Lily
The doctor removes his glasses and sighs. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice steady but heavy. "We're doing everything we can. But your mother... her condition is critical. She's dying."
No.
The word echoes in my mind, sharp and suffocating. My legs threaten to give out beneath me. I bite down hard on my lip, fighting back the tears that burn behind my eyes.
"We'll keep monitoring her," he continues, "but in cases like this... our options are limited."
His tone is calm, professional—the kind of voice doctors use when they’ve delivered this news too many times before. When all they can offer is a front-row seat to the inevitable. This man is one of the top specialists in the country, in one of the best hospitals, and yet
"But..." My voice cracks, raw and desperate. The tears are coming now, no matter how hard I try to hold them back.
The doctor hesitates, then exhales. "Unless you can secure the funds for another surgery... I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do."
My stomach twists. This is the question I’ve been dreading since they admitted her again. The one I already know the answer to.
.
“How much is it going to cost?”
The man exhales.
“Approximately half a million. “
My heart shatters and before I can say anything, the doctor turns his back on me and leaves me in the middle of the brightly lit corridor.
Half a million…This can’t be happening.
My eyes flicker to the tall, dark figure, leaning against the wall. A few of the nurses in the hospital steal glances at him as they pass by. I’ve noticed women always look at him despite who he is. One of the nurses blushes and puts a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she approaches him.
But he doesn’t notice any of this.
Because he is watching me. Arthur Stark - the future young heir of the Stark Company and one of the richest men in the world. At the age of just 28, he has what most people would never dream of. On top of it, he is strong, really smart and intimidating. This is wrapped in a muscled body and piercing eyes. Arthur Stark rarely smiles and when he does, the mood of the room changes entiely. Cold beauty and power.
He is also my husband.
My heart picks up its pace as I walk towards him. I have to do this. He is my only option right now.
His dark, piercing eyes fix on me and I tremble.
“Arthur , “ I begin, lifting my gaze to meet his “I am begging you- you heard the doctor. My mother is dying and you are the only one who can help me pay for the operation. “
His eyes linger on me. Arthur is dressed in an entirely black suit which makes him even more intimidating. He is a predator and I am the small, helpless prey he is about to devour.
“Please, “ I keep begging nevertheless, despite the overwhelming fear. “Help me. “
Then something shifts in his eyes.
It’s as if the black in his eyes changes into a different colour and I blink, the feeling of fear growing inside me. My mind's playing tricks on me, so I shake my head.
In moments like those, I fear Arthur is not just any man. Not even a… human.
Arthur Narrows his eyes and pushes away from the wall. He takes a threatening step towards me. My back hits the wall behind and I have nowhere to run. He is much taller than me, powerful. My hands close into fists, my nails digging into my palms.
“Help?“ he growls out the words deliberately and slowly, the tone of his voice sends shivers down my spine. “You are asking me to help you? “
My nails dig harder into my palms when he closes his hand around my forearm and forces me to keep looking at him.
His jet-black hair is falling over his forehead, hiding his eyes. My husband leans forward, his breath is on my face.
“You are just another w***e, Lily , “ Arthur’ voice is lowered, and his hand closes tighter in my flesh. “Why would I help you save your mother? “
“I…” my vision blurs and I can no longer fight the tears. “I am still your wife. “
Arthurshorts, shaking his head.
“If you were my wife you wouldn’t be carrying someone else’s child. “
Then he closes the distance between us entirely, moving his lips to my ear.
“You are no one, Lily . “ he says and the cold, controlled tone in his voice is what scares me the most.
“I am so sorry “ I plead, “Please, I swear I will do anything, just….”
I am sobbing, lowering my eyes to the white, hospital floor. Even now I don’t want Arthurto look at me when I am crying. That will give him another reason to mock me.
“You have no right to be asking me for anything. “ Arthur snarls.
Two months ago my mother got seriously ill. At that time my father and mom were already divorced. My father left us - me, my sister and my mother- for a younger woman.
On top of it, he had his own business but he was swimming in debt by the time our mother got ill. When I called Father for help he offered me a deal- sell me as a bride to one of the businessmen he was working for in exchange for the money for my mother’s operation.
At that time I had no idea I was to marry Arthur Stark- the notorious cold and ruthless heir of the biggest business empire.
I knew nothing about Arthur, besides one thing - no one wanted to go near him. All kinds of rumors were flooding the press and later I learned most of them were true. He was a ruthless monster. I was the scapegoat.
And I had to say yes if I wanted my mother to live.
But the night before my marriage with Arthur, I did what anyone in my place would do- I got drunk and spent one last - and first- night with the only person I’ve ever liked - Michael Baker.
Mike is the owner of another small company that’s growing rapidly and I’d always liked him. I never dared to tell him, but that night I was very drunk and things happened.
After that I did my part- I married Arthur, not knowing about the baby. My father disappeared and I never heard from him again. No money for my mother’s operation either.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory when Arthur’s deep voice reminds me of the present.
“Get rid of this f*****g nuisance and I might consider listening to you. “
Arthur Releases his iron hold and pulls away from me. Then he strides off.
I slide to the floor, hugging my knees and letting the tears flow. I am all alone. I don’t know what to do. But I don't have time for this, my time is running out.
I get back on my feet and stride out of the hospital into the cold November morning. I hug myself in my coat and pick up my phone. I called my sister. She picks up after the fifth ring.
“Claire?” I say, “I am calling about Mother. “
“Oh…” she gasps, then I hear rustling. “What is it?”
“We need to gather the money urgently. And...”
I hear more rustling and voices around her.
“Maybe now is not a good time to talk, “ I say, “I can come by your place and tell you everything?”
“Uh… yeah, sure. " Claire says distractedly, “Anyway, let’s talk later, okay?”
Then she hangs up.
Strange…
Claire is not usually like this. My sister is normally at home on Wednesdays so I decided to go directly to her place and tell her what happened.
As soon as I get to her house, I press the doorbell. No response. I press the handle of the door and discover it’s not locked. She is definitely here. I dial her number but she doesn’t pick up. However, I hear her phone ringing from upstairs.
I come into the house and head to the second floor when her voice reaches me. Claire is laughing. Then her laughter turns into a moan of pleasure.
“Yes!” she moans again.
“I know you want this, “ a man says. And I recognize the voice. My heart starts beating painfully fast.
“Mike, “my sister gasps, “You are too rough, wait. I am so close…“
The Garden’s wild magic has always felt like sunlight through leaves—warm, messy, alive. Now it’s… sharp. A wire pulled too tight. Every breath feels like it might cut me from the inside.He’s here. Or—what’s left of him.I can’t look straight at Arthur without my stomach folding in on itself. The edges of him bleed into the air, like smoke trying to decide if it wants to be shadow or flame. His eyes aren’t his eyes. Not the brown that used to ground me. They’re glassy, pale green, light bending wrong in them, and when he tilts his head the way he used to when he was teasing me, it’s not teasing now. It’s calculation.The Council’s corruption has wrapped around him like barbed wire, threaded into the shape of a man I remember holding my hand on the ridge above the old city, whispering about building something better. My chest hurts. Not from the running—though I’ve been running since the wards fell—but from the way memory keeps stabbing through me.He takes a step forward. Not loud. N
"Cramped. Uncomfortable. Like wearing skin three sizes too small." A pause. Heavy. Meaningful. "You understand confinement, Warden. Don’t you?"It knows. Gods, it knows. It finds the raw edges of my solitude, the gnawing void where Kieran’s ghost-whisper used to be, where the Child’s starlight gaze feels colder every cycle. It probes the loneliness like a tongue exploring a rotten tooth. Deliberate. Precise."Just a little stretch. A fraction. Enough to… breathe. Would that be so terrible?" The whisper is almost soothing. Reasonable. A friend sharing a burden. "I could show you things. Truths the Child keeps locked away. Why the stars really burn. What waits beyond the edge of… everything. The reason your scars ache when the void wind blows east."Forbidden cosmic truths. The lure is obscene. Terrifying. And part of me… the fractured, lonely part… leans in. Just a fraction. Just enough to feel the chill promise of knowledge, of an end to the crushing isolation. The whisper curls aroun
I am the prison. The boundary-realm. The walls. The air. The roots beneath. And the Unraveler is inside me.It shouldn’t hurt. I’m not flesh anymore. Not really. But it does. Gods, it does. Every drip of ichor is a needle of wrongness burrowing into the fabric of me, warping the trees into grotesque, pulsing things, turning the rivers into sluggish veins of half-clotted time. I can feel the infection spreading—tendrils of corruption threading through my borders, whispering in a voice that isn’t sound, just pressure against the inside of my skull.Lily.Not my name. Not really. Just the shape of it, warped and hollow. The Unraveler doesn’t speak. It echoes.I try to ignore it. Focus on the pain instead. The physical wrongness of the ichor seeping into the soil, the way the air shudders when I breathe (do I breathe? I don’t know anymore). The Child is here, somewhere—small and bright and terrified, flitting through the mutated undergrowth like a ghost. I feel her presence like a hand pr
The Last Archive. It isn’t a place. It’s a being. Huddled in the lee of a dying nebula, a vast, amorphous shape woven from light that’s more ache than illumination. Compressed history. The sum total of every breath, every scream, every quiet dawn before the forgetting. It pulses weakly. Dying. The Unraveler’s shadow stains the edges of its form, sucking at the fading light. Hunting. Of course it is."Lily," Eira whispers, her voice thin, strained. She holds my good hand, the one not stone, her small fingers icy. "It hurts. It remembers… everything. All the hurt. All the gone." Her eyes are wide pools reflecting the Archive’s dying light, shimmering with unshed tears. She feels it. The collective trauma of existence. A billion billion sorrows echoing in one fragile mind.The Council comm crackles. Vultures circling. "Asset Lily. Preliminary scans confirm the entity’s composition. Pure chroniton-psychic residue. Incalculable strategic value. Secure it. Immediate extraction protocols aut
Creatures of starlight and shadow flit through the impossible canopy – beautiful, alien, hungry.And their hunger… it finds me. The anchor. The source. The weak point.A tendril, soft as velvet moonlight, wraps around my wrist. Gentle. Insidious. It doesn’t squeeze. It siphons. A cold pull, deep in my gut, like roots draining marrow. My breath hitches. A wave of dizziness washes over me, leaving my legs trembling jelly. The vibrant green of a nearby leaf seems to dim slightly. Fed. By me."Stop…" The word rasps out, weak. The tendril pulses faintly, a contented thrum against my too-sensitive skin. It doesn’t stop. Another vine brushes my ankle. Another cold pull. My vision swims. Colors bleed at the edges. I feel thinner. Frailer. Like paper held too close to a flame. Eira stands amidst the burgeoning chaos, small face tight with concentration. Her eyes, wide and ancient, track the movements of a predator-bloom unfurling razor-sharp petals near a cluster of Eos’s smaller children. Sh
A wet, visceral ripping sensation deep in the bones of the ship, deep in the bones of me. Reality screamed without making a noise. And what bled out… gods. Primordial Blood. The name slammed into my head, unbidden, tasting of iron and ozone and something impossibly ancient. Wrong. Not void, not silence. The opposite. Chaos given form. Raw, screaming proto-matter bleeding from the wound the Unraveler left behind.It oozed. A slick, iridescent black-purple sludge crawling over the bulkhead near the main viewport. Not liquid, not solid. Alive and hungry. Where it touched the polished metal, the surface bloomed. Not flowers. Nightmares. Jagged crystals, spiked and weeping the same vile sludge, erupted. Organic circuitry writhed like maggots. The air above it shimmered, warping light into nausea. Corruption. Pure, undiluted. Eating the is and replacing it with wasn't meant to be.My scars… they scream. Not the familiar cold burn of void-bleed. This is different. Hotter. Sharper. Like broke