Chapter 284: When Breathing Starts to Fade

Chapter 283: When Breathing Starts to Fade

"Powdered duskleaf mixed with night root and a little bit of paralys leaf," he told her.

Marta froze.

"Did I just hear that correctly?" she asked slowly.

"Yes. There was also some fever root in there—"

"Lysander!" she snapped. "Are you trying to kill her? Were you trying to fell a Skylur? What in the goddess’ name is wrong with you?"

"I was trying to get her to stop hurting herself."

"By using herbs that are rare and also known for knocking people out just from their smell?" she shot back.

"They have calming effects on the mind, which is why I used them. And I made sure the measurements wouldn’t hurt her," he replied.

"But what if they do?" Marta demanded. "What if they affect her body differently?"

"She’s still crying," Lysander argued, "which means it didn’t affect her in the way you’re thinking. And I dare say, it actually calmed her down."

Marta sighed sharply. "I like your brain, Lysander. I like that you’re smart. But next time, think about the side effects. Just because it worked this time doesn’t mean it won’t hurt her next time."

"I did take that into consideration," he said, his voice lower now. "But I decided it was better to risk it than to leave her like that, hurting herself."

Marta gave him a long look, then shook her head.

"So it’s a case of pros and cons?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes. I thought it was better to focus on the benefits instead of the risks. And I decided it was worth it... just to save her."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned toward the bed.

She leaned over Sophia and listened to her breathing. Her brows furrowed. Something wasn’t right. There was a strange tension in the air, a prickling along her senses.

Slowly, she reached for Sophia’s wrist and pressed two fingers against her pulse.

Her expression changed instantly.

She pressed again, more firmly this time, as if her hand had betrayed her the first time.

Her pulse was faint.

Too faint.

The tears had stopped streaming down Sophia’s cheeks, and Marta realized that even her breathing had grown shallow... unnaturally shallow.

"Lysander," Marta snapped, her voice sharp now. "She’s going."

Lysander’s head whipped toward her.

"What do you mean—?"

But he didn’t finish. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

His eyes dropped to Sophia and he saw it too. The unnatural stillness. The way her chest barely moved. The paleness in her skin.

"Fuck. Fuck!" he swore as he rushed to her side.

His mind spiraled immediately back to the paste.

Maybe he had miscalculated.

Maybe the dose had been too strong.

Maybe he had been wrong.

Lysander quickly wiped the remaining paste from beneath her nose, his hands trembling despite his effort to remain steady. His heart pounded so hard that a faint ringing filled his ears.

And then—

The door slammed open.

Orion stormed in, breathing heavily. His chest rose and fell sharply, as if he had run without stopping. His eyes swept the room before locking onto the bed.

"What’s going on?" he demanded.

"This isn’t the time to ask what’s going on," Marta snapped at him. "Just help. Talk to her. Do anything you can."

Orion stepped forward but a sudden sharp pain tore through his chest.

He staggered slightly.

"Noctis..." he muttered.

Inside him, Noctis groaned.

It felt like someone was ripping him open from the inside, clawing at his organs.

Noctis’ breathing mirrored his — short, shallow, strained. The wolf crumpled inward, claws scraping at the floor of Orion’s consciousness as a low pained sound rumbled from his chest.

"Noctis..." Orion breathed. "What’s happening—?"

"She’s going," Noctis rasped. "And we can’t let that happen, Orion."

Orion didn’t wait.

He moved instantly to Sophia’s side as Lysander began chest compressions, his hands firm and urgent.

"Maybe we should get Madam Tyler," Marta suggested.

Orion nodded without hesitation. If it would take a priestess to pull Sophia back, then so be it. He would do anything.

Anything.

He grabbed Sophia’s hand, her skin already colder than it should have been, and squeezed tightly.

He leaned over her, his voice low, strained through the pain slicing through his chest.

"Shorty..." he whispered.

"I don’t know if you can hear me right now... I really hope you can... but you have to come back."

His grip tightened.

"Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real. Whatever you’re going through... it already happened once, and it doesn’t own you anymore. That’s not who you are now, shorty..."

His voice broke slightly.

He swallowed hard, the pain in his chest flaring again.

"Shorty... don’t you dare leave me," he whispered, his teeth grinding as another wave of pain shot through him. "You can’t leave me. I’m not tired of you yet... and I know you aren’t either."

He huffed a broken breath, his vision blurring.

"I’ll... I’ll fucking pray to the Moon Goddess if that’s what it takes to get you back. I’ll stop arguing with you... stop making fun of you—fuck—"

He paused, chest heaving, before letting out a bitter, pained laugh. The sensation he normally felt whenever he lied accomoanied with the pain in his chest was a lot to handle.

"I can’t lie... I wouldn’t stop making fun of you. I’m not going to stop exchanging words with you either. And I’m not stopping calling you short. I’ll keep arguing with you because..." his voice shook, "...because you keep me on my fucking toes."

His thumb brushed her knuckles.

"I miss hearing your voice clearly. I miss you telling me how fucking dumb I am. I miss you rolling your eyes at me. I fucking miss it."

His jaw clenched.

"And I’m not tired of you yet, shorty. We promised we’d keep this going until we got tired of each other... and I’m not tired of you. Not even close."

He leaned lower, his forehead nearly touching hers.

"So whatever you’re seeing right now... it’s not real. It’s not fucking real. Don’t believe it. Don’t follow it."

His voice dropped to a broken whisper.

"And don’t you dare think of leaving me... because I will find you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow you there just to annoy you all over again, so don’t even try it, shorty... please..."

"...not yet."

Lysander didn’t stop his movements as Orion spoke. His hands pressed rhythmically, desperately, fighting time itself.

But he felt it — the raw pain radiating from Orion.

And deep down, a quiet terror settled in him too.

Because if anything happened to Sophia...

He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself.