Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 21: Need To Talk

I move fast, slipping through the streets with my head down, steps hurried but controlled. The weight of what just happened presses against my skull giving me a splitting headache, each step back toward Cain's mansion is an attempt to outrun the turmoil brewing inside me. I killed him. I didn't lift a blade, didn't throw a punch didn't even move a step. I just raised my hand, and that was it. His heart gave out, the whispers tore him apart destroyed his mind in a second. He was dead before he hit the ground. Because of me.

But he killed his own brother. Lied about it. Lived a life built on that lie. Does that mean what I did was wrong? If I had run my sword through him, people would call it justice?

If I weren't an Elite, I would have never known his sins or fears. He would have passed me by, just another nameless face in a city filled with filth . But because I have power because I could hear what others couldn't I judged him. Decided his fate.

Was that justice? Or I have I already become what I hate the most?

I clench my fists, the thought gnawing at me like a wound left to fester. The moment the whispers fed me his sins, I didn't hesitate. I acted. I was no different than the Inquisitors who revel in control, who hold the people's lives in their hands and squeeze until there's nothing left.

A bitter laugh almost escapes me. Now I grow a conscience?

The other part of me the one that spent years scraping by in the outskirts the dark , watching the worst of humanity rot itself from the inside out—sneers at my hesitation. How many bodies have I walked past? How many times did I turn a blind eye to murder, to starvation, to people tearing each other apart for scraps? I never cared then. Why care now?

Because now, I was the hand that did it.

I let out a slow breath, forcing the tremor from my fingers. Power doesn't change what the world is. It only changes what I am in it. And right now, I don't know if I like what I'm becoming.

I grit my teeth, my pace slowing as I reach the quieter streets leading toward Cain's district. The hate that had burned so brightly before, the anger at the Inquisitors, at the fools bowing to me it's fading, replaced by something heavier. After reflection its not Guilt. Nope, I don't feel guilty, not really. But the weight is still there, pressing down like a stone on my chest. I don't care. That man wasn't innocent. But the way it happened how easy it was that's what sticks.

The whispers have gone silent. Their laughter, their goading, all vanished, leaving me in hollow quiet. It should be a relief, but it's not. It feels like they're waiting. Watching.

I push through the front doors of Cain's mansion with more force than necessary, my mind still a battlefield of clashing thoughts. Just as I step inside, Doran is there, hand outstretched toward the handle as if he had been about to open it for me. My sudden entrance catches him completely off guard, and he stumbles back, his shoes scraping against the polished floor before he crashes onto his back with a startled grunt.

An exhale leaves me, more irritation than amusement.

From the other room, hurried footsteps echo, and within a few seconds, Marta and Harkin rush out, their faces shifting from confusion to thinly veiled concern the moment they see Doran sprawled on the ground. My senses pick up on it immediately the quickened heartbeats, nervous glances.

Not this shit again.

My anger, which had just begun to settle, flares once more. My jaw tightens, I squint my eyes, my patience snapping like a twig. The fear is back—the same wide-eyed, trembling fear I'd seen all morning. It claws at my nerves, an unwanted reminder of what I'd become in the eyes of these people.

I snarl, my voice seething, cutting through the silence. "Where's Cain?"

Marta, who had moved to help Doran up, stiffens at my tone. Her eyes dart to Harkin before she quickly answers, her voice edged with nervous respect. "H-He's in his study, Awakened Daath. Waiting for me to bring his breakfast."

I let out a small laugh, scoffing. "Oh, well, don't keep him waiting on my account," I snap, shaking my head before turning away.

I don't wait for a response. I stride down the hall, boots striking against the floor with deliberate force. The irritation simmers beneath my skin, but I push it down. Right now, I don't have the patience for the servants' paranoia, for their wide eyes and flinching stares.

Without slowing, I take the stairs two at a time, heading straight for Cain's study.

As I reach his door I don't bother knocking. I shove the door open with enough force that it bangs against the wall.

Cain, seated at his desk with a cup of steaming tea in hand his feet kicked up on his desk a book laid in his lap, barely flinches. Instead, he raises a single eyebrow, his expression one of mild disbelief. "Well, okay. Make yourself at home, why don't you?" He takes a slow sip, completely unfazed.

"I need to talk," I snap, my voice edged with scorn. "It's important."

His amusement fades the moment he meets my eyes. He sets the cup down with a soft clink and sits up straight in his chair leaning forward, forearms resting on the desk. "About what?"

I exhale through my nose pinching the bridge of my nose, then launch into it. I tell him everything what happened at the market, the whispers, the fear that thickened the air like smoke. The man who tried to run. The way my power seized him, tore his mind apart, left him a corpse in the dirt. The way the inquisitors bowed, called me chosen. The way Cecilia Lakeborn laughed and praised me for executing a man like I was doing divine work.

When I finish, the room falls into silence. I just stare at him, waiting waiting for something, anything. A reaction, a reprimand, an explanation on what's wrong with me.

Cain blinks a few times staring at me. Then, to my absolute fury he starts laughing.

A full-bodied, genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking with it.

Something inside me snaps. My hands curl into fists, anger surging back with a vengeance. "You think this is funny?" I snarl. "I just fucking killed someone, and you're laughing?"

The whispers slither back into my mind, their voices dripping with giddy amusement.

"Oh, you've called on us so soon?"

Visit freewebnoveℓ.com for the best novel reading exp𝒆rience.

"Good, good, you're learning so who is being judged now....."

But before they can fully sink their claws in, Cain's laughter cuts off abruptly. The air shifts. A sudden, sharp gust of wind rushes through the room as he stands, his chair scraping against the floor. In the blink of an eye, he crosses the space between us.

Then crack.

Pain blooms across my cheek as his palm collides with my face. The shock of it freezes me in place, the whispers recoiling like wounded animals before vanishing entirely. My anger, my hate it all dissipates just as quickly as it flared.

I stare at him, stunned my hand rising to touch my cheek.

Cain exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "Your eyes," he murmurs, studying me with an unreadable expression. "They glow like fire when your powers activate. I was just laughing to confirm it, I wanted to see if your trigger really was anger and hate."

Exhaustion finally catches up to me the day had basically just started but I have been up for hours and had to many things happen to me. I collapse into the nearest chair, the plush cushions swallowing me whole.

Cain watches me for a moment longer, then slowly turns and makes his way back to his desk, settling into his seat and picking up his tea.

"Well" he says quietly. "I guess you are right we do need to talk"