(Lira's POV)
I heard the words before they fully registered.
"Are you cursed?"
Kai's voice, soft with shock, laced with something close to fear. The prayer had ended mid-sentence, the circle broken. Everyone stared at the ground beneath Yona, where the eye symbol glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat before fading into nothing.
Cursed.
The word hit me like a blade between the ribs.
Curse… bearer.
My great-grandfather's last breath, whispered against my ear as he died in my arms: "The curse… bearer… comes…"
I had thought it delirium. The ramblings of a dying man clinging to old visions.
But now the symbol,the same one from the arch, from the scroll, from the marks left in dirt,had chosen her. A six-year-old girl.
Everything snapped into place with a violence that stole my breath.
The town burning.
The bodies.
My great-grandfather's throat slit.
The Collectors harvesting souls.
All of it because of her.
Rage rose like bile, hot and unstoppable. My vision tunneled. I didn't feel my legs move, didn't hear the crunch of ash under my boots. I was across the circle in three strides, hand fisting in the front of Yona's new shirt—the clean one we'd scavenged from the dead.
I hauled her up until her feet dangled.
Her eyes,wide, terrified, tears already spilling,met mine.
"You," I hissed, voice low and shaking. "You're the reason."
She tried to speak, but only a whimper escaped.
"You're the curse bearer." The words tasted like poison. "It's your fault. My home. My people. My great-grandfather. Give him back to me."
My free hand found the knife at my belt. The blade slid free with a whisper.
I raised it.
Yona's small body trembled in my grip, but she didn't struggle. She just stared, tears streaming, lips parted in silent shock. A child. Just a child.
The knife trembled an inch from her chest.
Strong arms wrapped around me from behind,Kai. He didn't grab the knife hand. He simply held me, firm but gentle, like restraining a wounded animal.
"Lira," he said quietly, voice steady. "Let her go."
I tried to shake him off, but grief had hollowed me out. There was no strength left for fighting.
"She's a child," he continued, soft against my ear. "Whatever that symbol means, whatever your great-grandfather saw,she didn't choose it. She didn't burn your town. She didn't kill your family."
The knife wavered.
"Look at her," Kai said. "Really look."
I did.
Yona's face was streaked with tears and soot. Her lower lip quivered. She looked small, fragile, lost. Not a curse. Not a monster.
Just a terrified little girl who had lost everything too.
The knife slipped from my fingers, clattering to the dirt.
My grip on her shirt loosened. She dropped gently to her knees, gasping, curling in on herself.
I backed away, chest heaving, horror flooding in where rage had been.
What had I almost done?
I turned and walked,stumbled,away from the circle, into the dark between the rocks. My legs carried me until the voices faded, until I collapsed against a boulder, sliding down until I sat in the dust.
Grief hit then. Full force.
I pressed my forehead to my knees and shattered.
Silent sobs tore through me, shaking my whole body. Images flashed: the chapel in flames, my great-grandfather's blood on my hands, his last whisper, the bodies of people I'd known my whole life stacked like refuse.
All gone.
Because of a child?
No.
Because of me.
I had brought her here. I had led them to the town. My choices.
Footsteps approached,soft, measured. Kai.
He sat beside me without asking, close enough that our shoulders almost touched, but not quite.
We sat in silence for a long time.
Finally, he spoke. "You're hurting."
I didn't answer.
"I lost my mom too," he said quietly. "Debt collectors. Same as you heard. Amie and I were kids. We didn't understand why the world took her and left us. We hated everything for a while. The city. The people. Even each other sometimes."
I glanced at him. His face was calm, but his eyes held old pain.
"But hating didn't bring her back," he continued. "It just made the hole bigger. Yona didn't burn your town. Vesper did. The Collectors did. Whatever force is behind the symbols did."
I swallowed. My throat was raw. "My great-grandfather said… curse bearer."
"Maybe he did," Kai said. "Maybe the symbol means something terrible. But that little girl didn't choose to carry it. She's six. She's lost her parents, her world, everything. She's terrified. And she looks at you like you're the only thing keeping her safe."
I closed my eyes. Shame burned hotter than grief.
"I almost killed her."
"But you didn't," Kai said firmly. "You stopped. That matters."
Silence again.
He pulled something from his pocket,the spare cross chain. Held it out.
"Your great-grandfather was a priest. He believed in forgiveness, right?"
I stared at the chain.
"Forgive yourself first," Kai said softly. "Then maybe you can forgive the world enough to keep fighting it."
I took the chain. The metal was cool against my palm.
We sat a while longer.
When I stood, my legs were steadier.
Kai stood with me. "Ready?"
I nodded.
We walked back to the circle.
Yona sat huddled, knees to chest, face hidden. Amie sat beside her, one arm around the girl's shoulders. Kael watched me approach, expression unreadable. Xeno was still out, breathing even but deep in fever-sleep.
I stopped in front of Yona.
She flinched when my shadow fell over her.
I knelt slowly, until we were eye level.
"I'm sorry," I said. My voice cracked. "I was wrong. It wasn't your fault."
She peeked up, eyes red and swollen.
"I lost everything today," I continued. "And I needed someone to blame. I chose you. That was wrong."
She didn't speak, but her trembling eased a fraction.
"I won't hurt you," I said. "Ever. I promise."
Amie's arm tightened protectively around Yona, but her eyes softened toward me.
Kael nodded once, approval and understanding.
Kai smiled, small but real.
The circle felt whole again, fragile but holding.
Xeno stirred then, a low groan escaping him. His hand twitched toward his chest, fingers brushing the hidden cross his mother had given him.
We had a long way to go.
But for now, we had each other.
And that would have to be enough.