The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice - Chapter 74

Chapter 74: Beneath Distant Stars

[4 years later]

[POV: Zareth El’leather]

The night was cold.

Not freezing, not unbearable—just the kind of cold that settled into the air after a long summer day.

A lingering chill that brushed against Zareth’s skin as he stood alone in the training field.

Zareth rolled his shoulders, adjusting his stance.

His muscles ached—not in the way they used to when he was younger, when training left him breathless and exhausted—but a deeper kind of strain, like something inside him was still adjusting.

His bloodline had changed.

He could feel it.

The first thing he had learned?

It wasn’t about power.

The strength of the Starforged Ascendancy didn’t come from overwhelming force—it came from control.

The ability to manipulate movement, to shift weight and momentum, to bend gravity in ways that turned speed into something unnatural.

And the second thing?

It wasn’t perfect.

No matter how much he trained, there were moments where the force slipped, where his control wavered for just an instant.

A misstep, a fraction of a second too slow—enough to make a difference.

Enough to be a weakness.

Zareth exhaled and moved.

The ground barely shifted beneath his step as he closed the distance between himself and the training dummy.

His body blurred—not teleporting, but moving with such unnatural acceleration.

His spear cut through the air.

The first strike cracked against the reinforced wood, splintering the surface.

The second followed instantly, fluid and precise, using the force of the first to push the impact even further.

A third movement, barely a heartbeat later—his foot pressed lightly against the ground, and instead of stopping, he redirected the force upward.

His body lifted, weightless, before gravity reclaimed him, pulling him back down faster than normal.

The final strike came as he landed, the spear’s edge slamming into the dummy with the full force of his descent.

The impact sent dust scattering across the training field.

Zareth straightened, gripping the weapon tightly.

Still not fast enough.

Not precise enough.

Not enough to bridge the gap between him and—

He cut the thought off before it could fully form.

Vynesaa.

He didn’t have to look to know she was somewhere in the palace right now.

Maybe in the gardens, where the spirits seemed to gather around.

Maybe in the grand halls, surrounded by nobles who spoke about her with admiration.

She had always been ahead.

Not in arrogance, not in some cruel way—just naturally.

Effortlessly.

Like she was meant for something greater, and everyone around her could see it.

And Zareth?

A prince. A noble.

Strong, but not extraordinary.

The thought settled in his chest like a weight, familiar and unwelcome.

Tomorrow was his birthday.

The palace had been preparing for weeks.

Nobles, warriors, envoys—important people would be there, drinking fine wine, exchanging polite words, watching from the sidelines with unreadable expressions.

They would be there for him.

But also for Vynesaa.

For the ones who had proven themselves to be exceptional.

And Zareth knew how it would go.

A celebration. A speech from his mother. Polite conversations.

Then, inevitably, comparisons.

“The princess is truly remarkable.”

“Have you seen Ed’s progress? A human, yet…”

“Ah, Prince Zareth—his control over his bloodline is improving, I hear.”

Improving.

Not great. Not incredible. Not legendary.

Just improving.

Zareth let out a slow breath, tilting his head up toward the sky.

The stars were bright tonight, scattered across the vast black like distant fires.

He had spent years looking up at them, wondering if they held some kind of answer.

If they were watching him now.

Maybe he had spent too much time reaching for them.

Maybe it was time to pull them down instead.

He lowered his gaze, rolling his shoulders, adjusting his grip on the spear.

Enough thinking.

He still had a long way to go, he still didn’t know what are these stars shape things on his hand and why they glow under stars.

But the glow was increasing by each passing day.

—

[POV: Vynesaa El’leather]

The moonlight spilled softly through the open balcony, casting long shadows across the marble floor.

A cool breeze carried the scent of the palace gardens.

Vynesaa stood near the railing.

The gardens stretched below her, bathed in silver light.

Beyond the walls, the vast forests of the elven kingdom.

She inhaled slowly.

The Sylvanheart Ascendancy was not something that screamed for attention.

It did not demand obedience, nor did it crush those who could not wield it.

It was quiet. Gentle, yet firm.

A presence that watched, listened, and understood.

But it was always there.

She had felt it since childhood—whispers in the wind, the shifting of roots beneath the soil, the slow hum of the ancient trees that had stood for centuries before she was born.

It was a part of her.

Just as Zareth was.

Tomorrow was his 16th birthday.

The palace had been alive with preparations for weeks.

The halls had been polished to perfection, the banquet tables would be filled with the finest wines and delicacies, and the noble families had already begun arriving in the capital.

It was an important day.

A prince’s coming of age.

And yet…

Vynesaa exhaled, tilting her head slightly.

She wondered what he was doing right now.

She had not seen him since early afternoon.

He trained alone these days.

Even when he had the opportunity to refine his techniques under the best teacher of the kingdom—he preferred to be alone.

Vynesaa understood why.

She could feel it, even when he did not say it outright.

The frustration.

The quiet, simmering thought buried beneath every action, every glance, every passing conversation.

“Not enough.”

Not fast enough.

Not precise enough.

Not strong enough.

Not enough to be compared to her.

Vynesaa did not think of herself as arrogant.

She knew she was gifted.

Not because she sought recognition, but because it was simply true.

The spirits did not just answer her—they came to her.

Magic did not resist her—it flowed through her like breath.

She had never needed to struggle for what Zareth fought so hard to grasp.

And that was the difference between them.

Vynesaa did not resent him for it.

She did not pity him, either.

He was strong. Stronger than most. Perhaps stronger than he allowed himself to believe.

But his path was different.