CHAPTER 22: INEVITABLE
Yael and Helel circled each other in the clearing.
From the very first step, fate had already tipped its hand.
It was not a duel.
It was a delay.
Their footwork carved shallow arcs into the dust-scattered stone, leaves crunching softly beneath each careful shift of weight.
The air between them felt tight, wound too far, like something waiting to snap.
Yael’s back stayed angled toward the chapel without conscious effort, shoulders squared, stance widened just enough to block a straight path forward.
Helel noticed immediately.
He always did.
He struck first.
A fast, elegant slash cut through the air, his blade arcing like molten ruby, light bending around its edge.
The motion was beautiful.
Effortless.
Practiced to the point of muscle memory.
It carried no hesitation, no question.
Only certainty.
Yael barely managed to block.
His dagger came up on instinct alone, steel screaming as it caught the blow at a bad angle. The impact rang through his arm, vibrating straight into bone.
His fingers numbed instantly, grip faltering before he forced it tight again.
Too small.
Too honest.
Eternal Realm weapons responded to dominance.
To confidence.
To the unshakable belief that you deserved to win.
Yael held neither.
He twisted with the force of the strike, redirecting just enough to keep the blade from biting into him.
Sparks flared where metal met metal, bright and angry, scattering like fireflies startled into flight.
Guarding was his first and only priority.
Not countering. Not advancing.
Standing.
Existing.
One more second between Helel and the chapel than fate intended.
That was all he needed.
Or so he told himself.
His heartbeat skipped with every parry. Every dodge, every clumsy redirect carried the same whispered prayer through his chest.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Light and shadow tore through the air with each exchange, blades singing sharp, violent notes.
Their power brushed reality hard enough to make the ground tremble.
Leaves shook loose from branches. Dust scattered in choking clouds. Tiny sparks of yellow and red flame licked briefly at the stone where their weapons passed too close.
The clearing could barely contain it.
The battle, if it could even be called that, did not last as long as a full exhale.
Time stretched only for Yael.
For Helel, it barely moved at all.
Power did not need duration.
It needed precision.
By the time Yael adjusted his footing, recalculated distance, reassessed intent, the outcome had already settled into place.
It waited patiently, like a verdict written before the trial began.
Helel noticed the glances.
Yael’s eyes flicked toward the chapel door.
Once.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Helel’s smile shifted.
Oh.
Understanding clicked into place, smooth and satisfying.
He wasn’t fighting a warrior.
He was fighting a wall.
And walls did not attack.
They stood there, stubborn and silent, until you broke them.
Helel knew exactly how to break even the sturdiest ones.
The little brother was not a threat.
The field was already decided. The result loomed close enough to taste.
Helel let his blade dip and stepped back, boots scraping lazily against the stone.
He scanned his memories like a deck of familiar cards, choosing which one would hurt the most.
He smiled.
“This brings back memories, brother.” Helel said lightly, stopping his relentless assault. He turned his blade and rested its edge flat against his own palm, unbothered by the heat still shimmering along it.
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Yael did not respond.
Silence was the only weapon left to him.
He knew anything he said would be twisted, bent, sharpened, and driven back into him. So he stayed alert, posture tense, dagger raised, eyes locked forward even as his attention stretched thin.
His gaze flicked toward the chapel again.
I hope Suryel has gone.
I hope she understood.
He looked up too late.
He had already proven Helel’s calculation.
Yael would not attack unless forced.
He would not risk collateral.
He would not abandon what he was protecting.
He was buying time.
Waiting for the older brothers.
Waiting for reinforcement.
Waiting for a miracle.
Helel frowned, just slightly.
Mercy was predictable.
Restraint was leverage.
Yael’s strength had always been restraint, and once restraint was understood, it became a handle. Helel had known that about him from the start.
All he had to do was talk.
And wait.
“You really tried to save the other humans, didn’t you?” Helel said, his voice dropping low. Sad. Almost gentle.
The tone alone snapped Yael’s attention back to him.
What does he mean?
Helel saw the confusion flicker across Yael’s face and smiled wider. He lifted his free hand and began to gesture.
A slashing motion across his own throat.
A limp hand dangling, miming a hanging body.
A quick sign for fire.
Then, slower, deliberate, cruel in its patience, he brought his fingers to his mouth and mimed a swallow.
Yael’s blood ran cold.
His face darkened, jaw tightening hard enough to ache.
The taunts were silent.
They didn’t need sound.
They slipped under the skin, needle-sharp, sliding straight into his worst memories. Into past Suryels. Into endings he still tasted at the back of his mouth.
You tried to save them.
You failed.
You will fail again.
He remembered the stillness that followed.
The way hope collapsed quietly, without drama. Different faces. Same ending.
He had sworn it would not happen again.
Not to this Suryel.
The thought staggered him more than any blow.
“I remember meeting you before, brother.” Helel continued, voice syrup-sweet, falsely innocent. “They were all so bright. Little spitfires.”
He tilted his head, studying Yael like a curiosity.
“But you failed to protect them…” Helel said softly. “What makes you think you can this time?”
The words landed exactly where he intended.
Yael froze.
Stone-still.
His grip faltered.
Just enough.
Just long enough.
A quarter of a second.
Helel flicked a stone across the ground. It clattered loudly, instinctively pulling Yael’s attention aside.
Helel was already gone.
He appeared above him, blade descending in a clean, practiced arc.
“A shame.” Helel said coldly. “History tends to repeat itself.”
Inevitable.
The blow landed precise and brutal against the back of Yael’s head.
—
Suryel had found the exit.
She crawled out through a narrow latch door at the back of the chapel grounds, pushing it open inch by inch before peeking out like a cautious animal.
She scanned left, then right, then bolted.
She stumbled through the vineyard, branches clawing at her clothes, leaves tangling in her hair as she shoved through aggressively, uncaring.
When she broke free, she skidded to a halt in the middle of a dimly lit street.
It was too empty.
Too quiet.
The space felt wrong.
Staged.
Sound carried strangely, echoing too cleanly, as if the dream itself was holding its breath. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to hide, to pretend she had not seen anything yet.
Dread rooted her feet to the stone.
A shadow loomed beneath a nearby lamp post.
The light flickered.
Two figures resolved.
Helel.
And Yael, leaning heavily against his shoulder.
Yael’s head hung low. His posture was wrong. Slack.
Pain radiated from him even at a distance.
Suryel’s vision tunneled.
The smug little— He’s smiling.
“What did you do?!” Suryel shouted, already moving. She grabbed a conveniently discarded bottle and hurled it as she ran.
Helel dodged easily, releasing Yael’s arm.
Yael fell sideways, hitting the ground hard, body collapsing like his strings had been cut.
“No!” Suryel screamed, sprinting toward him.
She didn’t make it.
Yael fell with a muffled thud.
Helel scooped her up by the waist with one arm, lifting her clean off the ground. His expression was openly delighted. If he had grown a tail, it would have wagged.
She swung at him, aiming for his face.
Helel caught her wrist effortlessly and pressed her hand, dainty but firm, against his cheek. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the heat of her skin, her fury, like her anger itself was a gift.
“My spark.” Helel said, grinning.
“I will electrocute you!” Suryel snarled, slapping at him with her free hand. “Let go of me!”
The grin only widened.
Helel pulled her closer, turning just enough to let her see Yael stirring on the ground. Yael’s eyes fluttered open. He saw them.
He began to crawl.
Scraping palms. Dragging knees. Grabbing at Helel’s boots like a drowning man clutching debris. Pulling desperately. Uselessly.
Helel released Suryel’s waist.
Then, just as quickly, he held her face.
He pulled her into a kiss.
Lip to lip.
Barely parted.
Pressure light.
Soft.
Warm.
Rose-petal gentle.
It was not desire that overwhelmed her.
It was wrongness.
The collapse of resistance. The shock of intimacy where violence should have been. Gentleness wielded like a blade.
Heat flared across her cheek.
Her eyes went wide.
Her body chose escape.
Suryel fainted.
Helel caught her instantly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other steady at her waist.
Yael screamed.
The sound tore out of him raw and useless, shredding his throat. He clawed forward, fingers scraping skin, grabbing at Helel’s legs.
He was pressed down with a casual step.
Pinned.
Helel snickered, watching him writhe.
“Sleep tight, Princess.” Helel teased, pressing a kiss to Suryel’s cheek, grinning at Yael still clawing and hitting desperately at his knee, it did nothing but made his grin grew wider.
“Time to come home.” He murmured as he lifted her fully into his arms.
She weighed nothing. Her limbs hung limp.
Helel muttered under his breath.
A vent of brown moths spilled outward, wings marked with yellow eyes. They swirled briefly, watching— Like witnesses who would never testify.
With Suryel unconscious in his arms, and Yael still clutching desperately at his shoe, Helel stepped into the vent.
And vanished.
Author Note:
*Swings door to Chapter 21*
Okay that’s it, even as the Author. I need to get you arrested Helel. Cause you are a smooth smooth criminal, I’ll get the AI to read his rights. ??
I can’t wait to write the chapter where you realize you are siblings cause it would be so deliciously awkward. And would be used against you Helel lol.
