shackled.

Luther spoke again, quieter this time.

"Then what is he? How does something like him even exist inside the universe?"

Eleazar paused for several seconds before answering.

"That isn't something I decide," he said. "Nor something I control. Nor something I'm allowed to shape."

His voice dropped even lower.

"I'm only here because the universe always places chains where power is about to rise. And he…" Eleazar touched Xavier's chest, "is a power no world is meant to contain."

Luther's jaw clenched. "Then tell me what he's turning into. Tell me why his existence feels wrong even for a vampire. Tell me why every instinct in me begs to destroy him."

Eleazar simply replied:

"Because he isn't finished."

Silence rolled through the chamber.

"He is becoming something the universe hasn't seen in eons," Eleazar murmured. "And even he doesn't know yet what that is. But it isn't my place to guide him. I can only watch."

He turned away from Xavier, meeting Luther's gaze one last time.

"I asked you to heal him. Not because you owed him something… but because the next part of his path is not mine to walk."

Luther swallowed his next question, unsettled despite himself.

Eleazar added, more quietly than before:

"I am nothing more than a slave standing in front of the boy who will decide the fate of all of us."

Xavier's breathing came back in uneven waves, the kind that made his chest rise too slow at first, then too fast, like his body was trying to remember how to exist again. His eyelids twitched and finally dragged open, and the pale light in the chamber stung him enough to make him wince. He lifted a hand, only for his arm to buckle under his own weight. He pushed again, stubborn and shaky, until he managed to sit up—barely. His back hit the glass wall behind him, and he let out a rough breath as if the whole world had just been rebuilt inside him.

Eleazar was the first to speak.

"You need to move in smaller steps," he said, his voice steady. "Your body and soul haven't settled into their anchor point yet. One wrong twitch and you'll collapse again."

Xavier blinked at him, confused.

"…Anchor point?" He looked down at his own hands like they belonged to someone else. Then he looked at Eleazar, and his face cracked into disbelief. "What are you doing here? How did you even get in? Did they touch you? Did someone try anything?" His hands moved over Eleazar's arms and shoulders as if checking for cuts or bruises he couldn't see.

Eleazar lifted one brow. "I'm fine. No one laid a hand on me. He"—he tilted his chin at Luther—"treated me well."

Luther scoffed from the side. "Do not flatter yourself, human. I simply have better things to do than waste time killing an old man."

Xavier ignored the insult and looked around the chamber, noticing the runes, the lingering blood scent, the weakened glow of the seals. "What the hell happened here?" he asked.

Luther stepped forward. "What happened," he said, "is that you broke into my castle twice, nearly destroyed half of it, almost tore apart every fool who crossed your path, and then turned into a mindless beast that should have been put down the moment it opened its eyes."

Luther told him everything ‌without leaving out even the smallest detail.

Xavier felt his stomach drop.

He swallowed hard.

"Reva…" His voice cracked as if the name itself was cutting him. "I tried to kill her?"

Luther frowned as if Xavier had insulted him. "Out of every catastrophic thing I listed, that is the part that bothers you? Truly, your priorities are painfully human."

He pushed himself up, stumbled so hard his knee smashed into the floor, then grabbed the wall and tried again. Eleazar reached forward, but Xavier shook him off.

"I need to see her," he muttered. His breaths came rough and hurried. "Now."

He moved toward the exit, nearly tripping over his own feet as he forced his exhausted body to run. His shoulder slammed into the doorframe, then into the next corner, and more than once he caught himself using the wall as a crutch. He didn't care. He kept going—down the long corridor, across the bridge, through the smaller halls, letting instinct drag him toward her door.

Reva's chamber was quiet.

The door wasn't fully shut.

He pushed it gently, and the faint creak made its way through the silence.

She was curled up on the bed, wrapped in a blanket as if trying to hold herself together. Her eyes were closed, but the trails of dried tears were still on her cheeks. She looked like she hadn't slept even though she was asleep.

Xavier froze for a moment.

Then he walked closer, slow and careful, like a man stepping toward something sacred.

He reached out and touched her shoulder.

Reva's eyes snapped open. She looked straight at him, and for a heartbeat, she didn't move. She didn't breathe. She didn't speak. Her mind couldn't find the words yet.

Xavier knelt beside the bed, still unsteady, still swaying, but he didn't break eye contact.

Reva whispered his name, barely a sound. "Xavier…?"

He nodded once. "Yeah. It's me."

She grabbed him—desperate, clinging, trembling. She dragged him into her arms and hugged him so hard he almost lost his balance again. Her breath hitched against his shoulder. "I thought you were gone," she said, voice shaking and small. "I thought I lost you. I kept calling you in my dreams and you never came back."

"I'm here now," Xavier said quietly as he wrapped his arms around her. His body still hurt everywhere, but somehow holding her didn't hurt at all. "I'm not going anywhere."

Reva pressed her forehead against his. "I was scared," she whispered. "I was so scared that when I opened my eyes, you wouldn't exist anymore."

Xavier brushed a thumb under her eye, wiping the leftover tears she didn't realize were still there. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I made you cry again, didn't I?"

Reva shook her head as more tears pooled. "You idiot… you absolute idiot. You came here alone. You fought father. You almost died. Why? Why would you do something like that?"

Xavier didn't answer right away. He just held her closer, feeling her arms tighten around him with a force that told him how deeply she meant every word.

Then he whispered into her hair, "Because you matter to me. More than anything else right now."

Reva closed her eyes, letting that truth wrap around her. She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat—slow, uneven, but alive.

She didn't speak again.

She didn't need to.

The way she clung to him said everything.

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