Chapter 7 The Weight of Love and Pain
“Your mate’s pain is a triple-edged sword,” Aethon continued. “You’re the source of her hurt, and she’ll feel it threefold. Your thread has sliced her heart apart, her soul has degenerated, and her organs are rapidly decaying...”
Aethon’s words trailed off, and he gazed at Dixon with sombre depth. “A pain born of love needs heavenly balm. The reaper'll take her soul to Thalassa Iasis, where it'll heal before reaching heaven…”
Aethon’s eyes locked onto Dixon’s, his expression unyielding. “The reaper will be our unwitting vessel while you embark on your journey to Moiraea.”
Dixon nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “That sounds like a good plan,” he agreed. “But... her soul, how’ll we get it back from the reaper after it's been washed?”
Aethon's expression turned mysterious, a sly grin in the corners of his lips. “Don't worry about that. I'm Aethon. When I'm saying it's possible, you should believe me. I've got connections, I'm on good terms with Demons, Spirits are like family, and I've got a Witch on speed dial.”
Aethon’s words lingered, thick with meaning, like he was about to bend reality itself.
Dixon's eyes went wide, and he suddenly got it. He locked eyes with Aethon, looking grateful. “Thanks, Aethon. If the time comes, I'll make sure to return the favour. You've had my back since the very first day we met.”
Aethon chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Without another word, he turned to leave, his gaze lingering on Dixon for a moment before he stepped out into the night.
The forest's darkness swallowed everything, except the owls' soft hoots. Aethon slipped into the room, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor.
He approached the bed, his eyes locked on Izzy's peaceful face. He stood there, gazing into her closed eyes, his expression softening, his gaze deepening. He seemed to be reading her face, tracing her pain.
Moonlight highlighted his sharp features as he leaned forward, kissing her forehead, his lips lingering like he was savouring her warmth.
“I promise you, mate,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I'll wake your soul, and I'll make sure those who hurt you pay. You'll be free.” He adjusted Izzy's posture, shifting her to the other side of the bed with gentle care.
He lay down beside her, taking her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers.
In the dim light, Dixon's eyes stayed on Izzy's face, his expression a mix of longing and sorrow. His chest rose and fell with a soft sigh as he let his emotions settle.
His eyes slowly closed, heavy with exhaustion. A soft sigh escaped his lips, carrying his worries. He focused inward, calming his wolf's energy.
His inner power stirred, spreading a soothing warmth throughout his body. His brain, once racing with thoughts, began to slow, his mind relaxing into a peaceful calm.
With each breath, his tension ebbed away, his muscles releasing their hold on his frame. His thoughts grew disjointed, then faded, leaving him drifting.
As sleep’s gentle tide claimed him, his grip on Izzy’s hand remained, a gentle, reassuring pressure, even as his own body succumbed to the allure of rest.
Aethon stood beside the bed, his eyes blazing with a fierce, otherworldly energy. His hands hovered above Dixon’s sleeping form, and a soft, pulsating glow began to emanate from his fingertips.
The air around them seemed to ripple and distort, as if reality itself was bending to accommodate the magic. The glow grew brighter, illuminating the room with an ethereal light.
Aethon’s voice whispered incantations. “Μεταφορά χρόνου,” he breathed. “Άσε τα νήματα του χρόνου και του χώρου να ευθυγραμμιστούν για αυτό το ταξίδι.”
As he spoke, the glow coalesced into a shimmering, iridescent portal. The portal pulsed with energy, its edges crackling with electric black sparks.
The room dissolved around them, replaced by a swirling vortex of colours. The air was filled with the scent of ozone and burning incense, and the sound of distant thunder rumbled through the silence.
Aethon’s hands moved in intricate patterns, weaving a complex spell of transportation. His fingers left trails of glittering, red sparks in the air, and the portal pulsed brighter, its energy building to a crescendo.
“Άνοιξε την πόρτα.,” his voice a mere whisper. “Άνοιξε την πύλη και άσε την ψυχή του Ντίξον να περάσει στο βασίλειο του Κράτιστον.”
The portal flared bright blue, and a shimmering, black light began to emanate from Dixon’s sleeping form. The light grew brighter, and then suddenly, it burst free from his body, shooting into the portal.
As the light vanished into the portal, the magic dissipated. Aethon stood alone beside the bed, Dixon’s lifeless body remaining still, Izzy’s form beside him.
As the portal closed, his eyes fluttered closed, his face pale. The magic drained his energy, leaving him weakened. He grasped for the bedpost, but his legs buckled. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest, his breathing laboured.
The room spun, colours blurring, and his vision tunnelled into darkness.
