Page 23 of Betraying the Beast

“A scholar,” Ceryn murmured, surprise coloring her voice.

“Among other things.” A humorless smile curved his lips. “I was also prideful, ambitious, convinced of my own superiority. The perfect vessel for tragedy.”

He shifted slightly, gathering her closer as if her warmth could ward off the chill of remembrance.

“In those days, Evrahen was threatened by the armies of Nordmar to the east. Vast hordes of warriors, stronger and more numerous than our own forces. Defeat seemed inevitable. The king was desperate for any advantage, any weapon that might turn the tide.”

Vael’Zhur closed his eyes, the images of that time rising unbidden—the war council, the king’s haggard face, the maps marked with the enemy’s inexorable advance.

“There were rumors of a place of power within our borders. An orchard grown on an ancient battlefield, its soil nourished by the blood of fallen heroes, its fruit said to grant unnatural strength to those who consumed it. The king dispatched his most trusted advisors to investigate—myself and a witch named Sylaine.”

The name felt strange on his tongue after so many centuries unspoken. Sylaine. A friend. A lover. A betrayer.

“We journeyed here, to this very castle, then home to an ancient lord who claimed guardianship over the orchard. Lord Kalthir welcomed us with courtesy but warned us gravely against taking the fruit. ‘That which grows from death brings death in turn,’ he told us. But we were young, arrogant, certain that our magic could control whatever powers the orchard contained.”

Vael’Zhur’s claws tightened unconsciously, and he forced himself to relax when Ceryn made a small sound of discomfort.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, gentling his hold. “The memories are... vivid.”

“Go on,” she encouraged, her fingers tracing soothing circles on his chest.

“We studied the orchard for weeks. The trees, unlike any known species. The strange silver veins in the soil. The fruit itself, pulsing with power we could sense but not fully comprehend. Sylaine was fascinated, obsessed. She spoke of harnessing the fruit’s energy to create an army of unstoppable warriors. I urged caution, insisted we understand the power fully before attempting to use it.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Such wisdom, from one who would soon prove himself the greatest of fools.”

He felt Ceryn’s questioning gaze but continued without meeting it.

“One night, while Sylaine slept, I entered the orchard alone. I told myself it was for research, for the greater good of our kingdom. But in truth, it was hubris. I believed myself strong enough, wise enough, to taste the fruit’s power without consequence.”

Vael’Zhur’s voice dropped lower, edged with self-loathing. “I took a single bite. Just one taste, to understand what we were dealing with. The effect was... immediate. Strength flooded my body, my senses sharpened, the world itself seemed to slow around me. I changed form, into a beast. Strong, powerful, immense. But with it came rage—boundless, mindless rage that burned through rational thought like wildfire. I nearly killed Lord Kalthir when he found me, barely restraining the beast that had awakened within.”

He felt Ceryn shudder slightly against him but she did not pull away.

“When the madness subsided and I regained my humanity, I understood the terrible truth. The fruit did grant power, yes—power beyond imagining. But at the cost of one’s humanity. The more one consumed, the stronger the effect. An army fed on silverfruit would be unstoppable, yes, but also uncontrollable. They would be monsters, not soldiers. Weapons that would turn on friend and foe alike.”

“But Sylaine disagreed,” Ceryn guessed quietly.

“Yes.” Vael’Zhur’s eyes opened, fixing on a point in the distance only he could see. “When I told her of my experience, of my conclusion that the orchard must never be used, she was furious. She believed her magic could control the fruit’s side effects, could harness the rage and direct it toward our enemies. She spoke of power beyond imagining, of reshaping the very order of the world.”

His voice hardened. “I refused. I told her we would report to the king that the orchard was too dangerous to use, that we must find another way to defend the kingdom. She called me a coward, a traitor. Said I feared power that I was too weak to control.”

The memory of their argument, so distant yet so vivid, tightened his throat. “Perhaps she was right. But I had seen what lay down that path, and I could not follow it. So I used my magic to ban her from the orchard, to prevent her from taking the fruit without my consent.”

“And she cursed you in return,” Ceryn said softly, the pieces falling into place.

“She did.” Vael’Zhur’s massive body tensed with the recollection. “Not immediately. She left, returned to court, whispered in the king’s ear that I had betrayed them, kept power for myself that could save the kingdom. When soldiers came to arrest me, I fled back here, to Lord Kalthir, to the orchard I had sworn to protect.”

He exhaled heavily. “Sylaine followed, not with soldiers but with something far more dangerous—knowledge. She had delved into magics forbidden even to the First Magister, had learned words in the First Tongue, the language of creation itself. And with those words, she bound me to this place.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Since you love this cursed ground more than you love your own people, your own flesh,” she said, “then bound to it you shall remain. Beast by day, man by night, guardian of that which you refuse to share, until love freely given breaks the chains you have forged.’”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying fire. Vael’Zhur could feel Ceryn processing his words, fitting this new understanding into her perception of him.

“But it’s not so simple anymore, is it?” she finally asked. “You’re not man by night and beast by day. The transformation has progressed.”

“Yes.” His hand resumed its gentle stroking of her shoulder. “Over the centuries, the beast has gained ground. At first, I could pass as human after sunset, could walk among ordinary people if I chose. But as time passed, as Sylaine and Kalthir and the kingdom itself faded to dust, the curse deepened. Now, beast and man exist simultaneously, with the beast ever-growing stronger.”

“And the silverfruit?”

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