The Extra's Rise

Chapter 334 - 334: Blue Rose's Heart (2)

The roses appeared in my dreams again last night.

Black. Crimson. Pale white.

They crawled across the landscape of my subconscious, unfurling in waves that rippled out from my footsteps. I knew what they meant. Even sealed away, my Gift remembers what it once was. What I once was.

What I still am, beneath the layers of magic woven to protect me from her.

I woke with my heart hammering against my ribs, the sheets damp with sweat. The pre-dawn light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting the room in shades of blue and gray. Beside me, Arthur slept soundly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that anchored me to reality.

I watched him for a moment, tracing the lines of his face with my eyes. The sharp angle of his jaw. The slight furrow between his brows that never fully disappeared, even in sleep. The scar that cut through his left eyebrow, still pink from a battle too recent for comfort.

He looked peaceful. Untroubled. So different from the calculated intensity he wore like armor when awake.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him, and padded to the window. The academy grounds stretched out before me, quiet and still in the early morning hush.

My hand drifted to my stomach, to the spot where a tattoo of a blue rose bloomed across my skin. Not a fashion choice. A mark. The physical manifestation of my Gift that appeared the day my true power awakened.

Sometimes I wonder what Arthur sees when he looks at me. Does he see the girl who fought beside him in the Boundary Breach yesterday? The woman who came to his room in the aftermath, drawn by something neither of us fully understand? Or does he see beyond that, to the truth of what I am—daughter of the Pope of the Order of the Fallen Flame, a woman whose name is whispered in fear across the continent? Does he see the power that flows through my veins, no longer sealed away but coiled inside me like a sleeping serpent?

As if summoned by my thoughts, I felt arms encircle my waist, warm lips press against the crook of my neck.

"You're thinking too loudly," Arthur murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His fingers brushed over the blue rose tattoo, tracing its outline with a familiarity that still surprised me. "Bad dreams?"

I leaned back into him, letting his warmth seep into my skin. "The usual."

His hand splayed across my stomach, covering the tattoo completely, as if he could shield me from my own blood, my own destiny. The blue rose—impossible in nature, vivid on my skin—pulsed faintly beneath his touch, responding to him in ways I still didn't fully understand. "Your mother again?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Even now, the memory of Evelyn Alaric could steal the breath from my lungs.

"She can't touch you here," Arthur said, his words a low rumble against my back.

I almost laughed. Anyone else would sound naive saying that, but from Arthur, it was almost believable. I'd seen what he could do, seen the power he kept leashed beneath his skin. If anyone could stand against my mother, it might be him.

But I wouldn't let him try.

"She'd burn the world to ash to get what she wants," I said quietly. "And what she wants is me."

Arthur turned me to face him, his eyes

But for now, in this brief space between night and day, I allowed myself to simply exist. To be Rose—not Evelyn's daughter, not the girl with the reality-bending Gift, not the competitor who had placed third in yesterday's event.

Just Rose, lying in the arms of a boy who saw me clearly and stayed anyway.

Just Rose, blooming despite the shadow my mother had cast across my life.

Just Rose, finally beginning to believe that love might be stronger than blood, than destiny, than the twisted legacy I'd inherited.

I pressed my lips to the hollow of Arthur's throat, felt his pulse jump beneath my touch.

"Thank you," I whispered.

His arms tightened around me, and I felt rather than saw his smile.

"For what?"

For seeing me. For staying. For making me believe, even fleetingly, that I could escape the path my mother had walked.

But all I said was, "For being real," and let the weight of those simple words carry all the rest.