Chapter 18 - Chasing Shadows of Redemption
The dawn broke over the capital city of Windmire with a muted glow, the sun's rays filtered through the ever-present gray clouds that hung heavy over Nohr. The streets were slick with dew and the scent of damp stone and iron filled the air. The city was already alive with activity—merchants setting up their stalls in the market square, soldiers patrolling the winding streets, and common folk bustling about their morning routines.
Corrin pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she walked through the cobblestone streets, her dragonstone and the blood bag safely tucked away in a pouch at her side. The Shadow Yato was ready to be drawn by the slightest sight of danger. Her heart pounded with a mixture of determination and unease. She had left the castle at first light, slipping away without informing her siblings. They wouldn't have allowed her to go on this mission alone—especially not to search for someone like Abel, now branded an outcast by King Xander himself.
But Corrin knew this was something she had to do. Abel's fate wasn't sealed, not if she could help it.
As she made her way through the crowded streets, she kept her eyes peeled for anything unusual. Windmire was a city of shadows, its dark alleys and towering buildings often hiding more than they revealed. If any place in Nohr could harbor whispers of vampires, it would be here.
Her first stop was the market square, a bustling hub filled with merchants hawking their wares. Corrin approached an elderly woman selling herbs and medicinal plants from a wooden cart.
"Good morning, ma'am," Corrin greeted politely, offering a small smile. "I'm looking for someone. Perhaps you've seen him?"
The old woman squinted up at Corrin, her wrinkled face thoughtful. "Depends on who you're lookin' for, dearie. Lots of folks come and go in Windmire."
Corrin described Abel as best she could—a young man with dark hair, wearing a brown coat and carrying a large sword.
The woman shook her head slowly. "Can't say I've seen anyone like that. But strange folk do pass through here now and then. You might want to check with the tavern keeper at the Dragon's Rest. He hears all sorts of things."
Thanking the woman, Corrin made her way to the tavern. The Dragon's Rest was a dimly lit establishment tucked away on a side street. The scent of ale and roasted meat wafted from its open door. Inside, patrons sat at wooden tables, their conversations a low hum beneath the crackling of the hearth.
Corrin approached the barkeep, a burly man with a thick beard and a scar running down his cheek.
"A drink, milady?" he asked, polishing a mug with a rag.
"No, thank you. I'm looking for someone," Corrin said. "A young man with a dark coat and a large sword. Have you seen anyone like that?"
The barkeep frowned, setting the mug down. "Can't say I have. But there have been rumors of strange things happening in the outskirts—farm animals found drained of blood, shadows moving where they shouldn't. You might want to check there."
Corrin nodded, feeling a flicker of hope. "Thank you. I will."
Leaving the tavern, she decided to head toward the outskirts of Windmire. As she walked, she passed by a blacksmith's forge, where a young apprentice was hammering away at a blade. The blacksmith, a stout man with soot-streaked arms, noticed her lingering gaze and called out.
"Lookin' for somethin', lass?"
"I'm searching for a man," Corrin explained. "He carries a sword much like the one you're crafting. Have you seen anyone like that recently?"
The blacksmith scratched his beard, thinking. "Nah, can't say I have. But you're not the first to come askin' about strange folk. Heard some talk of dark figures seen near the old chapel ruins outside the city. Might be worth checkin' out."
Corrin thanked him and continued on her way. As she walked, her mind drifted back to Abel. The memory of his pained expression, the anguish in his eyes, haunted her. She couldn't shake the image of him collapsing after straining his magic circuit, or the cold, distant words he'd spoken about his own darkness.
Why are you doing this, Abel? she thought, her heart aching. Why are you so determined to throw everything away?
She passed a group of children playing in the street, their laughter echoing through the narrow alleyways. The sight made her chest tighten. Abel had fought to protect people like them, risking his life time and again. And yet, he couldn't see his own worth.
At the edge of the city, Corrin encountered a farmer unloading sacks of grain from a cart.
"Excuse me," she called out. "Have you seen anything unusual recently? Perhaps a traveler who seemed out of place?"
The farmer wiped sweat from his brow, shaking his head. "No strangers, miss. But I did hear talk from the shepherds about some livestock goin' missing. They reckon it's wolves, but I'm not so sure. Wolves don't leave the animals drained of blood."
Corrin felt a chill run down her spine. "Where did this happen?"
"Out near the forest path, toward the ruins," the farmer said. "Best be careful if you're headin' that way. Strange things happen near those ruins."
Corrin thanked the farmer and set off toward the forest. The path was overgrown, the trees looming overhead like silent sentinels. As she walked, her thoughts continued to swirl.
Abel, where are you? she wondered, her heart heavy with worry. I won't give up on you. No matter what it takes, I will find you.
The path to the ruins was dominated by silence, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant calls of unseen creatures. Corrin pressed forward along the narrow, overgrown path winding through the dark forest. The towering trees loomed like sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The dim light filtered through the thick canopy in fragmented shards, casting eerie, flickering shadows across her path. Every step felt heavier, each breath drawn more cautiously.
She tightened her cloak around her shoulders, the night air biting with a chill that seemed to seep into her bones. Yet it wasn't the cold that unsettled her—it was the oppressive feeling of being watched, the sensation that eyes from the shadows lingered on her every movement. The dense forest carried a strange, unnatural stillness, as if the usual life that thrived within had retreated in fear.
Corrin's gaze flickered to the side, catching movement in the underbrush. Her hand instinctively brushed against the hilt of her sword. But as the wind shifted, she caught sight of what lay hidden beyond the ferns.
A fox, its fur matted and dark with dried blood, lay twisted in death. Its throat had been torn open, the flesh ragged and gnawed, as if something—or someone—had savaged it. Corrin's breath caught in her chest as her eyes traced the claw marks etched deep into the forest floor beside the corpse. The tracks were erratic, wild. The animal hadn't simply fallen prey to a predator; it had been slaughtered.
She knelt beside the carcass, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch the bloodstained ground. It was cold—too cold. The attack hadn't happened recently, yet the sight of it sent a shiver of unease down her spine. Rising slowly, Corrin scanned the forest for more signs, and soon she spotted them: a trail of death, stretching deeper into the woods.
She pressed forward, her boots crunching softly against leaves and twigs. The deeper she ventured, the more bodies she found—rabbits, deer, even a wild boar—all slain in the same brutal fashion, their throats ripped open and their bodies left discarded. The stench of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of decaying leaves.
The further she went, the more her heart sank. These weren't the kills of a wild animal. The pattern was too deliberate, the violence too frenzied. It was a massacre, left to rot beneath the trees. And with each lifeless creature she passed, her mind whispered the same dreadful thought:
It must have been a vampire. Possibly Zio. Or Vordenburg. Or Abel…
The realization struck her like a hammer blow. She could almost see him in her mind's eye—pale and weary, struggling against his curse, his hands shaking as he fought to contain the darkness within. Had he faltered again? Had he lost control once more? She clutched the crimson bag Zelretch had given her, feeling its slight pulse beneath her fingers. Was this all she could offer him? A meager salve for his torment?
The path twisted and narrowed, leading her deeper into the heart of the forest. The ancient trees stood taller here, their roots gnarled and twisted like serpents coiling beneath the earth. The air grew colder, and the faint rustle of leaves was drowned out by a deafening silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Corrin paused at the edge of a small clearing, her eyes narrowing as she spotted something ahead. In the middle of the clearing stood a dilapidated stone shrine, its once-pristine marble weathered and cracked by time. Vines snaked their way up its surface, obscuring the symbols carved into the stone. But it was what lay before the shrine that made Corrin's blood run cold.
A stag—large, majestic, and unmistakably regal in its bearing—lay crumpled at the shrine's base. Its antlers, once proud and towering, had been snapped and shattered. Blood pooled around its broken body, seeping into the earth like a dark offering. Its eyes, wide and lifeless, seemed to stare directly at her.
Corrin swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her sword's hilt. The sight was both grotesque and tragic, a grim monument to the curse Abel carried.
"Abel…" she whispered into the silence, her voice barely audible. "Was that you?"
The wind stirred, rustling the leaves above her. It carried with it a whisper, soft and mournful, as if the forest itself lamented the deaths that stained its soil. Corrin felt her chest tighten, the ache in her heart growing unbearable. She had seen this darkness before—seen it in Abel's eyes, seen it in the haunted look he wore after regaining control.
And yet, despite everything she saw now, despite the gruesome trail he had left behind, her resolve remained unshaken.
"I won't let you fall into this abyss," she said quietly, her voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "No matter how far you run, no matter what darkness you carry… I will find you."
As she stood before the ruined shrine, Corrin felt a strange sensation—an overwhelming heaviness pressing down on her, as though the very air around her carried the weight of ancient sorrow. She knelt before the stag's broken body, her fingers brushing over its bloodstained fur.
"We're both haunted by what we've done," she murmured. "But I believe that redemption is possible… even for those who've fallen the farthest."
Rising to her feet, Corrin turned her gaze to the darkened path ahead. The forest seemed endless, the shadows stretching on into infinity. But somewhere out there, beyond the darkness, was Abel. And she would not stop until she found him.
With renewed determination, she pressed forward, her steps steady and unwavering. The blood-soaked earth beneath her feet felt like a battlefield, each step a march toward salvation—or damnation. She could no longer distinguish which path lay ahead.
But she knew this:
She would not abandon him. Not now. Not ever.
Corrin pushed through the dense underbrush of the dark forest, her boots crunching over brittle leaves and twisted roots. The twisted trees seemed to loom over her, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the night sky. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and every step she took seemed to echo through the unnatural stillness of the woods.
Her mind buzzed with questions and doubts. She couldn't shake the image of Abel from her thoughts—his haunted eyes, the weight of his guilt, and the darkness he fought so hard to contain. She clutched the blood bag Zelretch had given her tightly, feeling its faint warmth seep into her palm.
She hoped that wherever Abel was, he hadn't succumbed to the darkness within him.
As she walked further, she saw that piles of dust—what she knew to be the remains of slain vampires—littered the ground. Human corpses, too, began to appear among the dead animals. The wounds were savage, as if the attackers had no regard for life, only hunger.
Abel… did you do this? she wondered, her chest tightening. She knew he had been fighting against his own instincts, struggling to maintain control. Was this the aftermath of him losing that battle once again? Or was it something worse?
The path led her to a clearing, and there, standing among the crumbling ruins of an ancient structure, was a figure she recognized immediately.
Trishanku.
The man known as the Monster of Alaya stood tall and imposing, his regal yet menacing aura impossible to ignore. His black and white robes fluttered lightly in the night breeze, the fabric shimmering under the weak light. His piercing gaze locked onto her, framed by flowing black hair that cascaded down his back.
Corrin's heart skipped a beat. The last time she had seen Trishanku, he had saved her and her companions from Abel's bloodlust. But there was something about his presence here, now, that unsettled her.
"What are you doing here?" Corrin asked, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.
Trishanku turned his gaze toward her, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, the Princess," he greeted, his voice smooth and deep, carrying a weight of authority. "I see you've found your way to the ruins."
Corrin took a cautious step forward, her eyes scanning the area. The ground was littered with more bodies—animals, humans, and piles of dust that once were vampires. "What happened here?" she demanded, her gaze snapping back to Trishanku. "Why are you here?"
Trishanku's smirk faded, replaced by a calm, measured expression. "These ruins were a hideout for Dead Apostles turned by Roa," he explained. "I simply took it upon myself to cleanse them."
Corrin's eyes narrowed. The words "cleanse" and "Dead Apostles" made her blood run cold. "Cleansed?" she repeated. "You killed them?"
"Yes," Trishanku said, unflinching. His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of remorse. "They were a threat to this world's balance. Their existence alone was a stain upon humanity."
Corrin clenched her fists. "And what about Abel?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. "Was he among them?"
Trishanku shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "Your Dead Apostle was not here," he said, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.
The way he said it—your Dead Apostle—made Corrin's stomach twist. She hated the implication, hated the reminder of what Abel truly was. But more than that, she hated how her heart clenched at the thought of him.
She sighed, frustration and confusion bubbling within her. "If he wasn't here, then where is he?" she murmured, more to herself than to Trishanku.
Trishanku's gaze softened ever so slightly, though his regal bearing remained intact. "That is a question only Abel himself can answer," he said. "But tell me, Princess… why do you search for him? After what he almost did to you, why do you still seek him out?"
Corrin's breath caught in her throat. Memories of Abel losing control, of him pinning her down, his fangs bared and his eyes wild with hunger, flooded her mind. She remembered the fear, the desperation. And she remembered Trishanku stepping in, stopping Abel before it was too late.
She should hate him for that. She should be afraid. But instead, all she felt was sorrow.
"Because he's more than just a monster," she said quietly. "I know he is. He's trying to fight it. He's trying to be better. I… I can't let him throw everything away because of what he used to be."
Trishanku studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight nod, he stepped aside, gesturing toward the ruins behind him.
"Then search," he said. "If you believe he's worth saving, prove it."
Corrin swallowed hard, steeling her resolve. She stepped past Trishanku, her gaze fixed on the ruins ahead. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of ash and decay.
I will find you, Abel, she vowed silently. And I will prove to you that your life is worth more than you believe.
While Corrin vowed, Trishanku tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto her. His lips curled into a sly smile as he sniffed the air.
"You carry blood," Trishanku murmured, his voice smooth yet edged with something predatory. His nostrils flared slightly, his grin widening. "Zelretch gave it to you, didn't he?"
Corrin instinctively clutched the pouch tighter, her heart quickening.
"Yes," she admitted. "It's for Abel. If I find him…" Her voice trailed off, uncertainty creeping in.
Trishanku chuckled softly, the sound low and mocking, reverberating through the ruins like distant thunder.
"Do you think a mere blood bag will be enough?" he asked, stepping closer with a languid grace. His eyes never left hers, and his presence was suffocating. "Do you think that will sate him? Quench the thirst that's been growing inside him since Roa's cursed mark took hold?"
Corrin felt her stomach twist, but she held her ground. "It's better than nothing," she said firmly, though doubt flickered in her mind. "It'll help him."
Trishanku's smirk deepened, his expression one of amused disdain. "Perhaps. For a time. But not forever."
He took another step forward, his robes whispering against the stone floor. "And what then? What will you do when that meager supply runs out? When the hunger becomes too much for him to bear?" His voice lowered, his words dripping with insinuation. "What will you do when he loses control again?"
Corrin flinched at his words, her mind flashing back to that night—the wild look in Abel's eyes, the unbridled hunger that had overtaken him. Trishanku's intervention had been the only thing that saved them.
Her fingers tightened around the pouch. "I won't let it come to that."
Trishanku's laughter echoed through the ruins, harsh and mocking. "Won't let it? Do you even understand what you're dealing with? Abel's rosary is damaged. The magic suppressing his urges is breaking down. It's only a matter of time before he succumbs to his nature again. And when he does…" His eyes gleamed. "What will you do then?"
Corrin opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She hadn't thought that far ahead—or perhaps she had, but she'd been too afraid to face the reality of it. Now, standing before Trishanku, there was no escaping the question.
What would she do if Abel lost control again?
Her mind raced with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.
The first option was to bind him with magic.
She imagined using magic to restrain Abel, to keep him from hurting anyone—or himself. But the thought made her recoil. Abel wasn't a monster to be caged. He deserved better than that.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "I won't imprison him. He's suffered enough."
The second option was to kill him.
Her breath caught in her throat at the mere thought. Could she even do it? Could she bring herself to end his life if he became a threat?
Her chest tightened. No. She couldn't.
The third option was to let him feed on her.
Her hand unconsciously brushed her neck, the memory of his fangs grazing her skin sending a shiver down her spine. The idea was horrifying—and yet, a part of her wondered if it would help him regain control.
But the risks… The danger…
"No," she said again, more firmly this time. "There has to be another way."
Trishanku watched her with a bemused expression, as if enjoying her inner turmoil. "Such a noble soul," he mused. "Always seeking the virtuous path, even when the world offers none."
Corrin's eyes narrowed. "Do you have another solution, then? Or are you just here to torment me?"
His smile widened, dark and knowing. "Oh, I do have a solution. But whether you'll like it is another matter entirely."
Corrin's heart leapt with hope despite herself. "Tell me."
Trishanku chuckled, his gaze never wavering. "There is a way to provide Abel with nourishment without letting him feed on blood."
Corrin's eyes widened. "What? How?"
But Trishanku only grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Now, now. Where's the fun in revealing everything at once?"
Corrin's frustration boiled over. "If you know something that can help him, you have to tell me!"
Trishanku raised a hand, silencing her with a gesture. "Patience, Princess. All in due time."
He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "First, you must find him. Make amends. Only then will the answer reveal itself."
Corrin's brow furrowed. "And if I don't?"
Trishanku's grin turned devilish. "Then perhaps you should ask Abel yourself. He knows more than you think."
With that, he stepped back, his robes billowing around him like smoke. "Good luck, Corrin. You're going to need it."
Corrin clenched her fists, her resolve hardening once more. She would find Abel. She would bring him back from the darkness.
No matter what it took.
And if Trishanku had the answers she needed, she would make sure to get them—one way or another.
The eerie forest air pressed heavily on Corrin's chest as she stormed away from the ruins, Trishanku's mocking words echoing in her mind. His cryptic hints, his cruel amusement—everything about him set her nerves on edge. But it wasn't his smugness that haunted her. It was the truth behind his words.
Abel's rosary is breaking. The hunger will consume him.
She tightened her grip on her pouch, feeling the blood bag Zelretch had given her. Her footsteps crunched through the underbrush, and the shadows of twisted branches loomed over her like the fingers of skeletal giants. The deeper she walked, the darker it became, as if the forest itself conspired to swallow her whole.
Then, through the dense trees, she saw it—a small, shimmering lake, calm and serene. The surface rippled gently. Corrin's breath caught in her throat.
The lake reminded her of another time, another place.
Azura.
The memory of her friend's gentle voice washed over her like a soothing balm. She could see her now, standing by the water's edge, her long blue hair cascading like a waterfall, her serene smile offering comfort even in the darkest of times.
Corrin stepped closer to the lake, her reflection shimmering on the water's surface. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears as she whispered into the quiet night.
"Azura… I wish you were here."
The wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves like a soft lullaby. And without even thinking, Corrin began to sing—the song Azura had once sung to her, the song that had brought them both solace in their darkest moments.
"You are the ocean's gray waves, destined to seek
Life beyond the shore, just out of reach…
Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time,
The path is yours to climb…"
Her voice trembled at first, then grew stronger, carrying the melody across the still water. The song was a prayer, a plea for guidance—for strength.
"In the white light, a hand reaches through…
A double-edged blade cuts your heart in two…
Waking dreams fade away,
Embrace the brand-new day…"
As the final note lingered in the air, Corrin closed her eyes, letting the song's meaning settle deep in her heart. She had always taken comfort in Azura's words, but now, for the first time, they took on a new meaning.
The path is yours to climb.
Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped as the realization struck her like lightning.
The hill.
She remembered it vividly—a hill crowned by a solitary cherry tree, its blossoms falling like snow under the moonlight. It was there, beneath that tree, that she had first met Abel.
Corrin's heart quickened. That's where he'll be.
With renewed determination, she reached into her cloak and pulled out her dragonstone. The smooth, polished gem shimmered in the moonlight, pulsing with a faint, otherworldly glow.
She held it close to her heart, taking a deep breath. The transformation always came with a rush of power, a surge of primal energy that threatened to overwhelm her senses. But tonight, she welcomed it.
The dragonstone's light enveloped her, casting brilliant rays across the forest. Her body began to shift, her human form dissolving as scales of silvery white and cobalt blue rippled across her skin. Her limbs lengthened, her fingers becoming claws, and great wings unfurled from her back, their edges tipped with shimmering light.
Her dragon form was majestic and fierce, a creature born of ancient power. Her scales gleamed like polished armor, and her horns curled elegantly from her head, giving her an almost regal appearance. Her eyes, now slitted like a dragon's, burned with determination.
Corrin spread her wings, feeling the cool night air catch beneath them. Her tail swished behind her, powerful and serpentine, and when she opened her mouth, a low, resonant growl rumbled from deep within her chest.
I will find you, Abel.
With a mighty leap, she launched herself into the air, her wings beating rhythmically as she soared above the forest. The trees blurred beneath her, their dark forms rushing past like shadows in a dream.
Corrin's heart pounded with each beat of her wings. The hill with the cherry tree was near the Ice Tribe's territory, the place where their hunt began.
As she flew, her thoughts drifted to Abel. She pictured him standing beneath the cherry tree, his solemn expression softened by the gentle rain of petals. She remembered the way he had looked at her back then—with curiosity, perhaps even a hint of admiration.
But now, his gaze was haunted, filled with guilt and self-loathing.
He's lost in the darkness, she thought. But I'll bring him back.
The lake faded into the distance, and the forest gave way to rolling hills. Corrin's wings carried her higher, the air growing colder as she neared the mountains. Her breath came in steady puffs of mist, her dragon's body impervious to the chill. The sun began to set, it's dim light weakening and giving way to the moon and the stars.
…
It was night when she reached the hill.
There, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, was the solitary cherry tree. Its blossoms glowed faintly, their pale pink petals drifting lazily in the breeze. The sight filled Corrin with both hope and dread.
She landed softly, her claws sinking into the snow-covered ground. The transformation ebbed away as she reached for her dragonstone, returning to her human form in a shimmer of light.
Corrin stood at the base of the hill, her heart pounding in her chest. She scanned the area, her eyes searching for any sign of Abel.
But the hill was empty.
Her shoulders slumped, disappointment washing over her. She had been so certain he would be here.
She took a step forward, her boots crunching in the snow. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers against the cherry tree's trunk, the bark cool and rough beneath her touch.
"Abel…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The petals continued to fall, carried by the wind like delicate whispers. As she stood there, gazing up at the tree, a thought occurred to her.
Maybe I'm not too late.
Taking a deep breath, Corrin turned her gaze to the horizon.
The hill was silent—eerily so.
Not even the whisper of wind stirred the branches of the cherry tree, its blossoms falling in ghostly stillness. The air itself felt frozen, heavy with an unnatural stillness that wrapped around Corrin like a shroud. Her breath came in soft puffs of mist, dissipating into the cold night as she stood at the base of the hill, her eyes scanning the lonely expanse.
And then, she saw him.
Abel.
He stood behind the cherry tree, half-hidden in the shadows. His brown coat hung limply from his shoulders, and his eyes were downcast, staring at the ground as if he couldn't bear to lift his gaze to the sky. His normally sharp, brooding presence seemed dulled, muted by the weight of something unseen—something unbearable.
Corrin's heart clenched painfully in her chest. He looked so… defeated.
Slowly, she approached him. Her footsteps were soft against the snow-covered ground, but even so, he didn't move. He didn't flinch or glance her way. He remained perfectly still, like a statue carved from sorrow.
When she reached the tree, Corrin hesitated.
What could she say?
What words could possibly bridge the chasm of guilt and despair that stretched between them? She had come all this way, but now that she stood before him, her voice caught in her throat. Everything she had thought to say felt hollow, meaningless. Would anything she said only deepen his shame? Would it drive him further away?
The silence stretched endlessly, the oppressive quiet pressing down on her shoulders.
Finally, it was Abel who broke the stillness.
"…Why are you here?" he asked, his voice low and tired. He didn't lift his gaze. His words were heavy, as though each syllable was a burden he had no strength to carry. "You should go back to the castle. Your family will be worried."
Corrin shook her head, though he couldn't see it. Her voice was soft but firm.
"I'm not leaving."
Abel's brow furrowed slightly, a faint twitch of confusion passing over his otherwise expressionless face. But he didn't argue. He simply stood there, staring at the ground as if the world beyond his own feet didn't exist.
Corrin took a deep breath, willing herself to speak the truth.
"I spoke to Zelretch," she said, watching for any reaction. "He told me… about your plan."
Abel's shoulders tensed, a barely perceptible reaction, but it was there. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"And?" His voice was quiet, almost emotionless, but there was a brittle edge to it—a crack in his façade. "So you know. You know I plan to erase myself."
Corrin's heart ached at the coldness in his tone. But she refused to waver.
"Yes," she said softly. "I know."
Abel finally lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in days. His gaze was hollow, devoid of the fierce determination that had once burned within him. Now, there was only resignation.
"Then why are you here?" he asked, his tone turning harsh, bitter. "Why do you care? You should be gleeful."
Corrin's eyes widened in shock.
"The evil vampire who almost defiled you," Abel continued, his voice growing colder. "The monster who broke your trust, who couldn't control himself… He's going to disappear. Isn't that what you want? For me to be gone?"
"No!" Corrin's voice was sharp, cutting through the night like a blade. She stepped closer, her hands trembling at her sides. "That's not what I want. It's not what I ever wanted."
Abel's expression twisted into something pained, self-loathing.
"You should go back," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "Go back to your family. Go back to the people who love you, who can protect you. I can't do that. I can't protect anyone. All I bring is death."
"I don't believe that," Corrin whispered. Her voice trembled with emotion, but her resolve remained unshaken. "I never have."
Abel shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
"You're a fool, Corrin. I would have ruined you. Don't you understand that? When I lost control… I…" His voice cracked, and he looked away, his hands shaking. "I almost hurt you. I would have hurt you. And after everything I've done… Everything I've become…"
He trailed off, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his guilt.
"This is enough," he muttered. "I've made my choice. I'll finish Roa. And then I'll disappear. It's better this way."
Corrin stared at him, her heart breaking at his words. She saw the pain in his eyes, the unbearable weight of his sins that he carried alone. And she realized, with a surge of determination, that she wouldn't let him carry that burden any longer.
"No," she said firmly.
Abel's gaze snapped back to hers, startled by the intensity in her voice.
"No?" he repeated, his tone incredulous.
"No," Corrin said again, stepping closer. "I won't let you do this. I won't let you disappear. I don't care what you've done in the past, Abel. I don't care how much you hate yourself. You're not a monster. You're a man—a man who's suffered, who's fought, who's tried to protect others even when it hurt you."
She reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm. He flinched at the contact but didn't pull away.
"You've made mistakes. We all have," Corrin continued, her voice softening. "But that doesn't mean you have to throw your life away. Your life still has value. You still have a future."
Abel's expression crumpled, his composure shattering as her words pierced through the walls he had built around his heart.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Why do you care? After everything I've done… Why do you still care?"
Corrin's eyes filled with tears.
"Because I believe in you," she said simply. "Because I know you're more than your mistakes. And I refuse to give up on you."
Abel stared at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between them like an unspoken promise.
Finally, his voice broke the quiet.
"I… don't deserve this."
The words were spoken like a confession—a quiet, desperate admission of his deepest belief. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure. His entire form seemed weighed down by an invisible burden, each word dragging him further into despair.
"I've played the role of a hunter," he continued, bitterness lacing his voice. "I've hunted monsters. I've told myself it was my way of atoning. But deep down, I know the truth."
Corrin watched him intently, her heart aching at the raw emotion in his voice.
"I never was a hunter," Abel said, his tone darkening. "I'm one of them—a Dead Apostle. A vampire."
The word hung heavily in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of the monster he believed himself to be.
"I told myself I could fight it," Abel murmured, his voice trembling. "That I could keep it under control. But when I lost control… When I almost…" His voice broke, and he shook his head, unable to continue.
"You didn't," Corrin whispered softly, taking a cautious step closer. "You didn't hurt me, Abel."
"But I would have!" he snapped, his head snapping up to meet her gaze. His eyes burned with anguish. "If the Monster of Alaya hadn't stopped me, I would have ruined you. I would have taken everything from you."
Corrin flinched at the intensity of his words but held her ground.
Abel's expression twisted with self-loathing. "I ignored it before. I told myself I could handle it. But when the thirst took over… I wasn't myself. And now… I have no right to stand before you. No right to ask for your forgiveness."
Corrin's chest tightened at the sight of his pain. She could see the cracks in his armor—the vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide beneath his guilt.
"I'm sorry," Abel whispered. His voice was barely audible, each word trembling with regret. "I'm sorry for everything I've done. For what I almost did. You should never have had to go through that."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Abel took a step back, as if to distance himself from her, as if he believed his presence alone was a danger to her.
But Corrin wouldn't let him retreat.
"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "You don't get to push me away."
Abel's eyes widened slightly, but Corrin pressed on.
"You've done a lot of harm," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "But there's more to you than your sins. You're not just a vampire, Abel. You're more than that."
Abel shook his head. "You don't understand. It's not that simple. The spell… the rosary… it's damaged. Zio's magic weakened it. It doesn't fully suppress my thirst anymore."
Corrin's breath caught in her throat.
Abel continued, his voice growing darker. "I ran out of the crystallized blood hours ago. And even now…"
He paused, his gaze locking onto hers, filled with anguish and desire.
"Even now, I want to have you."
Corrin froze, her heart pounding in her chest. The confession hung in the air like a thunderclap. She could see the struggle in his eyes—the war between the man he wanted to be and the monster he feared he was becoming.
But she didn't back away.
"I know," Corrin said softly.
Abel's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"I know," she repeated, her voice steady. "Zelretch told me. He told me about the obsessive infatuation that vampires develop—the hunger that twists into something more. He told me that it's not just bloodlust. It's a fixation. An all-consuming desire."
Abel looked away, shame coloring his features.
"And I know," Corrin continued, her voice gentle but firm, "that it's not your fault."
Abel's eyes snapped back to hers, disbelief written across his face.
"I won't pretend to fully understand it," Corrin admitted. "But I do know that it's part of who you are now. It's part of what Roa did to you. And I won't let you shoulder that burden alone."
Abel took a shaky breath. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do," Corrin said firmly. "I'm not naïve, Abel. I know this won't be easy. But I believe there's a way to help you. A way to manage your thirst."
Abel shook his head, his expression pained. "There's no way to fix this. The thirst doesn't go away. The rosary won't hold forever."
"Then we'll find another way," Corrin insisted.
Abel's lips curled into a bitter smile. "You really are a fool, aren't you?"
"Maybe," Corrin said, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "But I've made my choice. I'm not giving up on you."
Abel's expression softened, fading into something more vulnerable.
"You don't have to do this," he whispered. "You shouldn't have to."
"But I want to," Corrin said, stepping closer. "Because I believe in you. And I know that you're worth saving."
Abel shook his head slowly, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips.
"No," he said softly, the word carrying the weight of his despair. "No, Corrin… it's too late for me."
Corrin flinched, but Abel didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He had to make her understand.
He clenched his fists at his sides, trembling with the effort to suppress his emotions. His gaze dropped to the ground as memories flooded his mind—memories he couldn't escape.
"I still remember the way you looked at me," Abel said, his voice breaking. "The way all of you looked at me… after I lost control."
Corrin's eyes widened, her heart aching at the raw pain in his voice.
"There was hurt," he murmured. "Anger. Fear. Contempt. Disgust. Hatred."
Abel closed his eyes, the memory of those looks etched into his soul. He could still see their expressions—Corrin's shock, the wary glances from the others, the trust that had shattered in an instant.
"You were afraid of me," he whispered. "And you had every right to be."
Corrin opened her mouth to protest, but Abel shook his head sharply, cutting her off.
"When I was Kain," he said, his voice growing colder, "I reveled in that fear. I thrived on it. People were terrified of me, and I loved it. But not with you."
He looked up at her then, his gaze filled with anguish.
"With you… I hated it."
Corrin took a step closer, her heart pounding in her chest, but Abel held up a hand to stop her.
"You're not afraid now," he said, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "But if I lose control again… if I hurt you again… you will be. And it'll destroy me."
He forced out a dry laugh, the sound hollow and filled with pain. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair, pulling at the strands as if he could tear the thoughts from his mind.
"I can't see you look at me like that again," he muttered. "I can't. It would break me even more than I already am."
Corrin's chest tightened, tears stinging her eyes. She could see how much this was hurting him—how deeply he believed he was beyond redemption.
Abel turned away from her, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"We should part ways for good," he said quietly. "It was… fun, while it lasted. But we should have never met. Never worked together. I shouldn't have dragged you into my mess."
His words cut through Corrin like a blade, but she didn't move. She refused to let him walk away.
Abel took a few steps toward the cherry tree, placing a hand on the rough bark as if seeking comfort from its ancient presence. He glanced back at her, a weak, broken smile on his face.
"You and your friends… you've done enough," he said. "More than I deserve. Go back to them. And stay safe."
Corrin clenched her fists at her sides, trembling with frustration as he continued.
"I'll finish this," Abel said. "I'll destroy Roa, even if it means destroying myself in the process. And even if I fail…" He chuckled darkly. "The Monster of Alaya takes care of the rest. You won't have to worry."
Corrin couldn't take it anymore. His words, his resignation, his refusal to see any future for himself—it infuriated her.
"Why are you so stubborn?" she burst out, her voice shaking with emotion.
Abel blinked, surprised by the outburst. He turned to face her, but Corrin was already stepping toward him, her eyes blazing with determination.
"Why do you keep shutting everyone out?!" she demanded. "Why do you insist on carrying this burden alone?"
Abel opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.
"You think I'm afraid of you?" she asked, her voice trembling with anger. "You think I'm going to run away because of what happened?"
Abel's expression darkened. "You should."
"But I won't!" Corrin's voice cracked with emotion. "I won't. Because I believe you're more than your impulses. You're more than the existence Roa forced on you."
Abel shook his head. "You don't understand—"
"No, you don't understand!" Corrin interrupted. "I know why you think you have to leave. But I also know that you're wrong."
"I know it won't be easy. " Corrin admitted. "But I still won't give up on you."
Abel stared at her, disbelief etched into his features. "Why? Why would you go through all this for me?"
"Because you saved me," Corrin said softly. "Because I've seen the man you really are—the man who wants to protect others, even if it means sacrificing himself. And I refuse to let that man disappear."
Abel's lips parted, but no words came out. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and for a moment, the despair in his eyes seemed to waver.
Corrin took a step closer, her voice gentle but firm.
"I won't let you push me away," she said. "I won't let you give up on yourself. And I won't let you disappear."
Abel closed his eyes, a tremor running through him. "I'm dangerous."
"So am I," Corrin said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But that's never stopped me before."
Abel let out a shaky breath, his walls crumbling.
As he prepared to protest once more, something within Corrin snapped. She didn't know what had come over her, but the weight of their constant back-and-forth had become unbearable. Her frustration, her longing, it all built up in her chest until she couldn't stand it another second.
Without thinking, she closed the distance between them in one swift movement, her hands reaching for him. She grabbed him by the collar of his coat, pulling him close, until the only thing separating them was the faintest breath. She gazed up at him for just a heartbeat, her heart racing, before her lips pressed against his, fierce and demanding.
Abel's eyes widened in shock, his mind scrambling to make sense of it. He stood frozen, completely unprepared for the storm that had suddenly overwhelmed him. The kiss was everything she had had kept buried beneath layers of restraint. Her emotions poured into it, raw and unrestrained.
When she finally pulled back, their breaths mingling in the cool air, her cheeks flushed with warmth. She spoke, her voice soft but laced with mischief. "That," she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile, "is payback for that kiss you forced on me before."
Abel blinked, still stunned by the intensity of the moment. Corrin's smile widened as she crossed her arms, her playful nature taking over. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she added, her tone dripping with mock authority. "You, unabashedly kissing a princess like that. I could have had you beheaded for such an affront to my dignity." Her eyes sparkled with a playful fire, and the weight of her words carried an underlying warmth.
Abel's lips quirked into a reluctant smile. His laughter, soft but genuine, rang out into the night air, mingling with the quiet rustling of the cherry blossoms. His green eyes, now filled with joy and something deeper, locked onto hers. "You certainly are full of surprises, Corrin."
Corrin's expression softened, her heart beating faster than she cared to admit. "Perhaps," she said, her voice teasing but filled with warmth, "if you stop being so stubborn for just one moment, I might be merciful."
"Mercy, your highness," he said, his voice dripping with mock humility, "I am honored to accept your mercy with great respect, as I, the humble hunter, bow to your noble will."
Corrin couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, her heart fluttering. She raised an eyebrow, keeping the playful teasing alive, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Hm… Well, I might consider showing you mercy," she said, her voice light but laced with a teasing edge, "if you agree to one thing."
Abel's eyes sparkled with curiosity, his lips quirking up in a grin as he straightened. "Oh?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. "And what, pray tell, is that?"
Corrin's breath hitched in her throat as her playful gaze softened. She hesitated for only a moment before the words left her lips, though they came out softer than she had anticipated. "You… shall kiss me back," she murmured, barely above a whisper.
Abel's eyes widened. He gulped as he stepped forward, bashful, closing the gap between them. His hands cupped her face gently, and then, just as swiftly as before, his lips met hers in a kiss that sent warmth flooding through Corrin's veins. It was different this time—softer, sweeter, and more full of a promise that neither of them had dared to speak aloud before.
When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a blanket. Corrin's heart still pounded wildly in her chest, and she could barely suppress the smile threatening to break free.
She caught her breath and spoke again, her voice lighter, though the emotion in her gaze was anything but. "I think…" she paused, biting her lip to hold back the flutter of excitement in her chest, "I think I may need one more." Her voice was teasing, but there was something undeniably vulnerable about the way she looked at him now.
Abel's eyes darkened with desire. "One more kiss?" he asked, his voice low and coaxing. "For mercy?"
Corrin nodded, her eyes flicking between his lips and his gaze. "Just one more, Abel," she whispered. "Please."
He didn't need another word. His lips descended onto hers once more, slow and deep, with a passion that had been quietly building between them for a long time. This kiss, unlike the first, carried the weight of everything unspoken, a promise that lingered in the space between them. It was full of tenderness and longing, as if neither of them could bear to pull away. And yet, when they finally did, the world seemed to hold its breath.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, neither of them willing to break the silence, as if the weight of the moonlight itself had woven them together in that perfect instant. Their breaths came in shallow gasps, their foreheads resting together in the stillness of the night.
And so, there they stood beneath the cherry tree, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. The petals swirled gently around them. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet, sacred space where love began to bloom in the most unexpected of places. In that moment, they knew they had crossed a threshold neither could undo.