Chapter 505: A Little Too Real

Cherion gasped, sitting up abruptly on the mattress as his chest heaved in violent, erratic jerks.

Air tore into his lungs like ice, sharp and burning against his windpipe. Tears poured uncontrollably down his cheeks, blinding his vision in the soft orange glow of the dying hearth. His hands flew instantly to his neck, his trembling fingers frantically pressing into his throat, tracing his collarbone, clutching his own skin as if checking whether his head was still physically attached to his shoulders. He was shaking so violently that his teeth rattled behind his pale, parted lips, every breath shuddering through his ribcage like a dying gasp.

Breathe, Cherion screamed internally, trying to pull his frantic thoughts back into his chest. Breathe, damn it! You’re alive. Look around you, you’re alive!

"Hey... hey, look at me. Look at me, Cherion."

Strong, warm hands immediately clasped around his shuddering shoulders, anchoring him before he could spiral completely into the dark.

Zarius was already right there beside him. Before Cherion could scramble back against the headboard or thrash out in blind panic, Zarius shifted closer on the mattress, wrapping one broad arm securely behind Cherion’s back while his other hand moved to cup the back of Cherion’s neck, grounding him with a solid, unyielding pressure.

"Breathe," Zarius commanded softly, his voice low, steady, and thick with a deep, quiet concern. "You’re okay. You’re right here. You’re in my room, Cherion. Breathe for me."

"Z-Zarius..." Cherion choked out, his voice snapping into a broken, high-pitched sob that tore from his throat. He lunged forward, burying his wet face directly into the crook of Zarius’s neck, his hands clutching the rough linen of Zarius’s shirt so hard his knuckles turned stark white. "Zarius... oh god, it... it felt so real... god, it felt so real...! My head... No, his head..."

He couldn’t stop dragging his trembling fingers back up to his own neck, pressing hard against his pulse point, sobbing uncontrollably into Zarius’s shoulder. The cold bite of the heavy broadaxe, the stench of fresh pine sawdust waiting on the wooden planks, the deafening roar of the angry crowd throwing rotten fruit, and Yerel also Philia’s stare, it was all still burning behind his eyelids with horrifying, agonizing clarity.

It was just a memory, Cherion tried to tell himself, his mind racing wildly as his heart hammered against his ribs. It happened to the OG Cherion, not you. You’re not in the square. You’re not on the block. The blade didn’t fall on you.

Yet no matter how much logic he poured into his head, the phantom sensation of cold steel shaving against his hair refused to fade.

"I’m here. I’m holding you," Zarius murmured into Cherion’s messy hair, rubbing firm, slow circles into his shuddering back. "It was just a dream. You’re safe. No one is touching you."

"No, you don’t understand..." Cherion wept, his chest heaving as he pulled back just enough to look up at Zarius through a thick blur of tears. His face was blotchy, his red-rimmed eyes wild with lingering horror. "It wasn’t just a nightmare... It was... it was what happened to him. To the OG Cherion. I saw it all... the deep cell, the freezing floor, the King coming in to hand down the execution order... and then the plaza... the wooden block... the steel blade..."

He choked on a sob, his fingers tightening around Zarius’s sleeves until his forearms trembled with the strain. "He begged them, Zarius. He threw himself at their feet and cried, begging for Yerel to just look at him one last time, but Yerel didn’t care. Yerel just stood there by the carriage with Philia and watched him die like he was nothing... They cut his head off... I felt the cold axe coming right down on my neck..."

Zarius’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes narrowing as a fierce, lethal protectiveness flared deep within them. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t tell Cherion that he was being irrational, nor did he lecture him about how impossible it was. Instead, he pulled Cherion back firmly into his chest, holding him so tight that Cherion could feel the heavy, steady thrum of Zarius’s heartbeat pressing right against his wet cheek.

"Listen to me," Zarius said, his tone dropping into a deadly serious, iron-clad promise that echoed softly in the quiet room. "No such thing will ever happen to you. Do you hear me? Not a single soul in this empire or world will ever put a hand on you. Not while I am still breathing."

"Zarius..."

"I don’t care about Yerel, I don’t care about the King, and I don’t care about whatever tragic end happened in the story," Zarius growled softly, his thumb gently wiping away the hot tears streaming down Cherion’s cheeks. "You are here with me now. You are safe. I will tear down the palace brick by brick before I let anyone hurt a single hair on your head. I swear it on my life, Cherion."

He framed Cherion’s face with both hands, forcing Cherion to look directly into his unwavering eyes. "Look at me. Look at my eyes. Am I Yerel? Is this the palace cell?"

Cherion swallowed hard, his vision clearing slightly as he stared into Zarius’s intense, grounded gaze. "N-no..."

"Good," Zarius murmured, his expression softening as he ran his thumb over Cherion’s cheekbone. "You are in my arms. You are in my room. You are Cherion, my Cherion. No executioner, no crown prince, and no shadow of the past is going to take you away from me. I won’t allow it."

Cherion leaned his forehead against Zarius’s jaw, taking long, shuddering breaths as the cold, suffocating terror in his veins slowly began to thaw beneath Zarius’s heat.

He’s right, Cherion told himself, closing his eyes tightly and focusing entirely on the solid warmth of Zarius’s hands. Zarius is here. Zarius won’t let anyone touch me. You’re not alone like he was. You have people who actually protect you.

"Here," Zarius said gently, easing Cherion back slightly against the pillows. "Stay right here. Let me get you some water."

Zarius swung his legs off the side of the bed, stepping over to the small table near the hearth. He poured a glass of cool water from a clay pitcher and returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge. He didn’t just hand the glass over; he wrapped his fingers around Cherion’s hands, helping him hold the cup steadily so his trembling fingers wouldn’t spill it.

"Slowly," Zarius guided softly. "Take small sips."

Cherion brought the rim to his lips, taking a small, cautious gulp. The cool water washed over his parched, raw throat, soothing the burning tightness in his chest.

Focus on the temperature, he reminded himself internally, taking another quiet sip. Feel the cool water. Feel the blanket. Feel Zarius sitting right beside you. You’re in the present.

Once Cherion drank half the glass, Zarius took the cup back and set it on the bedside table. He pulled the heavy wool blanket higher over both of their shoulders, wrapping his arm around Cherion’s waist once more to draw him back into his side.

"Do you feel a little better?" Zarius asked quietly, resting his chin lightly against the top of Cherion’s head.

Cherion let out a long, shaky breath, letting his head rest against Zarius’s chest. "Yeah... a little. Thank you, Zarius."

"You don’t need to thank me," Zarius replied softly, stroking his thumb over Cherion’s hip. "Just rest. I’m staying right here with you."

Cherion clung to that warmth, letting the steady rhythm of Zarius’s breathing anchor him to the present, slowly pushing the nightmare back into the dark where it belonged.