Chapter 41- Fallen and Found

Blind Charity

Liam’s POV

As we stumbled into what we hoped was the final trial room, the air seemed to thicken, pressing against us like an invisible, suffocating blanket. The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows that writhed and twisted as if alive. The walls pulsed with an otherworldly energy, shimmering like the surface of a pond disturbed by an unseen hand. Veins of luminescent crystal threaded through the stone, casting an eerie, ever-shifting light that made my eyes ache.

I ran a hand through my hair, grimacing as I felt the grime and sweat that had accumulated over our trials. “I don’t suppose there’s a gift shop nearby? I could use a ‘I survived the trials of Polovragi Cave and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’ souvenir right about now,” I drawled, my voice rough from exhaustion.

Cyrus, looking as if he’d been dragged backward through a hedge and then trampled by a herd of particularly vicious unicorns, managed a weak chuckle. “I’d settle for a vending machine at this point. Or a bed. Preferably both.” His eyes, usually sharp and alert, were heavy-lidded with fatigue, dark circles beneath them testament to our ordeal.

As my vision adjusted to the dim, pulsating light, something at the center of the room caught my attention. My breath hitched, recognition dawning like a cold sunrise. “Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered, moving closer despite my body’s protests.

“What is it?” Cyrus asked, his hand instinctively moving to his weapon, the motion as natural as breathing to him.

“It’s the Mirror of Regrets,” I explained, my voice hushed with a mixture of awe and trepidation. “I thought it was lost centuries ago.”

Before us stood a large, ornate mirror, its frame a nightmarish work of art. Faces carved in exquisite detail writhed around the edges, their expressions a gallery of sorrow, remorse, and anguish. Some wept, others screamed silently, and still others stared with hollow, haunted eyes. The glass itself seemed alive, rippling and shifting like the surface of a pond in a light breeze, occasionally catching the light from the crystal veins and fracturing it into prismatic shards.

An aura of ancient power emanated from the mirror, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The air around it felt charged, as if a lightning strike was imminent.

“The Mirror of Regrets?” Cyrus echoed, his brow furrowing. “Sounds like a cheery bit of decor. What does it do, besides give everyone an existential crisis?”

I circled the mirror, careful not to touch it, remembering old tales whispered in the darkest corners of the Seelie Court. “It’s an ancient Fae artifact,” I explained, my eyes never leaving its shifting surface. “Legend has it that it shows the viewer their deepest regret and the consequences of their actions. It’s said to be a tool for reflection and growth… or torture, depending on who you ask and how much they’ve fucked up.”

Cyrus eyed the mirror warily, his posture tense. “And what’s it doing here, in the middle of our little gauntlet of doom?”

A chill ran down my spine as realization dawned, cold and unwelcome as a winter wind. “I think… I think this is part of the trial. The trial of charity.”

“How does a mirror of bad memories relate to charity?” Cyrus asked, skepticism clear in his voice. “Unless we’re supposed to charitably forget all the shit we’ve been through.”

“It’s not just about seeing your regrets,” I explained, my mind racing. “It’s about facing them, understanding the harm you’ve caused, and… making amends. True charity often requires sacrifice, after all.”

As I spoke, the surface of the mirror began to swirl more vigorously, colors and shapes coalescing into recognizable images. My heart clenched as I saw my sister’s face materialize, half of it marred by a vicious scar that seemed to pulse with a sickly green light. The memory of that day at Woodstock crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I saw flashes of the chaos – humans stumbling through the malfunctioning gate, wide-eyed and disoriented; demons pouring through the breach, their claws rending flesh and spreading venom; my fellow Fae, caught off guard, falling before I could reach them. And always, always, my sister’s scream as a demon’s claw raked across her face, the sound that would haunt my dreams for eons to come.

My stomach churned with guilt, the weight of my actions pressing down on me like a physical force. I had to grip the edge of the mirror’s frame to steady myself, ignoring the sting as the carved faces bit into my palms.

“Cyrus,” I said, my voice tight with suppressed emotion, “what do you see in the mirror?”

He squinted, leaning closer, his face a mask of concentration. “I… I don’t see anything. It’s just a normal mirror to me. All I see is my own ugly mug staring back.”

I frowned, puzzled by this development. “Nothing at all? That’s… unusual. And mildly concerning, considering what we’ve been through.”

We spent the next few minutes discussing possible reasons for Cyrus’s inability to see anything in the mirror. Was it because he was human? Because his regrets weren’t as severe as mine? Or, more worryingly, because his regrets were somehow irredeemable?

“Maybe,” Cyrus said slowly, his voice heavy with something I couldn’t quite identify, “it’s because my biggest regret is something I’m still living with. Something I haven’t had the chance to make right yet.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite my own turmoil. “Oh? Do tell, demon hunter. What weighs so heavily on that righteous conscience of yours?”

Cyrus sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes distant. “It’s about Kate,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Back at the safe house, when Eric and Marcus… when they tried to force her into servitude. I… I didn’t stop them.”

The pain in his voice was palpable as he continued, his words coming faster now, as if a dam had broken. “I was there, in the house. I heard the commotion, the shouting. I knew something was wrong, but I… I froze. I told myself it wasn’t my place to interfere, that Eric and Marcus knew what they were doing. That it was for the greater good.”

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. “But deep down, I knew it was wrong. I could have burst in, could have stood up to them, could have helped Kate. But I was a coward. I was scared of going against the organization, of losing everything I’d worked for. And because of that, Kate suffered. If you hadn’t shown up when you did…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with regret and self-loathing.

I watched Cyrus, seeing him in a new light. The demon hunter I’d first met, so sure of his path, now seemed lost, adrift in a sea of doubt and guilt. It was a feeling I knew all too well.

“Well,” I said finally, my voice softer than I’d intended, “it seems we’re both carrying our fair share of regrets. Though I must say, your story lacks a certain flair for catastrophe that mine has.”

Cyrus looked up, a question in his eyes.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Let me tell you about Woodstock,” I began, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “A celebration of peace, love, music… and one spectacular fuck-up.”

And so I told him everything. The ill-conceived plan to open the gate, the chaos that ensued, the demon attack, the injuries to my own people. I spared no detail, not even the most painful ones – my sister’s scar, Alfric’s demon-tainted arm, the faces of those I’d failed to protect.

“I was lucky,” I finished, my voice hoarse. “Nobody died. But the damage… some of it can never be undone. That’s why they banished me from the Seelie Court for 30 eons. A lenient sentence, all things considered.”

Cyrus listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When I finished, he simply nodded, a gesture of understanding between two beings weighted down by their past mistakes.

As we stood there, contemplating our shared burden of guilt, the surface of the mirror began to change once more. The image of my sister’s scarred face grew clearer, more defined. And then, with a jolt of horror, I understood what the trial demanded.

“An eye for an eye,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

“What?” Cyrus asked, alarmed by my tone.

“I need your knife,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, though my insides were churning with dread.

Cyrus hesitated, confusion and concern warring on his face. “My knife? Liam, what are you planning?”

“Just give it to me,” I insisted, holding out my hand, trying to keep it from trembling.

Reluctantly, Cyrus unsheathed his iron dagger and handed it over. The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, pain seared through my hand. I bit back a scream, nearly dropping the weapon as the iron burned my Fae flesh. The acrid smell of burning skin filled my nostrils, making my stomach lurch.

“Shit!” Cyrus exclaimed, reaching to take the dagger back. “I forgot about the iron. Liam, don’t-“

But I was already raising the blade to my face, my hand shaking with pain and determination. The iron’s burn was nothing compared to what I was about to do. My heart raced, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, each beat a countdown to the inevitable. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into an eternity as I brought the knife closer to my left eye.

I could see my reflection in the polished blade – both eyes still intact, wide with fear and resolve. Sweat beaded on my brow, trickling down my face like the tears I was too proud to shed. For a moment, I hesitated. Was I really going to do this? Mutilate myself for a chance at redemption? The knife wavered, my resolve faltering.

But then I saw my sister’s face in the mirror again, her scar a constant reminder of my failure. The screams from that day at Woodstock echoed in my mind, a cacophony of pain and terror that I had caused. I knew I had no choice. This was my penance, my chance to make things right.

“I have to do this,” I gritted out, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s the only way.”

Cyrus’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “Liam, no!” he shouted, lunging forward. But he was too late.

Before he could stop me, before I could lose my nerve, I plunged the dagger into my left eye. The pain was indescribable, a white-hot agony that threatened to consume me. It felt like my entire skull was being split open, molten lava pouring into the socket. I could hear myself screaming, the sound primal and agonized, echoing off the chamber walls.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of agony as I forced the blade deeper. I could feel the resistance of flesh and tissue giving way, the sickening pop as the eye was severed from its moorings. Blood poured down my face, hot and thick, mixing with the tears streaming from my remaining eye. The metallic taste filled my mouth, making me gag.

Through the haze of pain, I saw Cyrus’s face, pale and horrified. His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear him over the roaring in my ears. His hands were on my arms, trying to pull me away, but I shrugged him off, determined to finish what I’d started. I had to see this through, no matter the cost.

With a final, wrenching twist, I pulled the dagger free. My ruined eye came with it, dangling grotesquely from the tip of the blade. The sight nearly made me vomit, my stomach heaving violently. But I forced myself to stay conscious, to bear witness to my own sacrifice. The iron continued to burn my flesh, the pain almost welcome now as it grounded me, keeping me from slipping into shock.

As I dropped to my knees, the dagger clattering to the ground beside me, I saw a door materializing in the far wall of the chamber. Through my remaining eye, the world looked flat and strange, my depth perception completely thrown off. Blood continued to pour from my empty socket, and the pain was a living thing, pulsing with each beat of my heart.

Cyrus was there in an instant, his face a mask of horror and disbelief. “You idiot,” he muttered, his voice shaking as he fumbled with his first aid kit. “You absolute, reckless idiot. What have you done?”

His hands trembled as he tried to staunch the bleeding, pressing gauze against my ruined socket. I could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought against his own nausea and shock. Blood soaked through the bandages faster than he could apply them, and I could hear his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Stay with me, Liam,” he urged, his voice tight with fear. “Don’t you dare pass out on me now.”

I tried to respond, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling chuckle. The sound was horrifying, tainted with blood and pain. “Well,” I managed to rasp, my voice barely above a whisper, “I suppose this gives a whole new meaning to ‘an eye for an eye’, doesn’t it?”

Cyrus didn’t laugh. His hands were unsteady as he worked, and I could see the pallor of his skin, the sweat beading on his brow. He looked like he might be sick at any moment, but he pressed on, determined to help me.

“Why?” he asked simply, his voice cracking. “Why did you do it?”

I closed my remaining eye, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. The pain had settled into a dull, throbbing ache, and I could feel myself starting to shake as the adrenaline wore off. Shock was setting in, my body finally catching up to the trauma I’d inflicted upon it.

“Because it was necessary,” I said softly, each word a struggle. “Because sometimes, charity demands more than we think we can give. And because… because I owed it to them. To all the people I hurt.”

As Cyrus finished bandaging my wound, his hands still shaking, we both looked towards the newly appeared door. It stood there, innocuous and yet foreboding, a silent promise of what lay ahead. The air around it seemed to shimmer, as if reality itself was bending.

“Do you think that’s it?” Cyrus asked, his voice hushed, still thick with shock. “The final trial?”

I shook my head, immediately regretting the motion as pain lanced through my skull. Nausea rose in my throat, and I had to take several deep breaths to keep from retching. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice weak and unsteady. “Part of me hopes so, but after everything we’ve been through…”

“Yeah,” Cyrus agreed, helping me to my feet. I swayed dangerously, the loss of depth perception making even standing a monumental challenge. The room spun around me, and I had to lean heavily on Cyrus to keep from falling. “For all we know, there could be another gauntlet of horrors waiting for us. Or maybe…”

“Maybe the Tether is just on the other side,” I finished for him, allowing myself a glimmer of hope through the fog of pain and exhaustion. “Only one way to find out, I suppose.”

“Ready?” Cyrus asked, offering me his arm for support. I could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he braced himself to catch me if I fell.

I took his arm, grateful for the stability. My legs felt like jelly, and each step was an exercise in willpower. “As I’ll ever be,” I replied, managing a weak smile that pulled at the bandages on my face. I could feel fresh blood seeping through, warm and sticky against my skin. “Let’s go save our girl, shall we?”

And with that, we stepped towards the door, leaving behind a piece of me – literally and figuratively – as we moved forward into the unknown. The Temporal Tether awaited, and with it, our chance to help Kate.

As we approached the door, I felt a shiver of anticipation. My heart raced, each beat sending a fresh wave of pain through my skull. I had come too far to turn back now. With a deep breath, I reached out and grasped the handle, ready to face whatever challenges awaited us on the other side.