Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 411. Power Comparison II
Silvan reached for something on the top shelf—a long, narrow rod, etched with deep sigils that glowed faintly even in the dim room. He brought it back to the table and placed it beside the bracelet.
"I might be able to test for that," he said. "Power signatures fade quickly unless bound, but with what's left here—and what I can pull from you…"
Angel finally looked at Rose.
She was still watching him. Quiet. Unmoving. But her eyes—sharp, deep, unwavering—held that look he knew too well.
"You've seen more than you let anyone know," she said.
"I didn't want to worry you," he replied softly.
She gave a breath of a laugh, dry and sharp. "That's rich. Coming from you."
He managed the smallest smile. Pained. Barely there. But real.
Silvan interrupted with a cough. "I'll need blood."
Angel didn't hesitate. He held out his hand.
The silver needle gleamed under the firelight as Silvan pricked the skin. Three drops fell onto the rod. The runes drank it like ink into paper, and the entire tool lit with a faint red shimmer.
He laid the rod across the bracelet and whispered again—longer this time. The kind of chant that sounded like pulling something back from the grave.
The room dimmed. The fire bent inward. The walls seemed to lean in, just a bit.
Then the rod pulsed.
And Silvan's face paled.
Rose straightened immediately. "What is it?"
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at the reaction like he'd touched something holy. Or unholy.
Then he looked up. "It's not identical," he said slowly. "But it's close. Too close."
"How close?" Angel asked.
"Enough that it could be the same origin," Silvan murmured. "Like two rivers flowing from the same black spring."
Angel's gaze dropped to the bracelet.
"She was used," Silvan added. "You said that yourself."
Angel nodded once.
Silvan tapped the table gently. "Then maybe you weren't just given power, Your Majesty. Maybe you inherited it."
Angel stood, turning away. Not in dismissal—but because the fire was easier to stare at than the man who might be unearthing the start of everything he'd tried to bury.
His jaw worked slowly. Grinding.
"I see…" he said. The words were quiet. Vague. And yet they felt heavy.
Rose stood beside him now. "You've thought about this before."
He didn't answer.
She stepped closer. "Angel."
"I didn't want it," he said, still watching the fire. "But I couldn't get rid of it. So I made a choice. I shaped it before it shaped me."
"And if this woman—if she's the first—"
"Then I was never meant to be the only one," Angel finished. "Or the last."
Silvan sat heavily in his chair. "There's a reason that magic is sealed. There's a reason you're still alive after carrying it this long."
Angel finally looked at him again. "Because I fought it. Every step."
"Not many can say that," Silvan muttered. "Most that carry a power like yours get devoured by it. Or worse—enjoy it."
"I don't," Angel said.
Rose's voice was soft. "But you still use it."
"I use it because I have to." His tone didn't rise, but there was steel in it now. "Because if I don't, it will. It'll take the wheel. And when that happens… no kingdom survives."
Silvan looked at him for a long, silent stretch. The kind of look that cut deeper than most words could.
Angel didn't flinch under it.
Rose stepped between them then. "What do we do now?"
Silvan exhaled through his nose. "If Erebus holds the key, then the woman—or what's left of her—is still tied to it. But if your power resonates with hers, you, Your Majesty… going there might trigger more than just memories. It might awaken what's sleeping."
Angel's voice was low. "Then maybe it's time I stop running from it."
Silvan gave him a long, appraising look.
"You're walking into something ancient. Possibly older than our records. Maybe even older than the kingdoms we stand on. And if this power came from her… then finding out why it chose you might be more dangerous than wielding it."
Angel nodded.
Then, after a beat, he said quietly—
"Then let it be dangerous."
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