Chapter 629: The Kind of Anger That Demands Blood but Learns to Wait

Chapter 628: The Kind of Anger That Demands Blood but Learns to Wait

Lysander didn’t waste time.

He stepped out just as Brynhild’s presence faded down the corridor, his pace quick.

"Brynhild," he called out.

He reached her in seconds, his hand closing gently but firmly around hers.

"Calm down, love," he said.

She stilled at his touch, but only for a moment.

"How do you expect me to be calm?" her voice came out low, tight, like something barely held together. "Did you hear her, Lysander? Did you hear that?"

Her fingers tightened around his.

"That wasn’t just pain," she continued, her brows drawing together. "That was... something else. Something deeper. Something that should never exist in anyone at all."

Lysander didn’t interrupt her.

He let her speak.

"She’s hurting," Brynhild said, her voice trembling now despite how hard she tried to steady it. "And if that is what she sounds like now... then what did she go through? What did that bloody woman do to her for her to break like that? This is even worse than the other time, Lysander."

Her breath hitched slightly.

"I don’t even know if I can ever get that sound out of my head. That was raw pain," she said.

Lysander exhaled slowly.

"I know."

His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand.

"I know," he repeated, softer this time.

He stepped closer then, his free hand moving to her shoulder before he pulled her into him.

Brynhild didn’t resist.

She leaned into his chest, her hands clutching at his clothing like it was the only thing grounding her.

"We can’t let this control us," he said quietly, his voice steady against her ear. "Not now."

"But how?" she asked, muffled slightly against him. "How can I stand there and listen to that and not want to tear her apart? How can I not—"

"You will," Lysander cut in, not harshly, but firmly enough to stop her.

Brynhild stilled.

"I am certain every one of us now has even more disgust towards that woman, but we can’t just rush into this, Brynhild," he told her. "Not out of impulse. Not while Sophia is still breaking in front of us."

His hand moved gently through her hair.

"Right now, she needs us whole," he continued. "Not scattered. Not driven by anger."

Brynhild’s grip loosened slightly.

"And Orion..." Lysander added, quieter now.

She went still again.

"He looks like his heart is being torn out of his chest," Lysander said. "And yet he’s still there. He hasn’t stepped away. He hasn’t let anger take him. He’s choosing her, even now."

Brynhild exhaled slowly. "It’s hard."

"It is, and I wish I could do something to alleviate the pain she feels, but this is wholly psychological, and Sophia will have to fight."

Brynhild’s hands slowly loosened against him, her breathing evening out little by little as she let his words sink in.

He held her a little longer, letting the tension leave her body gradually instead of forcing it away.

And when she finally pulled back, it was slow and controlled.

"I’ll be fine," she said, though it sounded more like a promise than a statement.

Lysander nodded slightly.

"I know."

He brushed his thumb once more against her hand before letting it go.

"Get some rest," he told her gently. "I’ll come find you later."

Brynhild nodded.

And then she turned, her steps quieter now, more measured than before.

Lysander watched her go for a moment before turning back.

The moment he stepped into the corridor leading to Sophia’s room again, the atmosphere shifted.

It was crowded with the number of people loitering about.

He stepped forward without hesitation, his expression settling into something firmer.

His gaze swept over them, the healers and especially the apprentice healers who were gathered.

"This is not a spectacle," he said firmly.

"Instead of standing here watching," he continued, his tone sharp now, "you should be preparing for your upcoming test, or did you all forget about it?"

No one moved.

Lysander’s expression didn’t change.

"Just so you know, I cannot guarantee it will be easy," he added. "And instead of being around here, you should really be studying more and trying to understand more cases."

"And to you healers, do we treat our patients as a spectacle? You should be guiding the apprentices and not encouraging them with this behaviour," he said.

The apprentices swallowed, exchanging quick glances with each other, while the healers looked down at their feet.

And one by one, slowly though, they all began moving away.

Within moments, they were gone.

Lysander’s attention shifted then to Tobias, Ronan, and Annabeth.

"I understand you’re worried," he said, his tone softer now. "And you have every right to be."

"But you can’t all stay in here," Lysander continued. "She needs space. And we can’t risk overwhelming her further."

There was a pause.

"You can remain nearby," he added. "But not inside."

They didn’t argue. They nodded and then left the room without a word.

Lysander’s gaze shifted finally to the bed.

Orion was still sitting there, still holding her, his arms wrapped around Sophia like letting go would undo everything he had just managed to hold together.

Sophia’s body had gone quieter now.

Her sobs were no longer loud or desperate. They were small and weak now.

The kind that barely made sound unless someone was close enough to hear them.

Her face was buried against his chest, her fingers curled weakly into his shirt, like even in whatever state she was in, she still needed something to hold onto.

Orion’s head was lowered slightly, his cheek resting lightly against her hair as his hand moved slowly up and down her back in a steady, grounding rhythm.

"...I’m sorry," she whispered softly. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry."

Those were the only words she said, repeating them over and over again.

Orion’s eyes closed as he exhaled deeply, as if in pain.

And suddenly, Sophia went quiet, her chest rising and falling evenly.