Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 34: Alley Talk

The late lunch drifts into early evening, the light outside shifting to a soft golden hue through the tall windows. The table grows quieter in intervals, only to be filled again by Howard's rambling stories. He talks with wild gestures about his childhood, the ridiculous training regimens his father forced on him, and the countless times he fell face-first into the mud trying to master horseback riding.

Everyone chuckles. Dax and Garet and even quiet Jaynd seem to relax a bit, nursing their drinks while adding the occasional comment and story of their own. I mostly sit back, half listening to their conversations, letting the warmth of the wine dull the edges of my thoughts and embarrassment.

Cecilia remains next to me the entire time, too close, her scent wrapping around me assaulting my senses. Her laughter is soft and musical, and every time her hand brushes the table near mine, I find myself downing another glass of wine just to cope. I swear she's doing it on purpose.

Eventually, the meal winds down, plates empty and bottles drained. We leave The Coiled Fork together, stepping out into streets painted with the deep orange of sunset. The air is cooler now, and I tug at my collar slightly.

Cecilia is still lingering close to me, her steps light and graceful, as she matches my pace. I'm just drunk enough and too tired to care, the pleasant buzz in my head softening the tension I've been holding in my shoulders all afternoon.

Howard turns to the group and claps his hands. "Well! I need to run an errand before me and Ayato are expected to be back at the castle. It was a pleasure meeting you all!"

"Goodbye, Awakened Ashland thank you for indulging us," Dax, Garet and Jaynd murmur with respectful head inclines.

"Bye, Awakened Howard," Cecilia says with that bright smile.

I look at him, slightly delayed. "See you later, man," I mumble. Then I turn to the inquisitors, giving them a vague wave. "Bye."

Without waiting for a response, I start walking at brisk walk, internally thanking the gods for granting me blessed, peaceful solitude. A little buzzed, a little full, and finally away from her.

But I only make it a few streets and into a side alley before I hear the soft patter of boots on cobblestones behind me.

I stop, shoulders tensing as I hear her voice, breathless but cheerful.

"You're a fast man, Ayato."

I close my eyes for a brief second and exhale slowly before turning around.

I turn around slowly, already bracing myself, and of course—there she is. Cecilia. Her cheeks are slightly flushed from jogging after me, short blonde hair catching the dying sunlight like spun gold. She smiles softly, but there's something a little more serious in her beautiful hazel eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you alone," she says, her voice quieter than before.

I rub the back of my neck and sigh. The wine makes me loose enough to be sarcastic. "I'm starting to think you're stalking me, Cecilia. Should I be worried?"

She laughs, a light musical sound that only makes my buzzed head swim more. She moves to walk alongside me, and I can't help but notice the way her hips sway with every step, her slender frame wrapped in that sharp black inquisitor uniform that somehow feels less like leather and more like... temptation.

She glances up at me with a small smile. "It's about that situation a few months ago," she says gently. "You seemed... distraught at the time. I wanted to ask if you're all right."

I blink, genuinely surprised she noticed my mental state. Even more surprised she cares enough to bring it up.

I frown, shoving my hands deeper into my pants pockets. "Why do you even care?"

She's quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "I don't know. I just do."

I snort, shaking my head. "Well... I'm fine."

She studies me for a moment. "That's not convincing."

I chuckle dryly. "Convincing or not, that's the official report. Nothing to worry about, Ms. Inquisitor."

I sneer, the bitterness creeping into my voice. "Well, now that's cleared up... I'll be going."

I turn on my heel, but before I can take a step, her hand gently lands on my shoulder.

Bad move.

My body reacts before my drunken brain can catch up. Months of Cain's brutal conditioning take over. I grab her wrist, spin with the momentum, and slam her back against one of the alley walls. Her breath leaves her in a startled gasp, and for a moment I'm nose-to-nose with her, pinning her there.

My eyes lock onto hers—hazel, wide, shining with surprise, pain... and something else

The realization hits me like a slap.

Shit.

I let go immediately, stumbling back. My words come out fast and regretful. "Sorry... I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to hurt you."

But before I can retreat, she catches me again—this time both arms wrapping around my waist, holding me there.

Her voice is quiet, trembling. "Why do you seem to hate me?"

I freeze. For a moment, I think about brushing her off. About lying. But the wine, the night, and maybe the weight of everything I've gone through the past few months finally makes me too tired to lie.

I sigh, my voice rough. "Because inquisitors killed my parents."

Her eyes soften instantly. Tears well up, glistening under the dimming alley light. "I'm... I'm sorry."

I look away, swallowing the knot in my throat. "I'm sorry too."

I try to step back again, but her grip tightens. Her arms stay locked around my waist, and I can feel her body pressing into mine—warm and soft. My heart pounds like a war drum and I'm sure she hears it.

She whispers, her breath brushing my neck, "Not all of us are bad. I know the Inquisitors... we seem cruel. But we try to uphold justice. The Divine's law. Sometimes the methods aren't... desirable."

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. "Apologies won't bring back my parents." My voice turns cold, "And they won't erase the eight-year-old boy who had to fight every damn day to survive in the outskirts... hiding from the same 'holy order' that would've thrown him into the mines to break stones until he was sixteen."

I feel her arms tremble slightly. But she doesn't let go.

She tightens her grip around my waist, and her voice comes softer but heavier, weighted with something that feels dangerous.

"You could change it, Ayato."

I look down at her, not sure if I heard right.

"You're the first three-mark bearer in recorded history," she continues, her eyes burning with that same reverence I saw months ago in the market. "The Order is already in celebration... whispering that you're the Divine's will made flesh. You just have to embrace what you are once you do then you can change anything you want."

I stare at her, the words hitting me like bricks. My drunken mind reels, trying to make sense of what she is saying to me.

"What the hell are you trying to say?" My voice comes out uncertain.

She looks up at me eyes tears still wetting her face. "You could become a living God, Ayato. I even overheard Bishop Lark talking about you he seems to think you are the catalyst for a new golden age I'm sure Archbishop Aren agrees."

I recoil as if she slapped me. A God? Her words echo, monstrous and impossible.

My hands move instinctively to pry her arms off me, but her grip tightens—like iron wrapped in silk. She won't let go.

And I hesitate. Do I really want her to let go?

I curse myself internally. I should be shoving her off, running from her and whatever madness she's spouting. These aren't just dangerous ideas—they're damn near treason.

And yet... her voice is velvet and fire, and her breath is warm against my neck, and my heart won't stop pounding like I want her to keep talking, even though every sane part of me screams to end this conversation now.

I let out a dry, breathless chuckle. "Do you even hear yourself?" My voice wavers between disbelief and panic. "That sounds like treason."

She doesn't even flinch. Her whisper curls around me like smoke. "It's not treason if the Gods will it. And clearly... they do." Her hazel eyes shine with certainty. "They blessed you with three marks of power, Ayato. That's never happened, is that not the Gods choosing you to carry out their will? "

I want to puke. I knew the inquisitors saw me as some kind of divine sign — that much had been obvious from the start. But this... this was insanity. This wasn't mere reverence for an Elite — it was fanaticism.

King Malik would never allow this. He'd burn the entire Inquisitor Order to ash — and me along with them — before letting whispers of godhood challenge his divine right to rule. He claims he's the chosen of the Divine himself. There's no room for someone like me in his Empire... not with people like her saying things like this.

I start spiraling, panic flaring behind my eyes.

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And then she moves.

One of her arms slides up my body, fingers brushing along my jawline, feather-light. I shudder involuntarily at her touch.

Her lips are close, her breath warm on my skin. Her voice is barely audible. "Like I said... you are everything an Elite should be."

Before I can react, she tugs gently on my collar, pulling my head down — and kisses me.

My mind goes blank.

I want to push her away. I should push her away. But my body betrays me — the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the intoxicating scent of her skin — it all crashes into me at once.

I hate it. I hate myself.

But I lean into the kiss anyway.

My hand fists in the fabric of her uniform as I push her back into the wall, my breath ragged, my heart pounding.

Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against mine with a hunger I didn't expect — and worse, a hunger I match.

I tell myself I should stop, that this is wrong, that this is dangerous. But instead, I pull her closer, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other braced against the wall beside her head. Her body molds against mine, warm and firm in all the right places. Her hands tangle in my hair, and her breath hitches when I deepen the kiss.

I never knew I could feel this kind of heat. It burns through me, drowning out every rational thought until there's only her — her mouth, her scent, her breath mixing with mine.

I want her.

Gods, I want her.

I feel her smile against my lips as if she knows exactly what she's doing to me, and that only makes me kiss her harder. There's nothing gentle in it anymore — just fire, need, and the shameful admission that I don't want to stop.

But I have to.

After what feels like an eternity, I tear myself away, both of us breathless. My chest heaves as I try to collect myself. "I... I'm sorry," I rasp, my voice hoarse. "I can't. I need to get back to the castle. The sun's basically set — Cain that bastard will skin me."

She's breathless too, her shirt rumpled, her robe somehow becoming unlatched, her cheeks flushed pink, eyes sparkling like she just won something. She grins at me, radiant and wicked all at once. "Of course, Ayato," she whispers, savoring my name. "We'll talk again soon, I'm sure. Just remember... you have friends who believe in you. Like me."

That makes it worse.

I stammer, "Th-thanks. Good night."

I turn and practically bolt, my feet carrying me down the alley and onto the street, heart hammering.

My mind's a mess the buzz from the wine gone — treasonous words, that kiss, her. I can't make sense of any of it.

And as much as I loath at admit it... I already want to see her again.