Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 225

Chapter 225: See You Again (4)
Eros studied her for a moment before nodding. “Good,” he said simply, pushing himself to his feet. “Because the war isn’t over yet.”

Ahcehera followed his gaze to the battlefield beyond, where the Zerg forces still lingered on the horizon, waiting for their next move. She wiped the last traces of blood from her lips and stood, her legs unsteady but her resolve firm.

Rohzivaan may be gone, but she was still here. And as long as she drew breath, she would fight. Without another word, she turned toward the battlefield, the grief in her heart now tempered by something else.

–

The battlefield had gone eerily silent after the last of the Zergs retreated into the smoky remnants of the wasteland. The air was thick with ash, fire-lit clouds hovering low like a curtain drawn over the violence that had just unfolded.

Amidst the debris and torn-up earth, Ahcehera lay motionless, her body pale and limp, barely clinging to life. The explosion of the soul bond between her and Rohzivaan had been like a death sentence delivered from the universe itself.

Eros knelt beside her, his armor smeared with blood and the grime of war, sweat beading on his forehead as he pressed his hand over her chest and poured what remained of his strength into her broken core.

He had fought the remaining Zergs with unmatched ferocity, as though his fury alone had driven them back. There had been no tactical advantage, no shift in power, only Eros and his refusal to let her fall. When her body dropped, he hadn’t screamed.

He hadn’t wept. He had fought harder, as if her life depended on his endurance. And now, with the battlefield quiet, his battle had changed form. Instead of enemies with claws and teeth, he fought an invisible war within her.

She was no longer bleeding, but her life was suspended, delicate as a thread between stars, fluttering with uncertainty. Ahcehera’s consciousness floated in the void of her coma, her mind a shattered reflection of who she once was.

She was aware, distantly, of warmth beside her, of a voice, deep and steady, whispering her name with desperation. Eros. He never stopped speaking. Days passed in that darkness, though to her, it felt like centuries.

She felt no hunger, no fear, no emotion. Everything that once made her Ahcehera had been drained out, leaving only a husk of a soul in waiting. Sometimes, she drifted further, and his voice would grow dimmer, but always, like a lifeline, he pulled her back with his words and energy.

He kept giving her his essence, his life force, trying to patch the tears in her spirit that had been left when Rohzivaan’s presence vanished. She wanted to thank him, but she had no mouth, no thoughts strong enough to form words.

She was grateful, yes, somewhere deep beneath the numbness, but even gratitude felt foreign now. She wondered if this was death, a peaceful, empty place where time moved slowly and emotions were distant memories.

At some point, she remembered the feel of Rohzivaan’s hands, the sound of his voice, and then she remembered the pain that came with losing him, and it was then she understood why she had become so empty.

Her mind had locked it all away to protect her from the pain of loss so immense that it had threatened to obliterate her completely. Her body, though protected by Eros, was merely a vessel now. He didn’t stop for rest.

She felt him beside her constantly, sometimes holding her hand, sometimes cradling her head in his lap as he murmured stories of their travels, of the battles they’d won, of the people who still needed her to rise again.

He never asked her to wake up. He only told her he was there and that if she returned, it would be her choice, not because the war needed her but because he believed she still had something worth living for. That belief was a thread tying her to the world.

Her dreams, if they could be called dreams, were pale and grey. She wandered through fog and shadows, her feet never touching the ground. She searched for something, she wasn’t sure what, but every time she got close to remembering, the image slipped away like dust through her fingers.

But even in that wasteland of her mind, Eros’s energy reached her. It was a golden tether in the dark, pulsing gently with warmth and life. He was relentless, and his presence grew stronger with each passing hour. There were moments when she could almost see him through the haze, a silhouette of firelight and sorrow, determined to not let her go.

The longer he stayed, the more his energy wrapped around her, not forcing her to return but keeping her safe in the void she had chosen. His power had begun to stabilize her spirit, to stitch the ragged edges of her soul together, not to make her what she was before, but to make her whole in a new way.

But even as her body started to heal, her heart did not. Her emotions had curled into a ball deep inside her, too afraid to resurface, too broken to trust the world again. She knew, even as her mind drifted on the edge of consciousness, that when she woke, she would not be the same.

The love she had felt, the joy, the fire, had been replaced with ice. Not bitterness, not hatred, but numbness. Cold acceptance. A refusal to feel anything that could be stolen from her again. Still, Eros stayed.

He was her anchor. She felt his exhaustion, the way his life force flickered at times, but he never gave up. He never pulled away. And that made her ache more than anything. She didn’t want him to burn himself out for her.

She didn’t want anyone else to suffer because of her emptiness. But her body refused to let go, even when her mind wanted nothing more than to vanish. Perhaps, she realized, it was not Eros’s voice or his energy keeping her tethered. It was guilt.

Guilt that someone still fought for her. Guilt that she had the luxury of falling apart while others endured. Somewhere in that thought, something shifted. Not warmth, not hope, but an awareness. A flicker of will. Not to return, but to exist again, at the very least.

To open her eyes. She didn’t know if she could be who she was before. She didn’t know if she would ever laugh again or cry. But she could breathe. She could move. She could stand. One slow breath at a time, her soul began to recognize the body it had abandoned.

The fog began to thin. And at last, she felt her hand twitch. Eros caught it immediately. He didn’t speak this time. He only held her hand tighter, and for the first time since falling, she felt warmth that wasn’t borrowed. Her breath deepened.

Her heart, though still heavy, beat stronger. Her eyelids fluttered.