Chapter 170 - A Price Will Be Paid

Panic surged through Sonder, tightening her chest and locking her limbs in place. 

She didn't know what to do. 

Her hand trembled as it gripped the unfamiliar blade lodged in her side. Another wave of emotion crashed over her—familiar but unwelcome. It was the creeping, suffocating sensation of losing control over herself. 

Not now. Not without Vell. 

She couldn't let the banshee take over, no matter how much control she thought she had. But she couldn't let go of the blade, either. Her fingers were frozen around the hilt, indecision clouding her mind. 

Black liquid oozed from the wound, dripping onto her bed and pooling on the floor beneath her. 

Her blood. 

The pain was distant, muted—but the weight of her paralysis was unbearable. 

Suddenly, the door to her room burst open, slamming against the wall with a violent force. 

A presence swept in, suffocating and dark. The flames of the candles dimmed, smothered by an otherworldly gloom. Even the air seemed to shudder under its weight. 

Sonder couldn't move. Even if she'd wanted to, the oppressive force in the room rooted her in place. 

Vell entered, his figure emerging from the shadows as though he'd stepped out of the mist itself. Crimson eyes locked onto hers, and with a smooth motion, he knelt beside her, steadying her as her knees buckled. 

"My dear girl," he said softly, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. As he spoke, the room brightened again, the gloom receding like a retreating tide. "Are you alright?" 

His hand cupped hers where it clutched the knife. Black liquid stained his fingers—the strange blood that continued to drip from her wound. 

"I'm scared," she whispered, her voice trembling. 

Fear coursed through her—not just of pain or the blade, but of death itself. That primal instinct lingered, clawing at her despite everything she had become. 

"You're right to fear it," Vell said gently, his tone steady and calm. "But don't worry, my Black Bird. Something like this won't kill you." 

He grasped the knife embedded in her side with an unflinching hand. "No matter the strike, nothing can cut you down. That doesn't mean it won't hurt, though." 

Without hesitation, he pulled the blade free. 

Sonder winced as a fresh stream of black blood poured from the wound, flowing freely as the knife clattered to the floor. The sound echoed in the silence. 

Vell placed his hand over the wound. "San," he said, and in an instant, the wound vanished. 

Sonder wobbled as she rose to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her. 

"Sonder," Vell said, meeting her gaze with calm intensity. "You've been the victim of an assassination attempt." 

"What?" The words barely made sense to her. "Why me?" 

"It wasn't meant for you," Vell explained. "You're just my closest associate—and for that, I'm sorry." 

"Was there... someone in your room too?" 

Vell nodded, his expression darkening. "Yes. I've been stalked all day since word spread that I'm working with Lunt." 

Sonder's worry deepened, and Vell, noticing her expression, added, "I've already dealt with them. And I will take care of this one, too." 

He turned to the unconscious assassin. Their hood had slipped back, exposing scaled, leathery skin and a sharp, reptilian jaw. 

"Lamina," he murmured, almost to himself. "Mimics. They blend into their surroundings, adapting to the terrain. Perfect assassins and thieves." 

He raised an arm, and his black robes moved unnaturally, extending and writhing like living tendrils. They slithered across the floor and enveloped the would-be assassin in a suffocating embrace. The Lamina disappeared into the folds of his cloak, swallowed whole as the fabric returned to its original form. 

Sonder stared, her stomach twisting with unease. 

Vell turned back to her. "Go to Master Lunt," he said firmly. "Tell him what happened and stay with him until I return." 

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he swept out of the room as silently as he had arrived.