The True Ascension
Chapter 28: Territories and Bonds

Chapter 28: Territories and Bonds

[Pov: Aziz]

After we returned to the palace, that same night, we took Sofia’s carriage — the very same one we used when we walked through the city — and went back to the house where I was born.

The journey was silent. Almost ritualistic, as if the world outside had quieted to watch us cross the time I was leaving behind.

At that moment, something inside me closed, like a door that would never be opened again.

And, before me, five years rose like a road with no return.

Five long years of intense, exhausting... and transformative training.

Honestly, I almost regretted having asked my mother and Isis to train me seriously that time.

Just remembering how my beloved mother — and my beautiful servant — became so obstinate and relentless... gives me chills.

Especially Isis.

Actually, I think she was overly enthusiastic about the role of trainer.

I got hit more than I trained.

And, over time, I realized: there was a certain gleam in her eyes when she saw me gasping on the floor. A subtle pleasure.

Isis was... sadistic.

And now, after so many years together, she didn’t even bother hiding it anymore.

My mother, on the other hand, expressed her cruelty with loving zeal.

She loved me — in a deep, devouring, possessive way.

But that didn’t stop her from pushing me. She spent hours by my side, teaching me magic, perfecting every gesture, every arcane theory, every breath.

And if I fell... she only expected me to get back up.

But, to tell the truth... I have nothing to complain about.

In the end, the hard work was worth it.

---

During those years, both Sofia and Zia came to our house countless times.

Right after I returned, Sofia insisted that we install a magical teleportation circle, connecting our residence to the palace.

My mother, after talking with Stella, ended up agreeing.

It was more practical. Safer.

And so, every week, Sofia and Zia came here together.

The constant coexistence strengthened our bond.

And also intensified the rivalry between the two.

It’s almost comical to see them competing over everything — who greets me first, who sits closer, who holds my hand longer.

Seriously, sometimes I’m sure that if I don’t intervene, they will end up fighting for real.

But now... now all that seems distant.

The most important thing at this very moment is what’s happening here, in this room.

I’m sitting on the bed, and Isis is on my lap.

Her body fits into mine with the naturalness of something that was made to be there.

She has her face buried in my neck. Her lips glide over the skin before softly parting.

"Haaah... my young master... let me have my breakfast... with this delicious blood."

She bites my neck. Her vampire fangs sink in with a voracious sweetness — as if kissing, but hungry.

*Shlurp. Shlurp. Shlurp.*

The sounds of suction fill the room like a forbidden spell.

"Mmgh... haa..."

I moan, with a confused mixture of pain and pleasure.

It’s strange. Intense.

But no longer new.

It started two years ago.

She showed up with a typically hers excuse: that she needed to replenish her energy after training. That sucking my blood would be her payment for the effort.

At the time, I thought it was a joke.

A passing provocation.

I was wrong.

Since the first sip, Isis never stopped.

Every day. Without fail.

Like an insatiable clock.

Honestly, I think... no — I’m sure — she became completely addicted to my blood.

Good thing we’re in a magical world.

If we were on Earth, I’d be dead by now. Drained.

Turned into a statistic of a bizarre and inexplicable case.

"Haaah... how delicious..."

She whispers between hot breaths held on my neck.

"What is my young master thinking about now, so distracted like this...?"

"No... it’s nothing. Just thinking about how addicted you are to my blood. Nothing else."

She slides her tongue softly over the freshly made mark.

A shiver runs up my spine.

"Are you sure you weren’t thinking about anything else?"

"I am."

She raises her face. Now she’s facing me, looking straight into my eyes.

Still on my lap.

Light. Warm.

Addictive.

Her arms wrap around my neck like velvet chains.

Her eyes, red and feverish, don’t blink.

She watches me with something between tenderness and hunger.

But not hunger for blood.

Hunger for me.

---

The metallic taste still hung in the air — a remnant of the blood she had just sucked from me.

And yet, everything in me asked for more.

It was no longer just the blood.

It was her.

My eyes slowly descend.

Fixing on her moist lips, half-open, stained red.

My whole body reacts.

A silent and urgent impulse, hard to explain. Impossible to contain.

We draw closer.

Slowly.

As if time stretched to allow that moment.

Millimeters dissolve.

The air becomes dense.

Too warm.

She doesn’t back away.

Neither do I.

Sm...

"That’s already crossed the line."

The voice cuts through the air.

Cold. Precise.

And absurdly intimate.

A cold shiver runs down my spine.

It’s not fear. Nor surprise.

It’s the unmistakable feeling of being watched — and knowing I was watched all along.

I slowly turn my face.

My mother stands in the doorway.

Arms crossed. Upright posture.

But the look... the look burns.

She doesn’t seem angry.

She seems like an owner.

Outraged that someone touched what belongs to her.

Her eyes don’t come to me.

They go straight to Isis.

Like a naked blade, ready to be plunged.

Only then does she look at me.

And what I see makes me swallow hard.

There is no sweetness.

No anger.

There is possessiveness.

Pure. Raw. Pulsing.

"I hope I’m not interrupting something... important."

Her voice is soft.

Too soft to be innocent.

Isis doesn’t back down.

But says nothing.

Her eyes don’t blink.

Her lips are now pressed tight — in a silent provocation.

And I, caught between the two, can only breathe deeply.

Trying to understand when exactly the kiss stopped being just a kiss...

...and became territory.

---

My mother takes a few steps forward.

The sound of her heels against the wooden floor seems louder than it should.

Or maybe it’s just my heart caught in my throat.

"Isis," she says with a cutting softness, like someone hiding a blade beneath silk.

"You’ve taken enough, haven’t you?"

Isis looks at me. Then at my mother.

And then, finally... releases my neck.

"Yes, my lady. For today, it’s enough."

She rises slowly.

Deliberately.

Every movement seems calculated to provoke — and provoke only one person.

Her hips sway with feline grace.

She smooths the skirt of her dress with her fingers.

Runs her hand through her hair.

Throws one last glance over her shoulder.

*"I know what I’m doing."*

Astrid knows it too.

And jealousy sparkles in her eyes like a spark ready to ignite something the world isn’t ready to see.

---

My body reacted before my mind.

I stand up quickly.

I go to her.

I hug her tightly.

Truly.

With all that I am.

I bury my face in her neck, letting my heart speak louder than any logic.

"Hey..." I whisper, just for her. "You’re the most important woman in my life, you know? Always have been. Always will be."

She hesitated.

The hand that was clenched relaxes.

Slides down to my back.

She closes her eyes.

Allows herself to breathe inside my embrace.

When she opens them, a discreet blush colors her cheeks.

So subtle only someone like me would notice.

"I love you, mother."

I add without hesitation.

"Don’t let anyone take that away from you. Not for a second."

The silence that follows is sacred.

But... as always...

Isis doesn’t know how to respect silences.

"Awn... what a beautiful moment. Too bad someone is missing here."

Before I can react, I feel her arms wrap around me from behind.

And then — chomp — her teeth are in my ear.

"Haaah... that taste..."

She whispers, nibbling.

"You’re mine too, young one."

My body reacts to the touch.

I turn my face.

My eyes meet the mirror on the wall.

There we are.

Three reflected figures.

Me in the center.

My mother hugging me from the front.

Isis wrapping me from behind.

The reflection is clear.

Symbolic.

Powerful.

I gently push the two apart.

One hand on each waist.

It’s not rejection.

It’s contemplation.

I walk to the mirror.

Stop in front of it.

I’m no longer the boy I once was.

Now, I measure exactly 1.80 meters tall.

My long white hair falls down my back like threads of light.

My body is strong. Defined.

The result of countless hours of training, falls, sweat, and blood.

And my eyes...

Silver eyes, with bluish tones.

With some traces of hers.

My mother’s eyes.

They’ve seen too much.

But they remain beautiful.

And now, they carry something new.

Focus.

Determination.

Maybe even a premonition.

I look at myself for a moment longer.

And, for the first time since the conflict between Isis and my mother began...

I smile.