SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 72: You Lose What I Lose

Chapter 72: You Lose What I Lose

Esmael let the charred remains of Morvane’s grandmother fall to the ground with a sickening thud. Morvane lunged forward, dropping to his knees beside her lifeless body, his hands trembling as he tried to grasp the reality of what had just happened.

Esmael descended from his levitation, stepping closer to Morvane. His voice was cold, yet laced with pain. "Now, what do you feel, Morvane? Do you feel the emptiness? The anguish? Do you finally understand?"

Morvane’s gaze slowly lifted, tears streaking his face. His eyes burned with a mixture of grief and rage as he stood, his voice trembling. "You... you will lose your breath!"

Esmael’s eyes widened as the manifestation took hold. He clutched at his throat, gasping for air as his lungs refused to cooperate. He stumbled back, his once-arrogant demeanor replaced with panic and desperation.

Seeing his tormentor struggle, Morvane’s fury boiled over. He drew his dagger, his steps unsteady but purposeful, and charged toward Esmael. With the blade glinting in the firelight, he prepared to strike.

But before the dagger could connect, a sharp, forceful blow struck Morvane from behind. Medas had appeared, moving with precision, and struck the back of Morvane’s neck with enough force to render him unconscious.

Morvane crumpled to the ground, his body limp, the dagger slipping from his grasp.

"Enough of this madness," Medas growled, his voice cold and commanding.

Esmael, still gasping for air, barely had time to react before Medas raised his hand. With a flick of his fingers, telekinetic energy wrapped around Esmael, restraining him completely.

"You’re coming with me," Medas said, his tone final.

With a second wave of his hand, Medas did the same to Morvane, lifting his unconscious form into the air. Both Esmael and Morvane were now suspended, unable to move, caught in the grip of Medas’ telekinetic power.

Luna, still on the ground and clutching her injured arm, looked up at the scene in horror. "Medas... what are you going to do to them?" she whispered.

Medas didn’t answer immediately. He turned his gaze toward Luna, his face hard and unreadable. "This chaos ends now," he said curtly.

And with that, Medas turned, carrying both Morvane and Esmael in his telekinetic hold, leaving Luna alone in the midst of the destruction. The fires continued to rage around her, but nothing burned hotter than the questions left smoldering in her mind.

Morvane slowly regained consciousness, his head pounding as the haze of unconsciousness faded. His eyes snapped open, and he immediately realized his hands and feet were shackled, the cold chains biting into his skin.

"What is this?" Morvane muttered, tugging against the restraints. His mind raced as the memories came flooding back—his grandmother, the fire, Esmael’s betrayal—and a surge of grief and rage overtook him.

Then, it hit him. His grandmother was gone. His eyes widened, and he screamed, "Grandma!" His voice cracked with anguish, echoing through the cold, damp walls of the prison.

A door creaked open, and Medas stepped into the dimly lit room. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes held a hard glint. "We are arranging your grandmother’s funeral," he said coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Morvane’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. "I want to see her," he pleaded, his voice strained with desperation.

Medas’ gaze softened for a moment, but he shook his head. "I can’t let you see her. You are banished here. You have no rights, Morvane."

Before Morvane could respond, a voice echoed from the other side of the cell. "What is this?" The voice was weak but unmistakable.

Morvane’s breath caught in his throat. It was Esmael.

He rushed to the bars of his cell, his heart pounding. Through the dim light, he saw Esmael, shackled just like him, his body bruised and battered. The chains wrapped around Esmael’s arms and legs were thick, and he struggled against them, trying to melt them with his fire magic.

"Esmael," Morvane whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Esmael’s eyes flickered up, and for the first time, Morvane saw a flicker of vulnerability in them. But then Esmael’s magic sputtered out, and he fell back, exhausted. Medas’ voice cut through the silence.

"That’s a special metal," Medas said coldly. "Even your fire magic can’t melt it."

Morvane’s fists clenched, his anger flaring. "Why did you kill my grandmother, Esmael?" he shouted, his voice full of fury and pain.

Esmael’s eyes hardened, his expression closing off. "I didn’t kill her. You need to understand... I couldn’t control it, haha" he said, his voice cracking, but there was no true remorse in it.

Medas stepped forward, his gaze settling on both of them. "Enough. The both of you are here for your crimes. You will be tried, and justice will be served. You Esmael will be restrained here for the rest of your life. And you Morvane, you will be again kicked out."

But Morvane wasn’t listening. His mind was reeling, the pain of his grandmother’s death still raw, still fresh. His fists clenched around the chains, his body shaking with the weight of everything.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice broken. "Why did it have to come to this?"

Morvane seethed with rage, his body trembling as he tugged helplessly at the chains. His chest heaved with every breath, his mind swirling with pain and fury. The loss of his grandmother, the betrayal by Esmael, and the unbearable weight of it all crashed down on him.

"If you didn’t kick me out," Morvane shouted, his voice raw and desperate. "I could’ve saved her! Your pride is the cause of all this!" His words echoed off the stone walls, filling the silence with his anguish.

Medas didn’t respond immediately. He stood facing the bars of the cell, his back to Morvane, his posture stiff and unyielding. The silence between them stretched painfully, only the distant crackle of fire from outside the prison breaking the quiet.

Morvane’s breathing grew more erratic as the silence stretched on. He felt his heart pound in his ears, the grief threatening to overtake him. "Why did you have to do this? Why couldn’t you just trust me? I never wanted any of this!"

Still, Medas did not speak. His back remained turned, his body rigid, as if Morvane’s words were nothing more than an annoyance.

Morvane’s frustration boiled over. He shouted again, his voice rising with each word. "Why? Why, Medas? You’re the reason we’re here. You’re the reason my grandmother is gone! This is your fault!"

But Medas didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t give Morvane the satisfaction of an answer.

The silence stretched, suffocating and heavy.

Finally, Medas spoke, his voice low and detached. "You don’t understand, Morvane. It’s not about pride. It’s about the order I said. As a king, it’s my duty to do that."

Morvane’s eyes burned with unshed tears, his throat tight with emotion. "Duty? You call that ’duty’? You condemned me to this because of your own foolish pride!"

Medas turned slowly, his gaze meeting Morvane’s. His eyes were unreadable, his face impassive. "We have both lost important people in our lives and so I wouldn’t judge you now. Tomorrow morning, I’ll let you out and be outside Ketamran."

Morvane’s fists clenched, but the chains only dug deeper into his wrists. His shoulders trembled with the effort to hold back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to consume him.

"Then what now, Medas?" Morvane spat bitterly. "Are you going to keep me away from Ketamran forever? And be banished forever?"

Medas didn’t answer. He simply turned away again, his form retreating into the shadows of the dungeon, leaving Morvane alone with his rage and grief.

The silence was deafening.

Morvane’s shoulders sagged as he slumped to the cold stone floor, his chains rattling in the eerie silence of the dungeon. His head dropped forward, and for a long moment, he simply breathed, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a thousand stones.

But then, through the crushing despair, a fire ignited within him. It wasn’t just grief, it wasn’t just anger—it was something sharper, something more cutting. And as he lifted his head, his eyes locked onto Medas, filled with cold conviction.

He spoke with a voice that echoed through the silence, breaking the stillness with raw truth. Every word felt deliberate, each syllable weighted with years of unspoken tension.

"Since we’re all here, blaming one another for everything that’s gone wrong... let me tell you the truth." Morvane’s voice was slow, each word measured as if he were carefully choosing his weapons before delivering the final blow. His gaze didn’t waver, and in that moment, the atmosphere between them shifted—thick with the gravity of what was about to be said.

"You are the one who killed Hiraya."

The accusation hung in the air like a thundercloud, heavy and undeniable. It was not just a statement but a sentence, a verdict that resonated in every corner of the room.

Medas froze. The stillness in the room was suddenly overwhelming, his entire body seizing as the weight of those words hit him. His back remained turned, but his posture told everything—his shoulders were stiff, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His mind raced, the words bouncing inside his head like an endless echo, but his body refused to move. The silence between them seemed to stretch for eternity, like time itself had come to a halt, unwilling to bear witness to what was unfolding.

Morvane’s voice dropped lower, colder now, cutting through the space with an edge that could have frozen fire. "I never told you the whole story, did I, Medas? I never told you the truth about what happened that night, about what really happened to her."

Each word was like a thread pulling at the tightly-wound knots in Medas’s chest. The past, long buried and hidden under layers of deflection and lies, now clawed its way to the surface. For a moment, Medas remained silent, his face turned away, his thoughts swirling like a storm just below the surface. His silence, however, was all the answer Morvane needed. It was as if the words had sunk into him, settling into the deepest parts of his soul where they would never leave.

The weight of his guilt, the burden he carried, was written in every line of his rigid posture. It wasn’t just the words—Morvane’s accusation—that held him in place. It was everything he had been avoiding, every truth he had tried to bury. His body shook slightly, but he refused to acknowledge it, refusing to let Morvane see the impact his words had on him. But there was no hiding it—Medas’s silence spoke louder than anything else. It wasn’t just guilt anymore. It was shame, regret, a suffocating knowledge that no matter how much time had passed, the truth could never be outrun.

Medas didn’t know how to take this. He didn’t know how to respond when the guilt he had lived with in silence for so long was suddenly laid bare for both of them to see. It wasn’t just the weight of the accusation—it was the crushing realization that he had been living a lie, that the lies he had told himself were never as convincing as he had hoped. The truth had always been there, hovering just below the surface, waiting for the moment it could break free. And now, with one single sentence, it had done just that.