Page 52 of Burned to Obey

My ribs still ache from last night’s intensity, a reminder of how Saru and I crossed the line from uneasy partners into something far more intimate. I wake in his bed before dawn, curled against him in the dim glow of a guttering lantern. His warmth surrounds me, the heavy contours of his arm draped gently across my waist. For a moment, I stay there, letting my heart thud with quiet astonishment. We did this—chose each other in a fortress that thrums with risk.

But reality tugs me back. The Bastion never sleeps, and Thakur’s threats loom like a predator in the dark. If I linger too long, rumors might swirl, or worse—some Senate ally might barge in. I carefully slip from under Saru’s arm, ignoring the protest in my bruised side. He stirs, brow furrowing, but doesn’t fully wake. My gaze lingers on his sleeping face, the tension in his horns eased for once. My chest tightens.

With a quiet exhale, I dress in the faint lantern light, tugging on my trousers and tunic. My heart still races with last night’s memory: our bodies tangling, his deep voice murmuring reassurance, the rush of pleasure that felt like a vow. I swallow, smoothing my hair. He was gentle, letting me set the pace,reminding me I was no longer a piece of currency or a tool. And I gave myself with a raw desperation I never knew I possessed.

I slip out, the door’s hinge creaking softly. One of Saru’s loyal guards notices me leaving but averts his gaze, refusing to comment. My cheeks burn. I nod a greeting and hurry down the corridor, each step echoing in the hush. A swirl of confusion and warmth churns in my belly. If Thakur and the Senate find out about this closeness, they’ll exploit it. But I can’t regret letting Saru see me so vulnerable. In the gloom, my brand feels less like a cage and more like a strange bond we share.

Reaching my quarters, I close the door, pressing my forehead to the wooden panels. My entire body hums with leftover desire and the knowledge that we can’t hide this forever. Yet the day’s demands wait. I wash quickly with a basin of cool water, changing into a fresh tunic. The brand catches my eye, scabbed but healing. A forced imprint that somehow led to a night of unforced surrender.

Once I’m presentable, I slip out again, meeting the guard posted to escort me. He nods in silent greeting, and we set off for the daily quartermaster tasks. My limbs ache more than usual, but not just from bruises—my entire being feels raw, like I’ve stepped beyond a wall I once clung to. If anyone notices the flush on my cheeks, they keep it to themselves.

The morning passes in routine checks. I shuffle logs, verifying no contraband. Prisoners queue for rations, sullen or bored. My guard stands watch. When the new chaos mage, Arkiel, appears on the list, a shiver of unease runs down my spine—reminders of that fizzled attempt to hex me. We keep him under watch. So far, no more incidents.

By midday, the Bastion’s corridors bustle with clanking armor, the clamor of raised voices. An uneasy energy crackles, as if everyone waits for Thakur’s next move. I push on, ignoring the twinge in my side, wanting nothing more than to see Saru again,even if just to confirm last night wasn’t a fever dream. Yet a swirl of nerves also warns me to keep distance—too many watchers. Instead, I bury my longing under logistics.

My routine is abruptly shattered just after the midday bell, when a frantic guard barrels into the supply yard shouting for help. “Warden Saru… Something’s wrong! He’s collapsed!”

Ice grips my chest. I drop the ledger and dash toward the guard. “Where is he?”

He gestures wildly, voice trembling. “In the old meeting room near the western wing. He took a sip of wine, then started convulsing. Blood in his sputum.”

My heart skitters. Poison. Without waiting for the guard, I sprint across the yard, ignoring the startled inmates. My assigned escort hurries after me, but I outpace him, fear pounding like a war drum. The Bastion’s corridors feel endless, each turn a labyrinth. At last, I see a cluster of guards near a narrow doorway. They part as I approach, shock and worry etched on their faces.

Inside, I find Saru on the floor, one guard kneeling by his side. He convulses, froth tinged with red seeping from his mouth, eyes rolled back. My stomach lurches. Another guard stands back, white-faced, babbling about not knowing how it happened.

I drop to my knees, heart racing. “Saru,” I murmur, pressing a hand to his forehead. He’s burning, breath ragged. He can’t answer, spasms ripping through his massive frame. Panic grips me, but I force calm. Poison is the likely culprit—some chaos-laced toxin, no doubt. We need an antidote or at least a remedy to slow the damage.

One guard stammers, “We sent for a healer, but they might not know chaos toxins.”

I swallow, blood pounding in my ears. My mind flashes to the dark elf forges, the knowledge I gleaned from glimpses of chaoticingredients. If this is the same brand of venom… My breath catches. Using that knowledge might expose me as something abnormal. But if I don’t act, Saru could die.

Gritting my teeth, I press a hand to his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart. The convulsions intensify, and he coughs up more blood. Guards exchange panicked looks. I snap at them, “Get me hot water, cloths, anything to help him breathe.”

They scramble off, uncertain. My entire body shakes. I recall the hush-hush talk about Nullborn bloodlines, about how certain humans can disrupt chaos magic. If the poison is chaos-based, maybe I can disrupt it. Terror wars with desperation. I can’t let him die.

“Saru,” I whisper, leaning in. He spasms again, pain etched on his face. My chest constricts. The memory of last night’s closeness slams into me. I can’t lose him now. Summoning every scrap of forbidden knowledge, I recall a method the dark elves used to purge chaos toxins—a mix of tapping into the victim’s aura and flooding it with null energy. I never tried it, only witnessed glimpses, but I have no choice.

I shove fear aside and cradle his face with both hands. The mark etched into my skin buzzes with intensity, as if it recognizes the storm churning inside him. I close my eyes, grounding myself in the pulse of his chaos. My mind quiets. My heart does not. In the forges, I once saw dark elf alchemists funnel chaos into slaves, only for some to neutralize it unknowingly. If I truly am Nullborn, I might replicate that effect.

My breath steadies, and I concentrate, letting an odd calm wash through me. A faint heat pulses from my chest into my arms, a sensation I’ve repressed since I realized my sabotage immunity. Saru’s spasms shake me, but I hold tight, trying to imagine the chaos poison as a living thing. I envision pulling itout or neutralizing it. Something stirs beneath my skin, a silent hum that resonates with the brand’s scab.

A guard returns with hot water, freezing when he sees me hunched over Saru, brow furrowed, expression intense. I hear him mutter but block it out. My focus narrows. Saru’s thrashing slows slightly. My pulse leaps. Maybe it’s working. I push deeper into that intangible sense, letting my Nullborn trait unravel the chaotic threads. A wave of dizziness hits me, like I’m absorbing something vile, but I grit my teeth, pressing on.

He coughs violently, choking on blood. I maintain the connection, ignoring the swirl of horror in the watchers. They must see me trembling, eyes half-glazed. Time stretches. Then, abruptly, the convulsions ease. Saru’s body slackens, a ragged gasp escaping him. I slump forward, panting. My arms feel heavy, as if I carried a massive weight.

For a moment, no one speaks. The guard with the hot water steps closer. “What did you do?” he whispers, voice tight with shock.

I can’t even form words. I shakily press two fingers to Saru’s neck, feeling a pulse. Still fast, but steadier. His eyes flutter, half-focused. My heart surges with relief. I’ve saved him—used a monstrous secret to burn away the poison. But at what cost?

“Get the healer,” I croak at the guard. “He needs normal treatment now. Hurry.” The guard bolts, spurred by my command. Another stands by, mouth agape.

Saru coughs, breath hitching. He tries to speak, voice raw. “Naeva…”

I shiver, cradling his head. “Don’t talk. You’ll be okay.” But panic seizes me. I can feel the stares from the guards who saw me wield some unnatural power. If word spreads, the Senate will exploit it. The Bastion might see me as a threat. I see the suspicion in one guard’s eyes already.

I scramble up, unsteady on my feet. Saru tries to catch my wrist, but he’s too weak. His gaze flickers with confusion. “Wait…”

I can’t face him now, not after revealing the darkest secret I possess. If he knows about the Nullborn trait, what will he do? I clutch the brand, tears burning my eyes. My entire body shakes from the energy I channeled. Without thinking, I dash from the room, ignoring his hoarse plea. The guards call after me, but I slip through a side corridor, heart hammering as though it might burst.

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