Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 334: He’s Gone!

Thunder rolled across the sky, deep and ominous.

Dark clouds pressed down on the manor like physical weight, turning afternoon into premature twilight.

Lightning crackled in the distance, bright flashes that illuminated the study’s windows in stark white before plunging everything back into gloom.

Rain hammered against the glass. Relentless. Angry. The kind of storm that felt personal, that matched the atmosphere inside with uncomfortable precision.

Drip!

A single droplet fell onto the mahogany desk.

Drip!

Another followed. Then another. A steady rhythm that had nothing to do with the storm outside.

These drops were warm. Salt-tinged. Falling from a source that couldn’t be stopped no matter how much Selene tried to control herself.

She sat at her desk, perfectly still except for the trembling in her shoulders. Her black hair fell forward, obscuring her face.

Her hands were clenched in her lap, white-knuckled, nails digging into palms hard enough to leave marks.

And she wept.

Silently. The kind of crying that came from someone who’d spent months forcing tears back, who’d maintained composure through everything, who’d refused to break until breaking became inevitable.

The tears fell onto scattered papers before her.

It had been months since the Academy attack.

Months since Alaric had vanished into shadow with Lilith.

At first, there had been hope. Desperate, fragile hope that sustained her through sleepless nights and endless searching.

That he was alive somewhere. Captured, maybe. Imprisoned. But alive. Recoverable.

Sari and her network had scoured hundreds of miles. Questioned thousands of witnesses. Followed every rumor, every possible sighting, every thread that might lead to answers.

And they’d found... something.

Selene’s green eyes, red-rimmed, exhausted, fixed on the object lying amid the papers.

A piece of torn fabric. Academy uniform. The specific cut and color that marked it as belonging to a student of Phoenix Academy.

Alaric’s uniform.

Covered in blood. So much blood that the original colors were barely visible beneath the dried brown stains.

Torn. Shredded. Like something had ripped through it with claws or teeth.

They’d found it near the border between territories. In an area known for demon activity. Surrounded by more blood. Gore. Evidence of feeding, bones picked clean, flesh torn away, the unmistakable signs of demons consuming human remains.

They assumed him dead.

The words echoed in Selene’s mind with terrible finality.

They’d held a funeral weeks ago. Small. Private. Duke Rithvale, a handful of Selene’s most trusted allies, servants.

No body to bury. Just an empty coffin and words spoken over absence. Prayers for a soul that might already be scattered across realms beyond their reach.

Duke Rithvale had offered condolences with appropriate gravity.

At first, Selene had refused to believe it.

Had told herself it was lie. Deception. That without a body, there was no proof.

That Alaric was too smart, too ruthless, too determined to survive to simply die like this.

"He’s alive. Somewhere. I just need to keep searching. Keep hoping. Keep—"

But then—

Selene’s hand moved unconsciously to her left forearm. Pushed back the sleeve of her gown to reveal smooth, unblemished skin.

Where there should have been a mark. A sigil. The slaver’s brand that connected master to owned, that marked Alaric as hers.

It had been there. Faint but present. Visible only to those who knew to look for it. A reminder of the contract between them.

And now it was just... gone.

As if it had never existed.

It happened few days after the funeral.

But the owner’s ink didn’t disappear. Not unless deliberately removed, which was the process that required both slaver and slave present, both contributing blood and essence in ritual designed to sever bonds that were meant to be permanent.

The only other way it could be erased was...

Death of the slave.

The bond broke at death. Automatically. Irrevocably. The mark fading as the soul it was connected to departed this realm for whatever came after.

Selene had stood before that mirror and screamed.

Actually screamed, raw, broken sound that brought servants running, that echoed through the manor, that released everything she’d been holding back.

Because that was proof. Real, undeniable, physical proof that...

Alaric was dead.

Her adopted son—nephew, her love—was gone.

Now, sitting at her desk while thunder crashed outside, Selene let the tears flow freely.

She remembered the first time she’d seen him. Just another unfortunate young man. Nothing special. Nothing remarkable. She’d dismissed him initially, her attention caught by other prospects that seemed more promising.

But something had made her look twice. Something in his eyes, cold, calculating, aware, that suggested intelligence beyond his circumstances. Potential waiting to be exploited.

She’d brought him under her on impulse. Political calculation. A tool to be used, trained, molded into something useful for her advancement.

"Just business. Just strategy. Nothing more."

But he’d grown into something else.

Something more. Had proven himself capable beyond her expectations. Had become trusted advisor, then confidant, then—

Then something she couldn’t name in public. Couldn’t acknowledge without scandal.

Couldn’t grieve openly without whispers.

Because she was married. A Baroness.

And Alaric had been her slave. Her adopted son. Nothing more in the eyes of society.

So she couldn’t weep openly at his funeral. Couldn’t show the depths of her grief without inviting speculation, rumors, judgment.

Couldn’t be seen as the married woman grieving too hard over a young man who wasn’t even her blood.

She’d maintained composure. Had accepted condolences with appropriate dignity. Had played her role perfectly while dying inside.

And now alone in her study, with storm raging outside and darkness pressing close, she finally allowed herself to break.

To grieve the man she’d loved in secret. The brilliant, cold, calculating boy who’d become something precious despite all logic suggesting he should remain just tool.

Her shoulders shook with sobs that wouldn’t stop. Her hands trembled. Her chest ached with loss that transcended anything she’d felt before.

He’s gone. Really, truly gone. And I never even told him—

What? That she loved him? That he’d become more than political asset?

The tears continued falling. Mixing with rain against windows.

Creating symphony of grief that had no witnesses except the storm.

Thunder crashed again. Lightning illuminated the study in stark white.

And Selene Glimor sat alone in the darkness that followed, weeping for a son who wasn’t hers by blood.

For a love she could never acknowledge.

For a future that had died with torn uniform and disappeared mark.

Gone.

The word repeated endlessly in her mind.

Gone.

And no amount of tears would bring him back.

The storm raged on.

Indifferent to her pain.

Just as the world would continue turning despite the absence of one brilliant, broken young man who’d dared to survive against all odds.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

Alaric.

She whispered his name into the darkness.

And received only silence in return.

Then, slowly—so slowly it seemed unconscious—Selene’s hand lifted from her lap.

Trembling and hesitant.

And settled on her stomach. Palm flat against the fabric of her gown. Pressing gently against fleh, flat.

Though... she thought she could feel something. Maybe. A subtle change. A difference in how her body felt, moved, existed.

Her cycle had stopped three weeks ago.

Three weeks of waiting. Hoping. Dreading. Not knowing which emotion was stronger, the desperate desire for it to be true, or the terror of what truth would mean.

Please no. I can’t. Not like this. Not alone. Not when he’s—

The conflicting feelings warred in her chest. Making it impossible to breathe properly. Making her thoughts spiral in directions she couldn’t control.

She needed to know.

The uncertainty was worse than any answer could be.

Selene stood abruptly, too abruptly. Her legs protested, weak from sitting motionless for too long.

She limped toward the other table. The one pushed against the far wall, covered with a cloth, holding things she didn’t use often but kept available for necessity.

Her hand shook as she pulled back the cloth.

Revealed what lay beneath.

An artifact. Small, no larger than her palm. Crystal shaped into smooth oval, its surface carved with delicate runes that pulsed faintly with dormant essence.

A diagnostic tool. The kind families kept for private medical assessment, for questions too sensitive to ask healers, for truths that required discretion.

Selene picked it up with trembling hands. Nearly dropped it. Caught it against her chest and held on with desperate grip.

Just do it. Just know. One way or another.

She forced her breathing to steady. Drew the small knife kept beside the artifact for exactly this purpose.

Pressed blade to her index finger and did a cut.

Sharp sting. Blood welled immediately, bright red against pale skin. She held her finger over the crystal’s center, letting drops fall onto carved surface.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Three drops. That was the requirement.

Then she channeled her essence, flowing from her core, through her hand, into the artifact itself.

And the crystal began to glow.

Soft at first. Gentle pulsing that grew brighter, stronger, as it processed blood and essence, as it searched for the specific signature that would answer her question.

Selene clutched the artifact against her chest. Leaned back against the wall because her legs wouldn’t support her properly anymore. Her entire body trembled.

Please. Please.

She didn’t even know what she was begging for.

The glow intensified. Cycled through colors, red, blue, green, as the diagnostic progressed. Searching. Analyzing. Determining.

Then it began to settle.

Stabilizing toward single color that would deliver verdict.

White.

Pure, clear, unmistakable white.

Negative.

There was nothing. No pregnancy. No life growing.

Just... absence.

Relief washed over Selene’s features, immediate and overwhelming. Her shoulders sagged. Her breathing released in long exhale.

Thank the gods. I’m not...I don’t have to—

But then— 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

The relief shattered.

Replaced by something worse. Something that hurt more than any result could have.

Because she wasn’t pregnant.

Which meant there was nothing left of him. No part of Alaric that continued existing. No legacy. No piece she could hold onto, could protect, could love when the original was gone.

Just complete, total, absence.

The ache that hit was visceral.

Her hand opened. The crystal fell from nerveless fingers.

Crash!

It hit the floor. Didn’t shatter, too well-made for that, but rolled away across polished wood, its white glow fading as the diagnostic concluded.

Selene’s legs gave out.

She slid down the wall. Her back scraping against wallpaper, her gown bunching awkwardly around her legs, her entire body surrendering to gravity because supporting herself required more strength than she possessed.

She ended sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, her legs splayed in position that would be undignified if anyone could see.

But no one could see.

She was alone. As always.

Head dropped back against the wall.

Thunk!

Hard enough to hurt, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional devastation.

Her hand settled over her flat belly. Palm pressing against emptiness. Against the absence of life that would never exist.

"I couldn’t even have a piece of you," she whispered to the empty room. To the ghost of a young man who couldn’t hear. "You’re gone, and there’s nothing left. Not even this. Not even something I could hold, could raise, could—"

Her voice broke completely.

Because that’s what hurt most. Not just that Alaric was dead. But that he was erased. Completely. Thoroughly. No body to mourn over. No grave to visit. No child to carry forward his brilliance.

Just absence where there should have been presence.

And she was left sitting on her study floor, one hand on her empty stomach, weeping for futures that would never exist.