Gwydion’s Lair
The morning light filtered through the grand windows of the dining hall, casting an ethereal glow on the opulent spread laid out before them. Fiona sat at the long table, half-heartedly pushing the food around on her plate. The scents of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats filled the air, but her appetite was nowhere to be found. The sounds of clinking silverware and the soft murmur of servants scurrying about added a backdrop of mundane activity, their hurried movements reminding her of cockroaches scattering in the light. These servants were always invisible—absolutely nowhere to be found—whenever Gwydion left her alone for days, drowning her in silence and isolation.
Gwydion watched her intently from across the table, his pale, almost translucent skin shimmering in the light, accentuating the otherworldly glow that surrounded him. His black eyes never left her face, a mixture of concern and amusement playing on his features. “At the risk of thee flinging victuals at me again, and though I am aware vampires need not partake in sustenance, might thee not manage at least a few bites? Or shall I escort thee to the marketplace once more for a different form of nourishment?” His tone was the usual raspy, mundane growl, but with an uncharacteristic playful undertone.
Fiona glanced up, a small, forced smile tugging at her lips. “Tempting, but now you ruined the element of surprise,” she replied, though she made no move to actually eat.
Gwydion chuckled at her clever comeback, his amusement evident. Fiona couldn’t help but smile at his archaic speech, a pattern she had noticed. After his benders, he always sounded more medieval, the longer they lasted the more intense it would be, only to gradually adapt his way of speaking more to hers the longer they spent together. It was a curious, almost endearing quirk, one that made her feel closer to him despite herself.
After breakfast, Gwydion stood and extended his hand to her. “Come,” he said simply. She took his hand, feeling the coldness of his touch, and followed him down the winding corridors to the catacombs. They stopped in front of a heavy wooden door with a large cutout with metal bars, the air growing colder and more oppressive.
Inside, the faint sound of chains echoed, and Fiona’s heart ached as she recognized the figure bound within. “Grandpa,” she whispered, stepping closer. So, this was where he had moved him to after catching Fiona trying to release him from his original cell before. When she finally found her way back many days after being caught, Caelan was no longer there.
Gwydion handed her a key, his expression unreadable. She hesitated, not fully trusting him, but his nod urged her on. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, her breath catching as she saw Caelan. With a wave of Gwydion’s hand, the magical binds released, and Caelan fell weakly to the ground. Fiona was at his side in an instant, hugging him tightly.
Caelan labored up enough to hug her back, his eyes fixed on Gwydion with a promise of retribution. “I will kill you for this,” he snarled, his voice weak but determined.
Gwydion merely smirked, unimpressed. “I have no doubt that you will try. Say your farewells,” he instructed Fiona, his tone dismissive.
Fiona’s eyes widened in fear. “No, please, don’t kill him,” she pleaded, her voice desperate. “I’ll do anything. Don’t do it!”
Gwydion held up a hand to silence her. “I shall not slay him, My Lady Fair” he said calmly. “I shall send him home as a sign of good faith. You have proven to be a worthy companion, and this shall be your reward.”
Relief washed over Fiona, and she turned to her grandfather, kissing his cheek. Then, with a sudden burst of emotion, she jumped up and hugged Gwydion, covering his cheek with a barrage of tiny kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered, surprising herself with the genuine gratitude in her voice.
Caelan, despite his weakened state, couldn’t help but notice the change in Gwydion’s demeanor. Confused and appalled, he observed the scene in silence. The ancient, emotionless enchanter showing a sliver of humanity was almost inconceivable.
His body stiffened with a mix of disbelief and repulsion. The scent of old wine and dust filled the air, mingling with Fiona’s perfume, creating an atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. Caelan’s keen senses picked up every nuance—the slight tremor in Fiona’s voice, the hesitation in Gwydion’s usually confident demeanor. Every little detail.
As Fiona hugged Gwydion, Caelan’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. How could his sweet granddaughter trust this man who had kept him bound and powerless? The same man who had orchestrated this twisted arrangement? He had to have blurred her mind with his spells and trickery, turning her into his willing, mindless puppet. The sight was almost unbearable for Caelan, a betrayal of everything he stood for. Caelan was one of the vampires who believed their kind to be superior to all other species out there, including regular humans, mortals, and most definitely all the magic folk. Seeing Fiona hug Gwydion was atrocious and very offensive to Caelan.
Yet, beneath his confusion and anger, a seed of curiosity took root. His theory would explain Fiona’s behavior, but what had changed in Gwydion? Something was different. Caelan’s mind churned with questions, even as he resolved to protect Fiona at all costs. If the mage truly would release him, if this wasn’t just one of his tricks, a rouse, possibly ending with him making a public spectacle of killing Caelan in front of everyone just to show what he is capable of, or as part of one of Gwydion’s sick games, amusing his sick mind watching the horror it would inflict on Caelan’s family, he would spend every second planning his revenge. To butcher him, for what he had done to him and what he was doing and would do to Fiona.
Silent and observant, Caelan stoically watched the interactions, storing every detail. For now, he chose to remain still, conserving his strength, his eyes never leaving Gwydion. A storm of emotions swirled within him—rage, confusion, and a grudging acknowledgment of the complexity of the situation.
Without warning, in an instant, Caelan found himself outside the vampire castle, his home, his birthplace. The familiar sight should have brought relief, but his heart pounded with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Within moments, Cesare Vannucci and a contingent of vampire guards appeared, their swift movements precise and disciplined. Cesare, the most powerful and ancient vampire, remained a commanding presence, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation.
Gwydion stood confidently, his presence exuding power, a shimmering force field surrounding him and a magically bound Caelan. Fiona, held firmly by Gwydion’s hand, watched the scene unfold with a mixture of fear and curiosity.
Cesare’s gaze was cold and calculating as he took in the sight of his son, bound and weakened. “What is the meaning of this intrusion, Gwydion? Have you forgotten that it is customary to request an audience in writing, especially with other non-mortals? Anything less could be taken as an act of war! You are fortunate we did not slay you upon first sight!” he ranted, his voice a low growl that resonated with authority.
Gwydion smirked, unfazed by the vampire leader’s formidable presence. With a flick of his wrist, he expelled Caelan from the force field, sending him stumbling towards his father and the guards. “I did not think releasing your only son, Caelan the warrior, the dark prince, as a sign of good faith could be taken as an act of war. ‘Tis meant for you to rest easier, knowing that I intend to keep my end of the bargain,” he announced. “But I have a demand: send for Fiona’s family now, so she might see them briefly.”
Fiona’s head snapped around to Gwydion, her expression one of surprise and shock. The vampire guards tensed, ready to act at a moment’s notice, but Cesare raised a hand, signaling them to hold their positions.
“Why shall I trust you?” Cesare asked, his eyes never leaving Gwydion.
Gwydion’s smirk faded, replaced by a mask of calculated calm. “What choice have you, Cesare? Denying me is denying her, and thou would only be hurting Fiona. I hold the upper hand and could have easily destroyed your precious son. But I am not a monster, despite what you may think. I play a longer game here, and a show of goodwill can be strategic.”
Cesare’s eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, but he remained composed. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well. You shall have your brief reunion. Summon Fiona’s family, NOW!” he commanded, his voice carrying authority, aimed at the castle staff.
Being vampires and able to port, Fiona’s mother, Emmy, her father, Connell, and her brother, Damon, soon materialized beside Cesare, their forms appearing out of thin air. All of them were towheads, although Emmy’s hair was golden, while Connell’s and the kids’ shades were silvery. They stood in awe, their eyes wide with a mix of relief and disbelief.
Gwydion roughly shoved Fiona towards them, breaking the force field protecting him. The moment they saw her, their faces lit up with joy and relief. They rushed to embrace her, their arms wrapping around her tightly. Tears streamed down Emmy’s face as she held her daughter close. “My darling girl, my sweet baby girl,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
Connell, usually stoic, found his own eyes misting. “Are you alright? Is he treating you well, Fiona?” he asked, his voice thick with love and concern. The pain of being unable to protect her burned deeply within him, a constant reminder of his failure.
Damon, her 21-year-old brother, clung to her, his expression a mixture of happiness and sorrow. “We all miss you,” he admitted, his voice trembling. As a coven enforcer, the helplessness he felt was a bitter pill to swallow. The glares he shot at Gwydion left no question in the mage’s mind on how the young vampire felt about him.
Their joy was palpable, mingled with the sorrow of their separation. Fiona’s great-grandfather, Cesare, stood watchful, his eyes never leaving Gwydion. The vampire leader’s presence was a constant reminder of the fragile truce and the dangers that still loomed.
Gwydion watched the reunion with a guarded expression, his thoughts inscrutable. He maintained his magical grip on Fiona, ensuring she didn’t slip away. “Your time is running low,” he reminded them, his tone devoid of warmth. “Make the most of it.”
Fiona clung to her family, the weight of their love and concern filling her heart. This brief moment of connection was a beacon of hope in the midst of the darkness that surrounded them.
Just as quickly and roughly as he had released her, Gwydion reclaimed Fiona, pulling her back into his grasp and into the magic force field. Without another word, he vanished with her, leaving the vampires to process the whirlwind of emotions and the precarious balance of their truce.
Once they returned, Fiona’s gratitude overflowed. She approached him, a new determination in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. Without hesitation, she hugged him tightly, pressing herself against him, filled with a confusing mix of fear and hope. The warmth of her embrace was a stark contrast to the coldness that usually surrounded him. Gwydion couldn’t recall the last time he had given or received a hug before Fiona. Maybe long ago. Maybe never.
Gwydion closed his eyes at the sensation, savoring the moment. It was a simple gesture, yet it pierced through the icy barriers he had built around his heart. Fiona pulled back slightly, her eyes locking onto his. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, the touch gentle and filled with gratitude.
As she pulled away, she noticed the healing bitemarks on his earlobe from when she had defiantly bitten him. Her eyes softened with a mix of regret and tenderness. Leaning in, she gently kissed the marks, her lips soft and tender against his skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered near his ear, her breath warm and intimate.
The unexpected affection broke through his defenses, sending a shiver down his spine. His desire for her surged, a mix of genuine emotion and the strategic need to fulfill the bargain. As she pulled away, he swiftly and roughly pulled her back, his grip firm and unyielding. His lips crashed onto hers with a demanding intensity, a raw urgency that took her breath away. The kiss was different this time—special, gentle, yet filled with a burning need.
“I want a repeat of that last night we spent together,” he breathed against her lips, his voice thick with desire. “Now. Right here.”
Fiona’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions. She could feel the conflict within him, the battle between his cold, calculated nature and the unexpected warmth that her presence seemed to ignite. His touch was both possessive and desperate, as if he was trying to claim her and push her away at the same time.
Her gratitude for his earlier kindness mingled with a newfound fear and excitement. She wanted to believe that there was more to his actions than just fulfilling the bargain, that perhaps he was beginning to see her as more than just a means to an end. But doubt lingered in her mind, a shadow that refused to be dispelled.
Gwydion’s hands roamed over her body, his touch igniting a fire within her. She responded to his kiss with equal fervor, her own desires surfacing. Yet, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was still part of his plan, a calculated move to secure his heir.
As their passion intensified, Fiona found herself torn between the hope that he was changing and the fear that she was merely a pawn in his game. Gwydion’s actions were a paradox, a blend of genuine emotion and strategic manipulation. His cold heart seemed to be warming, but was it enough to truly change him?
In that moment, as they lost themselves in each other, the lines between love and obligation blurred. Fiona’s gratitude and affection clashed with her doubts, creating a storm of emotions that neither of them could fully control.
Fiona was shocked by his sudden intensity; he had never acted this way before. But somehow, it made her want to oblige. On the round wooden table they engaged in the act with a passion and vigor unlike ever before. Unlike the last time, where they woke up from their drunken night together the next day, this time it was sober in every sense of the word. As they reached the heights of ecstasy together, he abruptly pulled away, grabbed his clothing, and left down a hallway, disappearing for days at a time once again.
When he finally returned, countless days later, Fiona found him standing in the parlor next to a bottle of ale. The sight of him, so casually standing there as if nothing had happened, ignited a fire of anger within her. She descended the stairs, her steps heavy with fury. The quiet room echoed with the sound of her slap, a sharp crack that reverberated through the air. His head snapped to the side, and when he turned back, his expression was a mix of confusion and anger.
Without hesitation, she slapped him again, her hand stinging from the impact. He caught her wrist, his grip tight and unyielding, but she used her other hand to strike him once more until he held both wrists, his eyes dark with a mix of emotions.
“What is wrong with you, you rabid wench?!” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“Never, EVER, treat me like a cheap whore ever again!” she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury. The betrayal she felt was palpable, her heart aching from the sudden abandonment after their passionate moments. She had given herself to him, only for him to disappear without a word, leaving her in a state of confusion and desolation.
Gwydion’s confusion was evident, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He had left to distance himself, to regain control over the feelings that were becoming too real for his comfort. But seeing her anger, her pain, it struck a chord within him that he couldn’t ignore.
Fiona’s anger was a storm, her emotions raw and unfiltered. She couldn’t see the turmoil within him, the battle between his cold, calculated nature and the unexpected warmth that her presence had ignited. All she saw was a man who had used her and discarded her without a second thought. Just like her ex.
“Do you think you can just come and go as you please after some quickie? That I’m some toy for you to play with and toss aside? I am onto your games now! The nice thing I thought you did was in realty just a mindgame to get me to oblige! To open my legs for you and make it pleasant for you, thinking it was something real. Oh, fool me once!” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “I trusted you, and you used me, then left me standing there like that, like some hoe you picked up in a bar. How dare you!”
Gwydion’s grip on her wrists tightened momentarily before he released her, his expression hardening. “You don’t understand,” he began, but she cut him off, her anger unrelenting.
“No, you don’t understand!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the empty room. “But you are going to! You hurt me, Gwydion. You made me feel like I was nothing. I know it’s on me too, for letting you, but this was a lesson for me too! One I won’t forget!”
Her words cut through him, each one a dagger to his already conflicted heart. He wanted to explain the inexplicable, but he didn’t even understand any of this himself. The words wouldn’t come, and he stood there, silent and torn.
Fiona’s eyes filled with tears, her anger giving way to the pain she had been holding back. “I thought… I thought they were wrong about you. I thought I was wrong about you, but I had it right from the get-go. You really can’t be trusted; you are a monster! And I am an idiot,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Won’t be making that mistake again.”
With that, she turned and ran back upstairs, leaving Gwydion standing alone in the parlor, his heart heavy with the weight of his own confusion and regret. The room felt colder without her presence, a stark reminder of the walls he had built around himself.
Trying to ignore the sting of her words, he poured himself another drink, the liquid sloshing into the chalice. He gulped it down, hoping to drown the unsettling emotions that her outburst had stirred. In a confused gesture, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, uneasy. But the alcohol did little to numb the ache. The more he tried to push it away, the more it gnawed at him.
Frustration bubbled up inside him, and with a growl, he hurled the chalice into the fireplace. The metal clanged against the stone, the flames roaring as the liquid burst into a brief, fiery display. The bottle followed, shattering against the hearth, the sound echoing through the empty room. The destruction brought no solace, only a deeper sense of unease.
Something within him stirred—an unfamiliar sense of urgency. He couldn’t just let it end like this. He didn’t like this. Without thinking further, he strode after her, his footsteps echoing in the grand hallway, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. As he reached her room, he found the door locked. He banged against it, harder and harder, shaking it on its hinges. “Open this door, Fiona, I demand it!” he commanded, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.
“And I demand that you go away! Just fall off some cliff somewhere!” she shouted from the other side, her voice trembling with fury. “I don’t want to see you! I can’t stand the sight of you!”
Gwydion’s frustration grew, and with a final, forceful bang, he used magic to unlock the door. It creaked open to reveal Fiona with red-rimmed eyes and a tear-streaked face.
“Cease this nonsense forthwith,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. They stared at each other, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.
“Get out! OUT!” she spat the words at him, her voice trembling with fury. “Don’t worry, I’ll fulfill your idiotic arrangement. We can schedule a daily fuck if we must, but it will be as it was in the beginning. I will lie there the entire time you do your deed, sobbing, whilst hoping it causes your magic-trouser-wand to wither and fall off! Slowly and painfully!” Fiona’s face was red again, this time from unbridled anger, her voice echoing in the room.
Gwydion’s eyes darkened, a dangerous glint flashing in them. “You think you can speak to me thus and escape unscathed, you insolent wench?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “I am not some lovesick fool. You are at my mercy, and I am Gwydion ap Aberffraw, and you shall remember that.”
Fiona’s anger flared even hotter. “Oh, I remember exactly who you are, you and your unpronounceable gibberish name you fling around as if it means something! You are the monster who thinks he can control everything and everyone. But guess what? I am not some weak-willed girl you can manipulate. I have endured hell and back, and I will not let you break me. You wish to play games? Very well. Create hell for me and relish in the echo!”
Her words struck a nerve, and Gwydion’s facade cracked ever so slightly. He took a step closer, his presence imposing. “You think you know hell or even pain, little girl? You think you know betrayal? You have no inkling of what I have endured. You know nothing! Nothing at all!”
Fiona scoffed, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Oh, I know betrayal. I know what it’s like to be used and discarded. My ex-boyfriend dumped me and married someone else right after, I never saw it coming, and you wanna know why? Bet you don’t, but I will tell you anyway! Because of who or better what my family is! He felt my heritage clashed with his career! That is why he broke my heart, something so trivial! I moved back in with my parents because I couldn’t stand the sight of him, since we lived in the same town. That all just happened recently, and now, here I am, stuck with you, another heartless bastard who thinks he can use me. So don’t tell me I don’t know betrayal and pain! Do not judge me without having all the facts! I don’t have to be older than the stars to know what pain feels like!”
Gwydion’s gaze softened momentarily, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his eyes. “Perhaps there is more to you than I initially realized. After all, you have surprised me quite a few times already, I can admit that,” he said, his voice quieter but still edged with danger. “After what you just shared, I am sure you will understand that trust doesn’t come easily once you have been burned enough.”
The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with a mixture of anger, confusion, and a begrudging respect. Fiona’s mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but she knew one thing for certain—she would not be an idle pawn in this game.
“I do,” she said finally, her voice steady. “I get that. But still, it doesn’t give you the right to treat others like shit, just because you can. That has nothing to do with trust. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, Gwydion. But do you really think that male heir you want so badly could grow up happy and healthy with that crappy attitude? Or do you think that because you had a rough life and presumably a shitty childhood, you have to have a child go through it too? You think breeding some hybrid uber-child or whatever you think we are accomplishing here by combining our lineages, who might grow up stronger than you, then putting it through the suckiest childhood ever is a sound plan?! If you go through with that dumb plan, and treat a child the way you treat me, that son you so badly want will shred you the moment he’s old enough to! You seem to be so worried about whether or not I think you are a monster, so yes, for that very reason I would say yes. Yes, you are, if you really go through with this heir-nonsense.”
Gwydion’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. “This is not merely about being a proud and accomplished parent, passing down eye color and a penchant for magic, Fiona. There is far more at stake than thou dost realize.”
Fiona crossed her arms, defiance burning in her eyes. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then. What else is there? Normally I wouldn’t bother asking someone like you, clearly you have this evil masterplan to take over the world or whatever, but since I am very much involved, I feel I have a right to know. What exactly ‘dost’ I not realize, huh?” Her voice was sharp, and her eyes bore into him with intensity as she mocked his falling back in his old-fashioned ways to communicate.
He stepped closer, his presence imposing. “Power. Legacy. Survival. The future of all I have built, the future of magic—true magic, not the trifling nonsense many practice whilst hiding in their basements. You may despise me now, but one day, you shall comprehend the importance of this,” he said, his tone steady but his eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability.
Fiona scoffed, her eyes blazing with defiance. “That literally makes NO sense. Sounds like some end-of-the-world kind of movie with a very lame plot that wasn’t thought out well. You talk about legacy and survival like it’s some grand noble cause, but all I see is manipulation and control. You portray yourself as immortal, invincible, indefinable, yet you’re all about survival. HUH?! You are immortal, as am I, yet do you hear me going on and on about survival? No, ‘cos it makes no sense for us. We both know what it takes to not end ourselves. Don’t ingest high-potency garlic oil, Fiona. Yup, got it. There, survival guaranteed.
Then again, clearly, you need to repeat it for yourself, since you’ve already managed to sign your own death certificate by the way you’ve pissed off my grandpa and great-grandpa. You are as good as dead anyway, you do realize that, right? And if you want an heir, then why not find a wife, someone you actually like being with and around, and have a kid with her, rather than forcing someone to? That’s how everyone else does it and has done it, even back in your days. You’re not ugly; I’m sure there would be a woman willing to deal with your special insanity and happy to pop out kids for you. I am not that woman. A child should be born out of and into love, no matter your heritage or creed.” Her words were cutting, and her face was etched with a mixture of anger and sorrow.
Gwydion’s gaze softened momentarily, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his eyes. “Perhaps there is truth in your words. Yet it is the world we inhabit; we must navigate it as best we can. I do not trust easily. Perhaps I never shall. Enough betrayal will do that to a man. One cannot love without trust; and both love and trust render one weak and vulnerable. I cannot afford to be either, thus your idea fails at its very core, My Lady Fair.” His expression was stern, but there was a hint of regret in his eyes.
“Okay, but then tell me, how great is a life without love, really? I don’t mean to sound like a chick flick here, but I think you are as miserable and as much of a douche as you are because you are missing something important. Judging by the way you know how to handle yourself the last few times we have engaged in bedroom activities, I know you are a fan and had your fair share of women, and probably even some men, sheep, goats, since you are from back when that wasn’t lowbrow. And screwing is good, but eventually we all need more, something deeper, something lasting. Maybe I put too much emphasis on love, but you do the opposite and neither works out well for anyone. I keep getting my heart broken and you don’t even have one. And don’t even try to deny it with your ‘I am so powerful and tough’ ra-ra-ra. I just don’t believe that. Just no.” Fiona’s voice softened, yet remained firm, as she met his gaze with unwavering determination.
His angry mask turned into a slight smirk. “I will say this; I have lived a very long time, I have seen kingdoms, empires and entire cultures come and go, but I have never met anyone quite like you, My Lady Fair. I am not even truly certain whether I like it or abhor it, if I shall laugh or cry, but I can’t help being mesmerized by you. You most definitely are one-of-a-kind, and that’s saying something.” There was a mixture of admiration and confusion in his eyes as he spoke.
“Fallen kingdoms? Umm, how old exactly are you?” Fiona’s curiosity momentarily overpowered her anger.
Gwydion couldn’t suppress his amusement. “Oh, who can say at this point, but I know I am significantly older than your great-grandfather Cesare. I watched his rise to power with great interest.” His eyes twinkled with a mix of pride and nostalgia.
“Oh great! I literally have been doing a dude older than my own great-grandpa. Yeah, there is not enough therapy in the world to fix me ever again. First, coming home from work to Lukas dumping me without warning, just days before his wedding to someone I never heard of, then the shame of moving back in with mommy and daddy, and now this. Yeah, I am so toast. Stick a fork in me, I am so done.” Her honesty was too much for Gwydion to stay mad at. She leaned against the wall, her expression weary and defeated.
With a sigh, she dropped her head back, a deep groan escaping her. Gwydion stepped closer, running his fingers along her jawline, startling her. Her reaction seemed to unsettle him, but he masked it quickly with a smirk.
“How about some ale?” he offered, his tone light but his eyes searching hers.
“No, thank you. I remember what happened last time I drank with you and THAT is not going to happen again. You go and enjoy your weak cow piss by yourself,” Fiona retorted, crossing her arms again, her defiance returning.
Gwydion chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Suit yourself. Just remember, Fiona, this world is not kind to those who believe in fairy tales and happy endings. Those are but illusions of the mind, there are no heroes here. Only survivors.” His expression hardened, a dangerous edge returning to his voice.
Fiona glared at him, her defiance unyielding. “I’d rather believe in fairy tales than live in your nightmare. You may have power and legacy, but you don’t have a soul. And that makes you the weakest of all. What good is living as long as you have without any real reason? Your existence is pointless, meaningless, no matter how many heirs you put out there, it won’t change anything.” Her voice was steady, filled with a quiet strength.
Gwydion’s smirk turned into a cold, calculating smile. “A soul, you say?” His eyes gleamed with a dark intensity. “In the legends of old, it is said that the gods themselves are not burdened by such frailties. Power, legacy, survival—these are the true pillars upon which we stand. The soul is but a fleeting whisper, easily snuffed out by the cruel winds of fate. And love, love is but an imaginary tale, created by the feeble and the weak.”
He leaned in closer, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “Remember this, My Lady Fair: in the end, it is not the soul that endures, but the will. And my will is ironclad.”
EchoesOfLegacy 