SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 73: Truth Covered With Lie

Chapter 73: Truth Covered With Lie

The lamp cast pale light over the cell of morvane, the light that adds tension to their confrontation. Medas stood across from Morvane, the tension between them as taut as a drawn bowstring.

"You’re the one who stabbed Hiraya," Morvane repeated, voice sharp with accusation.

"You’re lying," Medas shot back, his voice unwavering despite the storm inside him. "If you’re doing this to provoke me, you’ll have to try harder."

"I’m not provoking you," Morvane hissed, stepping closer. "I’m telling you the truth. Drevon and I were there. Yes, it’s true—I was tasked with killing her, to end the prophecy that would ruin Ketamran. The prophecy that forbids you and Hiraya to be together. I was told it was the only way to save the kingdom. But I was too weak. My emotions... they got the better of me. I couldn’t do it."

Medas clenched his fists, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Then why say it was me?"

Morvane’s voice rose, anger and anguish lacing every word. "Because it was you, Medas! We had been found out by you that night. During one of your attacks—one of your wild, reckless attacks—you slit her neck her. By accident, maybe, but it was you!"

"No... no, there’s no way," Medas stammered, his composure fracturing. "Then why the hell can’t I remember any of it?!"

Morvane’s expression twisted in frustration. "Because Drevon cleaned up after you! The mess, the blood, the stab wound, your memories—everything. He made it look like she hanged herself. He did it to spare you the burden of knowing what you’d done."

Medas froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His knees felt weak, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "That’s not possible..." His breath hitched as tears welled in his eyes.

Morvane’s voice softened, though the bitterness remained. "Now that you know the truth, Medas... do you think I deserved to lose my grandmother because of your ignorance and pride?"

The clearing fell silent except for Medas’ ragged breathing. He looked at Morvane, tears streaming down his face, his heart breaking under the weight of a truth he couldn’t bear.

Medas stared at Morvane, the words reverberating in his mind. "You’re lying," he said again, his voice trembling but defiant. "This is just another one of your manipulations. I don’t believe you."

Morvane’s lips curled into a grim smile, sharp as a blade. "Still clinging to your ignorance, huh? Fine. Let’s settle this once and for all."

"What are you talking about?" Medas demanded, his voice rising.

"We’ll ask the one who erased your memories," Morvane said coolly, stepping back. Without another word, he raised a hand, his fingers curling as he whispered an incantation. Shadows stirred and twisted around the clearing, responding to his call like obedient serpents.

The air grew colder, the darkness pooling into a corner of the clearing. From the depths of the shadows, a figure emerged—a tall man with red glowing eyes and a bored expression, as though this was all an inconvenience to him. He brushed invisible dust from his robe, his disheveled hair casting flickering shadows over his face.

"Drevon," Morvane said sharply.

The man sighed, crossing his arms. "What is it now?" he drawled, his tone as uninterested as his appearance. "I was resting. What do you need this time?"

Medas stiffened at the sight of him, unease curling in his gut. "You—"

Morvane cut him off, his voice filled with bitter resolve. "Why don’t you let Medas see the truth about Hiraya?"

Drevon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as if the request mildly amused him. "Oh, so we’re doing that now?" he said with mock enthusiasm. "You really couldn’t let this rest, could you, Morvane?"

"Enough of your games," Morvane snapped, his patience wearing thin. "You owe him the truth. Show him what you did."

Drevon smirked, his gaze flickering to Medas. "You want the truth? The truth is messy, you know. Painful. Are you sure you’re ready for it, Medas?"

Medas glared at him, his fists clenched at his sides. "Don’t talk in riddles. Just tell me what happened!"

Drevon sighed theatrically, rolling his eyes. "Fine, fine. If it’ll get you both to stop dragging me into your squabbles..." He stepped forward, the air around him thickening with a strange energy. His shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally, curling toward Medas like tendrils.

"This might sting a little," Drevon said with a smirk, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "But don’t worry, I’ll make it quick."

Drevon stepped forward, the darkness surrounding him like a cloak. His presence was suffocating, cold, and Medas couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man who had orchestrated so much of his pain. Without a word, Drevon glided through the bars of the cell where Morvane had been confined.

Medas instinctively took a step back, but Drevon’s eyes held him in place—no escape, no resistance. The air thickened as the man approached him, his movements unnervingly calm, like a predator closing in on its prey.

Then, without a single hint of hesitation, Drevon reached out and placed a hand on Medas’ forehead. The coldness of his touch made Medas’ skin prickle, but before he could react, Drevon snapped his fingers.

The pain hit him like a thunderclap.

Medas gasped, his body jerking back as a searing, blinding agony exploded in his head. It wasn’t just a headache—it was a flood of memories, jagged and violent, tearing through his mind. His vision blurred as the pain spiraled deeper, harder. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It felt as though his skull was being cracked open, piece by piece.

The pain intensified, a twisted knot that stretched his sanity to its limits. His hands shot up to clutch at his head, but there was nothing he could do. The world spun around him as fragments of forgotten moments—forgotten truths—slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave.

And then, as suddenly as it came, it stopped.

Medas collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his mind reeling. The darkness faded, replaced by memories—real, raw, painful memories. He remembered everything.

He remembered Drevon and Morvane, standing together in the shadows, watching as he struggled to come to terms with the prophecy. He remembered Hiraya, her kind eyes and her gentle smile, her voice filled with fear and confusion in her final moments.

And then, the truth—he was the one who had killed her. Not on purpose, but in the chaos, the confusion, the moment of weakness. The truth that had been buried so deep, locked away in the recesses of his mind, now spilled forth, flooding him with guilt, grief, and horror.

He saw it all—Hiraya’s last breath, her wide, pleading eyes, and the shock in her expression as the blade slipped into her side. He felt her pain, the betrayal, and then, he saw himself, standing over her lifeless body, paralyzed in disbelief.

But the memories didn’t stop there.

He remembered the moment Drevon had come to him, whispering words that Medas could barely comprehend as his mind fogged with exhaustion. Please don’t do this... save Hiraya.

Medas’ body trembled, the weight of those words crashing over him. Drevon had known—had seen everything, had done everything to hide this memories from Medas, to keep him from losing his mind. But it was too late.

Tears welled up in Medas’ eyes, the burden of truth too heavy to bear. His heart shattered into a million pieces as the guilt consumed him, his breath catching in his throat.

"I killed her. I really killer her..." Medas whispered, his voice breaking.

And then, the dam broke.

Tears flowed freely down his face as he cried in agony, every sob a testament to the torment he had carried unknowingly. The weight of his actions, the consequences of his weakness—it was all too much.

Morvane, silent as ever, watched as Medas crumpled, his eyes filled with a sorrow that Medas had never seen before. This was not the man who had stood before him in anger, accusing him of betrayal. This was something more.

And all Medas could do was weep, the echoes of his broken heart reverberating in the still night.

Medas collapsed to his knees, his body wracked with sobs that tore through him like an unrelenting storm. The weight of the truth crushed him, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His hands trembled, and his mind could barely process what was happening. The reality of what he had done—what he had taken from them—suffocated him. He had killed Hiraya. The words echoed in his mind over and over, each repetition digging the knife deeper. The memories, long suppressed, came rushing back, flooding his consciousness like a tidal wave. He couldn’t escape them, couldn’t escape the horror of it.

In the next cell, Esmael remained eerily still. There was no movement, no response to the sounds of Medas’s agony. He lay there, a shadow of indifference, unmoved by the grief that filled the room. The pain around him seemed to belong to someone else.

But Morvane—Morvane was different. His anger still burned beneath the surface, the heat of it simmering in his eyes, yet there was something else beneath that rage, something raw and unspoken. Grief. It was there, in the tightness of his jaw, in the clenched fists at his sides. He, too, mourned the loss of Hiraya, the woman who had been everything to him, and the woman Medas had taken from them. But now, as he looked at Medas—broken, crumpled on the floor before him—he knew it wasn’t the time for further quarrels. Medas had already punished himself far more than any words could.

Drevon, who had been the catalyst for it all, stood off to the side, his expression unreadable. He had watched the chaos unfold with an almost detached amusement. With a satisfied look, he turned on his heel and melted into the shadows, disappearing without a word, as though it had all been nothing more than a game to him.

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. It felt as though the room itself had taken a breath and held it, waiting for something—anything—to break the tension.

But that silence didn’t last long.

The door to the room slammed open, the sound sharp and panicked. A guard rushed in, his face flushed with urgency, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "Your Majesty! We need you in the garden! Something is happening!"

The words cut through the stillness like a knife, pulling everyone from their private torment. The urgency in the guard’s voice was unmistakable. Morvane, still standing, clenched his jaw, his mind already racing. It wasn’t a simple call—it was a summons, something that required his immediate attention.

"What’s happening?" Morvane’s voice was firm, his anger momentarily replaced by cold determination.

The guard’s eyes were wide with fear. "We don’t know yet, Your Majesty, but it’s spreading. Something’s wrong in the garden. There is something —it is... it is moving."

Medas, his sobs still heavy in the air, glanced up, his eyes bloodshot and distant, but he could still hear the words.

As the guard hastened to the door, Morvane cast one last glance at Medas—still kneeling on the ground, the weight of his guilt pressing him deeper into the earth. There would be no comforting him, no redemption in this moment. Medas had already begun the most brutal of journeys—the one inside himself.