Chapter 11

“Elara!” Damien’s voice boomed through the garden, a mix of fear and desperation as he dropped to his knees at the edge of the yawning pit. His heart clenched as he peered down to see her sprawled at the bottom, surrounded by ancient, rune-carved stones that pulsed faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Elara stirred, groaning softly as she sat up, her gaze falling on the glowing carvings that seemed to whisper secrets only the brave or the foolish would dare to uncover. Her breath hitched as she brushed dirt off her hands and realized the magnitude of what lay beneath her.

“Damien,” she called, her voice trembling like the flutter of a bird's wing. “I think… I’ve found it.”

Damien’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening as the weight of her words sank in. This was no ordinary discovery. “Stay put. I’m coming down,” he said firmly, his voice brimming with both resolve and unease.

The faint hum of the runes seemed to grow louder, as if the air itself was resonating with an ancient, ominous energy. Shadows along the walls began to stir, stretching unnaturally, their presence a silent warning that whatever lay beneath the garden was not meant to be disturbed.

Damien’s eyes caught a weathered rope ladder fixed to the side of the pit. Without hesitation, he descended swiftly, his boots crunching on loose stones as he landed beside Elara. She attempted to rise, but a sharp pain shot through her left leg, forcing her back down with a soft cry.

“Elara, you’ve sprained it,” Damien said, his voice laced with worry. He reached out instinctively, one arm encircling her waist to steady her. She flushed under his touch but managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“You need medical attention. Let’s get you out of here,” Damien insisted, his brows furrowing as he glanced around the foreboding chamber.

“Wait,” Elara pleaded, her voice gentle but insistent. “We can’t leave…not yet. There’s something here… something important. Please, Damien.” Her eyes searched his, a flicker of determination behind the pain.

He sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair. “Fine,” he relented, though the unease in his gut churned like a storm at sea. “But stay where you are. I’ll do the inspecting.”

“Of course,” she replied with a sheepish smile, fully aware she had no intention of staying still.

The hidden chamber stretched out before them, its walls alive with ancient carvings that seemed to shift and writhe under the faint glow of the runes. Dusty tomes and brittle scrolls lay scattered across the floor, interspersed with wooden carvings and faded paintings that hinted at a forgotten era. The air was thick with the scent of time, old parchment, damp earth, and the faint tang of magic long dormant but not yet dead.

Elara’s gaze was drawn to a diary lying half-buried under a pile of loose stones. Its leather cover was worn but intact, the name “Aurora” embossed in delicate gold lettering. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up. “Aurora…” she whispered, the name echoing in her mind like a distant melody.

“It’s nearly seven,” Damien called from across the chamber, his voice taut with urgency.

Elara quickly tucked the diary into her jacket, her heart racing. “I can’t let him see this. Not yet..not while Shadow still has its grip on him,” she thought, her resolve hardening.

Damien approached, his expression softening as he saw the strain in her eyes. Without a word, he helped her to the rope ladder and steadied her as she climbed. When they finally emerged from the pit, he surprised her by scooping her up into his arms effortlessly.

“W-what are you doing?” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he replied, feigning irritation though his tone was tinged with concern. “You’re injured. You’ll only hurt yourself more if you try to walk.”

Elara blinked, momentarily speechless, and simply nodded, letting him carry her back to the house. Once inside, Damien set her gently on the living room couch, kneeling before her as he removed her shoes with care.

“This might sting a little,” he said as he applied ointment to her swollen ankle.

Elara flinched slightly, biting her lip to stifle a cry. “I’ll manage,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Damien, noticing her discomfort, raised her leg, leaned closer and blew gently on her ankle, his warm breath soothing the sting. Elara’s eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat.

“W-what are you doing?” she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her chest.

“Making sure you’re not in pain,” he replied simply, his dark eyes meeting hers for a moment that stretched longer than either anticipated.

Elara quickly looked away, feeling a heat rise to her cheeks. “I-it’s warm in here,” she muttered, cursing herself for the ridiculous excuse.

Damien smirked faintly but didn’t comment. Instead, he carried her to her room, his arms steady despite the turmoil brewing in his mind. “Rest here. I’ll make you something to eat,” he said, his tone softer now.

Later that evening, as she lay in bed after a refreshing but challenging shower, Elara hugged her pillow tightly, her thoughts racing. “Why does my heart race every time I see him? Why does he have to be so kind, so… perfect?” she murmured, her cheeks flaming. “Do I… like Damien?”

In his own room, Damien leaned against the door, his thoughts mirroring hers. “Why do I feel like this? Why does her pain feel like my own?” he whispered to himself, his fingers brushing against the doorframe. “Do I… care for her more than I should?”

The hours crept by, the house cloaked in an uneasy stillness. Then, as the clock struck seven, a sharp knock echoed through Elara’s door.

Her breath hitched, her body tensing as a cold dread washed over her. “Who… who’s there?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper, cracking with uncertainty.

No reply came. Instead, another knock followed, heavier, more deliberate, the sound reverberating through the quiet house like a warning.

Elara’s heart pounded violently in her chest, her hand trembling as it reached for the diary hidden beneath her pillow. The runes on its cover flared to life, casting an eerie glow across the room. The faint hum of magic filled the air, yet it brought no comfort, only a grim reminder of the darkness she now faced.

Outside, Damien stood motionless before her door. His tall frame was cast in shadows, the dim light from the hallway flickering unnaturally around him. His eyes, once warm and filled with concern, were now pools of red, devoid of humanity. A slow, unsettling smile crept across his lips, an expression that was so out of place, it was clear he was no longer himself.

“Elara…” he whispered, the voice that escaped his lips low and guttural, dripping with malice. His fists unclenched, his movements unnervingly calm as though he were savoring the moment.

The knock came again, this time sharper, more insistent, like the rattle of a predator testing its prey’s defences.

“Open the door, Elara,” the voice crooned, but it was no longer Damien’s. The distortion in its tone sent a shiver crawling down her spine. It was laced with mockery, a dark promise that the barrier between them wouldn’t hold much longer.

Inside, Elara gripped the diary tightly, her knuckles white as the faint glow of the runes flickered against her face. She knew she couldn’t let Shadow sense her fear or the knowledge she now carried.

Taking a shaky breath, Elara slid the diary back under her pillow, making sure it was well concealed. She brushed her hands over her dress, trying to calm her trembling fingers. With every fiber of her being, she willed herself to appear composed, even as her instincts screamed at her to stay behind the locked door.

The knock came again, heavier. She hesitated for only a moment before stepping toward the door, her knees feeling weak but her resolve steady. If she didn’t face him, he might grow suspicious. Shadow couldn’t know she had seen through him.

With trembling fingers, she unlocked the door and pulled it open, forcing a neutral expression onto her face.

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