Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 410. Power Comparison I
Angel didn't say anything. Not at first. His eyes were fixed on the cracked bracelet lying in the bowl, its gold frame dulled, the carvings flickering with the faintest residual energy—too faint for anyone but someone like him to still feel it.
He didn't blink.
He didn't breathe, not properly.
His mind was somewhere else. Pieces clicking. Memories stirring. Guesses forming, shaping, twisting into something he didn't like.
Then finally, he spoke—low and even.
"Can you track something for me?"
Silvan looked up. "Track?"
Angel met his gaze. "The power inside this bracelet. Can you isolate it? Compare it."
Silvan frowned, confused. "Compare it to what?"
Angel's voice dropped slightly. "To me."
A beat of silence passed.
Silvan's brows drew together. "You think it's similar?"
"I'm asking if it is."
Silvan looked down at the bracelet again, then back up at him. "That's a strange request, Your Majesty. Are you saying you know the woman in this memory?"
Angel hesitated. And that alone was enough to make Rose turn her head sharply toward him.
"I don't know," he admitted, slowly. "But… maybe I do."
There it was again. That flicker behind his eyes. That quiet chaos just under the surface.
Rose's hand slid over his—gently, but not uncertainly. Her fingers laced with his, anchoring. Steadying. "Angel."
He didn't look at her yet. He couldn't. His jaw was tense, like there was more beneath his skin than he could allow to rise.
Silvan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, gaze sharpened by the firelight. "That's an interesting answer."
Angel gave a small, humorless exhale. "It's an honest one."
"I assume," Silvan said slowly, "you want to know if this woman—this echo—has something to do with the power inside you."
Angel nodded once. "Yes."
Silvan gave a dry chuckle, old and tired. "I've seen many things. Kings born with greed. Warlords who consumed ancient relics just to win one more battle. But you…" He narrowed his eyes. "Your power isn't something learned, is it?"
"No," Angel replied. "It's not."
Rose glanced between them now, her expression tight, unreadable.
Silvan continued, "You didn't study the arts. Didn't crawl through dungeons or drain cursed wells. This power… it clings to you like instinct. Like breath."
Angel's expression barely changed, but something about him grew stiller.
"Let's say," he murmured, "I got it by accident."
Silvan didn't blink.
Angel added, quieter this time, "And let's also say I can't tell you the details."
Silvan leaned back with a slow, thoughtful sigh. "That's probably wise."
"I didn't ask for it," Angel continued, eyes fixed on the fire now. "Didn't even understand it. But I decided to learn how to control it."
The flames reflected in his eyes—steady, flickering gold layered with something darker. Beneath that calm, behind the voice that rarely raised, was something tight. Braced.
"If I didn't," he said, "the power would've taken me. Controlled me. And I—" He paused, jaw tightening. "I don't like being a puppet. Not even to something living inside me."
The words landed like a quiet blow in the room. Not loud. Not explosive. But solid.
Rose didn't speak, but her hand didn't let go either. Her fingers were still curled around his—gentle, firm. Warm, when so much of him had gone cold.
Silvan tapped the side of his cane again. "Power like that doesn't come without a price."
"I've paid it," Angel said, gaze still locked on the fire. "Still paying."
Silvan studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brows. "And you think this woman might be… what? Another bearer? Another vessel?"
Angel's brow furrowed. "Maybe. Or maybe she's the reason I became one."
That drew a reaction from Silvan. He blinked—slow, deliberate—then sat up straighter, as if the weight of the theory demanded a different posture. "You think your power didn't start with you?"
"I don't know what I think," Angel said. "But the moment I touched that bracelet, the vision didn't feel foreign. It felt… familiar."
Rose shifted slightly beside him. "Familiar how?"
Angel's eyes closed for a moment. Just a second. He took a breath, held it. Let it out slow.
"I can't explain," he admitted.
Silvan's mouth thinned. No lecture followed. Just a glance, unreadable, as the old man stood and moved to the back wall of the study. His fingers trailed over rows of tomes, muttering something in a language none of them understood. Something rough. A little wrong. Magic that wasn't meant to sound beautiful.
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