NOVEL NEXT Chapter 80: Chains of Betrayal
Scene 1 – The Shattered Silence
The chamber had never felt so cold. Not even the golden blaze could hide the chill that sank into the hearts of Jemil's wives.
One word. Just one word, and it cut deeper than any chain.
"Mistress."
The sound of it hung in the air like a blade pressed against every throat. Jemil's voice—his true voice—had been swallowed by that single whisper. His head was bowed, golden fire licking across his skin, his eyes glowing faintly with a light that didn't belong to him.
Lyra's flames guttered, flickering weakly at her fingertips. Her breath trembled, her chest tightening with a fear she didn't dare speak. She wanted to scream, to rush forward, to shake him free—but what if he wasn't Jemil anymore?
Kaelina gripped her sword so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her instincts screamed for action: cut him free, cut the chains, cut anything that bound him. But another thought wormed its way in: What if the chains are the only thing holding him together?
Nyssa, sharp and unflinching even in the storm, found her tongue dry. Her illusions, already in tatters, refused to form. "He said it," she whispered, her voice laced with venom meant for herself. "He chose to say it." The thought poisoned her, because she knew the Mistress's power worked by desire as much as force. And what did it mean if Jemil had wanted to obey, even for a moment?
Elira dropped to her knees, hands clasped in prayer that felt hollow. Tears blurred her vision as she tried to call his name again, but the syllables snagged in her throat. All she could whisper was, "No… no… not him. Not Jemil."
And above them all, the Mistress's laughter rippled like silk, low and triumphant.
"He is already mine. Every chain you break only proves how tightly I can bind him. He said it. That is enough."
The chains rattled in agreement, tightening their hold, dragging Jemil higher until he hovered above them like a prisoner on display. His body arched, his mark burning brighter, and the chamber filled with a sound that was not quite his scream—
But not quite hers either.
Scene 2 – Doubts Among the Wives
The golden storm writhed around them, rattling the floor, yet it wasn't the chains that cracked their unity first—it was doubt.
Lyra's flames pulsed with wild heat, scorching the stone beneath her feet. She spun toward the others, eyes blazing with desperation. "We can't just stand here! We have to reach him before she takes him completely!" Her voice quivered, not from weakness but from terror—the kind that made her burn hotter, lash harder.
Kaelina's sword snapped up, steel flashing in the firelight. "And do what, Lyra? Cut him down? Burn him alive?" The words were sharp as her blade, but her eyes betrayed the conflict twisting inside. She wanted to protect Jemil more than anything—but every move felt like it could shatter him instead.
Nyssa folded her arms, though her illusions frayed and sputtered at her sides. Her lips curled into a bitter smile, masking the tremor in her tone. "He said her name. He gave her that power. Tell me, Lyra, Kaelina—are we fighting her chains, or are we fighting him now?"
Elira's hands clenched tighter in prayer, her light flickering as her tears dropped into the cracks of the stone floor. "Don't say that! Don't you dare say that! Jemil would never abandon us, never yield—he's being forced!" But even her own words wavered, as if she were pleading with herself more than the others.
The Mistress's laughter coiled between them, stoking their fears.
"See how easily your unity frays? One word, and you splinter. Do you truly think he belongs to any of you now?"
The chains clattered in agreement, and Jemil's head lifted, golden light dripping from his eyes like tears.
Kaelina's grip shook. Lyra's flame roared higher. Nyssa bit her lip until it bled. Elira sobbed harder, her light dimming.
And for the first time, none of them were looking at the chains anymore.
They were looking at him.
Scene 3 – Jemil's Internal Struggle
The world outside blurred into gold and silence. He could no longer feel the floor, nor the heat of Lyra's flames, nor the steel in Kaelina's strikes, nor even Elira's trembling prayers. All of it bled away into a single truth—the chains.
They weren't just wrapped around his limbs. They were inside him.
Every vow, every bond, every memory of laughter and tears with his wives—reforged into links of gold, pulled taut by hands he could not resist.
And her voice… gods, her voice.
"Do you see, Jemil? How fragile they are? How their love bends the moment it is tested? They doubt you. They fear you. Only I see the truth of you."
Her whisper slid against his thoughts like silk drawn over skin. Each word sank deeper, striking where the burning mark flared. He could feel his wives' power battering the chains, but instead of freeing him, it only pulled tighter, feeding the Mistress's hold.
"They call you theirs," she breathed, "but every time they fight for you, they wound you. Every chain they break is a wound in you, Jemil. And I—only I—can make the pain stop."
The mark blazed hotter. His breath caught in his throat, choking on fire. His mind splintered between memory and temptation. Lyra's fierce smile, Kaelina's steady blade, Nyssa's mocking gaze, Elira's tearful prayers—they flickered in fragments, fading like echoes against the flood of gold.
And in their place… the Mistress's hand reached out, luminous and soft, as though offering comfort.
"All you must do," she whispered, "is surrender. Let me claim you. Let the chains bind you, and I will lift the weight. No more fear. No more pain. No more doubt. Only belonging."
His lips parted. His voice caught between two worlds.
One word pressed at the edge of his throat—his wives' names.
Another burned deeper, easier, hungrier—hers.
Jemil's heart stuttered. His body convulsed.
And then—his golden eyes cracked open.
Jemil's golden eyes cracked open.
Chains coiled around his chest like a second heartbeat, every link pulsing with her power. The Mistress's hand lingered in his mind, her voice wrapping tighter than steel.
"Choose, Jemil. Them… or me."
Below him, his wives reached for him, each in their own way—flames, steel, shadows, light. Their voices collided in desperate cries of his name.
But when his lips moved—
The word that trembled there was not theirs.