Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 79 - 74: Help (1)

Chapter 79: Chapter 74: Help (1)

Gabriel’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest as the suffocating silence of his bedroom pressed down on him. Sweat clung to his skin, and his breathing became shallow and frantic. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it until the tremor of relief coursed through him as the nightmare faded, but the remnants of it lingered, clinging to his mind like cold fingers that refused to let go.

It had been the same dream, but this time... this time, it had been worse. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, oppressive and suffocating. He was back in the old palace, the scene bathed in an unnatural darkness that twisted the very air around him. The crackle of magic hung in the air, thick with the scent of burnt flesh and scorched earth.

He could feel it then and even now; somehow the pain was back. The magic. The magic that had changed everything.

He saw himself again, standing there in the smoke-filled ruins of that fateful day. But this time, his body wasn’t frozen in place as it usually was. This time, he felt it—the pain of the ritual as the magic carved into his skin.

The pain. That damn pain. It bloomed on his nape, the cold etching of the imperial contract, digging deeper with every breath he took. It was searing, like fire racing through his veins, hot and relentless. The moment the mark had been placed upon him, he had fallen to his knees in agony, unable to stop the waves of heat that had consumed him, unable to scream loud enough to drown out the voice that whispered through his mind, "You are mine now."

Olivier’s voice echoed through his mind, filling every corner. He remembered Damian saying the same thing. Both voices are now overlapping in his mind.

The dream shifted, pulling him back to the moment that he had tried so hard to forget. The contract’s symbol felt like it was eating him from the inside out. He had killed Olivier. He had murdered his best friend.

But it was not just the killing that haunted him; it was the magic. The curse that had been forged at that exact moment, binding him in chains he could not see but felt every waking hour. The magic had twisted and curled around him, the scars of it still fresh even as days had passed. It was not just the rebellion or the bloodshed; it was the reminder that his freedom had been stolen, etched into his flesh, and he could not recall the last time he felt whole.

He jolted awake, gasping for air, but his memories would not let him go. His fingers instinctively reached for his nape, feeling the familiar sensation of the mark that had been hidden beneath layers of fabric. Was it still there?

He couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. Instead, he buried his face in his hands, his breath ragged as the weight of the truth settled over him like a shroud.

He had covered the damned symbol with a bite mark, not only to conceal it, but also in a desperate attempt to mitigate its effects.

The chaos of the past few weeks had done its best to distract him. The ball, the shifting politics, the empire’s demands—he had buried himself in work and distractions. He had let the noise consume him, hoping to avoid the truth. But now, in the silence of the early morning, it all came flooding back.

The mark. The pain.

The contract.

He remembered how Damian had looked at him when they first met again after the rebellion—as if he knew the weight Gabriel carried, as if he understood. Perhaps he had, in a way. The contract was more than just a piece of parchment; it was a magic spell that bound him to the empire and Olivier.

’I need help’, Gabriel thought, the bitter truth gnawing at his insides. He had needed help from the moment the contract was etched into his skin. And he had tried to ignore it. He tried to pretend it didn’t matter as long as he could keep his mind busy enough with everything else.

But the truth was unmistakable now.

He couldn’t break it on his own.

’I can run away. The capital makes it worse. I should never come back." He gripped his hair before realizing he was making the same mistake over and over.

’It will not work. I need his help.’ He thought bitterly.

Damian was the only person who could help him. The only one who had the power to undo what had been done to him. He shivered at the thought of having to give up everything he had worked for over the previous five years, including what he had worked for prior to the rebellion. The ball. The Emperor. His growing uncertainty about everything around him. Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the suffocating feeling away, but it wouldn’t leave him.

Damian was the only one who could help him, but asking for that help... asking for it meant admitting that he was no longer the person he had been before the rebellion. It meant exposing the fragile, broken parts of himself that he had spent years concealing. To trust Damian with that truth was more terrifying than anything he had faced in the past.

Damian’s voice echoed in his mind, a faint whisper in the distance, but the words cut through the fog that had settled around his thoughts: "You are mine now."

That voice. That damn voice. He didn’t know whether it was Damian’s or the remnants of the curse, but the chill it left in its wake felt all too real.

Gabriel leaned back against the headboard, pressing his hand to his forehead as his mind raced. He had tried to forget. He had tried to outrun it. But the truth was that he could not do it any longer; there was nothing else to keep him sane.

’I will not run again.’

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