Chained Hearts: From Slavery to Sovereignty-Chapter 132: The Truth Beneath Skin

I woke up choking on air.

My lungs seized like I’d been drowning. The cold stone beneath me scraped at my palms, grounding me in reality, but my body didn’t believe it. Every breath I took felt wrong—too sharp, too shallow. The stench of ancient earth clung to my skin, damp and sour, heavy with the weight of centuries. Torches flickered on the walls, recently relit in haste, their flames casting wild shadows that danced like phantoms.

My vision blurred, spun, then slowly stabilized. The world was still too bright. Too loud.

Hands grabbed me—strong, calloused, familiar. "Cassian!" a voice barked above me, deep with worry and authority.

Keren.

His face hovered just inches from mine, brow creased, jaw tight. Behind him stood Alistair, pale as salt, trying to keep calm but clearly rattled. A few others lingered near the far wall, blades half-drawn and eyes uncertain, as if waiting for a monster to rise in my place.

But the only monster here was the one that had followed me from the dream.

No—memory.

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. My chest stung like it had been cracked open and filled with ice. I tasted blood at the back of my mouth, metallic and thin. I swallowed hard.

"Cassian," Keren said again, his voice lower now, steadier. His hands still gripped my shoulders, grounding me like he could keep me from flying apart.

"I’m fine," I rasped.

I wasn’t.

And they all knew it.

Their eyes searched my face, uncertain but deeply concerned. I’d collapsed in the heart of a sacred ruin, unmoving for gods knew how long. My gloves were covered in dust and grit—remnants of the broken pedestal I’d touched just before losing consciousness. Sweat soaked my back despite the chill in the chamber.

"Was it magic?" Alistair asked from behind Keren.

I shook my head.

Lie.

I didn’t want to lie. Not to them. Not when they’d fought beside me, bled beside me. But what could I say?

That I’d lived another life?

That I’d walked a demon market surrounded by monstrous beings, and no one batted an eye at my presence?

That I had watched myself—my younger self—laugh beside a creature born of sin, his hand resting casually on the small of my back like it belonged there?

That his touch had felt familiar?

That his voice curled around me like a vice and comfort all at once?

They’d think I’d gone mad.

"Just... dizzy," I said instead, quieter this time.

Keren frowned but didn’t press. He just nodded once, then stood and addressed the team, voice firm again. "We take a break here. Hydrate. Rest. We move once Cassian’s steady."

They obeyed without question, dispersing toward the shadowed edges of the chamber, keeping their weapons close. Only silence remained—thick, watching, waiting.

I leaned back against the nearest wall and closed my eyes, willing my heart to calm. But it was useless.

Because I was still unraveling inside.

This wasn’t the first time.

Not by a long shot.

Ever since I was sold as a child—since my name was taken, my past erased—I’d had dreams. Strange, intense, horrifyingly vivid dreams. Always of him. Sometimes the man in those visions was kind. Other times, brutal. Sometimes he was both in the same breath, like a fire that warmed and burned all at once.

In those dreams, I was... his. Something like a lover. Something like prey.

He would hold me like I was something precious, then leave my hands stained in blood—his, mine, or maybe something else entirely. The details never lasted. His face blurred each time. The words melted away the moment I woke.

But this time?

This was no dream.

I remembered everything.

His silver eyes, glowing like twin moons. His smile—playful, dark, full of knowledge I shouldn’t understand. The sound of his voice, thick with power and amusement. And his hand, trailing down my spine with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

And me—my younger self—leaning into it, like that world belonged to me.

Like he belonged to me.

And the most terrifying part?

That man—the one in this memory—he wasn’t the same vague figure from the usual dreams. No, he was clearer. Sharper. Real. The Demon King of Lust.

And yet... I could still feel the ghost of the other one. The blurred figure. The original. The one I’d dreamed of for years. Both were real. Both burned inside me like matching scars.

But how could that be?

How could I belong to both?

I had never stepped foot in the demon realm.

I’d grown up in my uncle’s cold halls, then thrown into the palace’s politics, trained under Dorian’s careful eye, and later carved into a leader. My life was full of clean, traceable lines.

So why did that world—the twisted market stalls, the ancient demon-speak etched into bone and stone—feel more like home than anything I remembered?

Why did that man feel like someone I had both loved... and maybe even hurt?

Why did he feel so familiar, like someone who had once been everything to me—and then somehow, I had been the one to destroy it?

A strange ache tightened in my chest. I pressed a hand over my heart, trying to calm the sharp, twisting feeling that had taken hold inside me.

It wasn’t just physical pain. It wasn’t like getting hurt in a fight or falling too hard. No, this pain was different. Deeper. It felt like something inside me had broken open—something I didn’t even know was there. And now, whatever was hidden inside me was pouring out, slow and heavy, like blood from a wound I couldn’t see.

It felt like... grief.

As if I had lost something precious a long time ago, without even realizing it. As if a part of my soul had been taken from me, and I had only just now remembered that it was missing.

And that dream—no, that memory—it wasn’t just a strange vision from my mind. It was real. I knew it was real. I could still feel the warmth of his touch, hear the sound of his voice. Those kinds of details don’t come from dreams. They come from lived moments.

Which meant...

Everything I thought I knew about myself might not be the whole truth.

Maybe it was all just a part of the story.

Maybe something important had been erased from me. Taken away. Forgotten.

And if that memory was real—if that life was once mine—

Then what else have I forgotten?

What else has been hidden beneath my skin all this time, waiting to rise to the surface?

Visit freewe𝑏(n)ovel.co(m) for the b𝘦st novel reading experience