The Devil's Cursed Witch

As his conscience battled with his rationality, Morpheus’ gray eyes stared into her green ones. 

“I do. I love you….” he confessed with a smile. I love you Ember.”

And then he leaned to give her the kiss she was demanding.

‘Even if it is wrong, even if you forget this, even if it is a memory only I can cherish…let me be selfish for the last time, my love.’

He savored their kiss, imprinting each precious second, relishing in her sweet taste.

Yet no matter how sweet an illusion is, in the end, Morpheus had to face the bitter truth—that he was in love with a woman who did not love him back.

‘I hope you forgive me, Ember,’ he could only pray silently in his heart. ‘If you remember this kiss, may you not feel disgust for this lowly selfish man. Even in death, I could not bear your hate. Don’t hate me. All I want is for you to never hate me.’

As soon as their lips parted, suffocating guilt assaulted Morpheus. What he felt for Ember was something that he had never felt for any female in his long life. 

He wished to claim her, to have her for himself, and that desire was only growing more threatening and dangerous with each passing second. The beast inside him was attempting to break free of his control, but Morpheus leashed his instincts in—he had no wish to do something which would earn Ember’s hatred.

To him, nothing was more important than this green-eyed woman, not even his own crazy desires. 

Since she was the woman he vowed to protect, and even if she was not Draven’s mate, he was a man with morals. He would not have done more without her consent. He might be a beastman, but he was not a wild beast who could not control himself. 

That night, after sending Ember back to the palace, Morpheus found himself sitting at his favorite spot on the ridge near his sister’s cave.

It was as if he could still feel Ember’s soft lips against his. Her sweet scent lingered around him, causing the corners of his lips to lift from time to time. He quietly waited at the edge of the cliff, at times falling into a daze. He knew Draven would come for him. 

How could that arrogant Black Dragon miss the fact that Morpheus had taken advantage of his mate?

A strange feeling of exhilaration ran through Morpheus’ veins, similar to a high one would have when dancing with death. 

‘He should be here soon. Let’s have one last good fight with him.’

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‘Shall I provoke him more so he won’t hold back in his attacks? Would be fun. I know though, he will hold himself back in the end. That arrogant but soft-hearted man…if only you were an evil, despicable tyrant, I would have the resolve to kill you a long time ago… Maybe our twisted friendship—no, our brotherhood—maybe this too is destined.’

As expected, Draven stormed in anger upon sensing the intense scent of Morpheus on his mate. The Divine Eagle easily provoked the enraged Black Dragon, causing half a mountain to collapse in their fight.

Time passed. When Morpheus got the design of the weapon from Zelda, he immediately took it to Thala, and when he asked Aureus to provide his blood, there was no more turning back. 

In his heart, he knew he owed his nephew for keeping him in the dark.

‘Forgive me, kiddo,’ he could only apologize in silence. ‘I am a terrible uncle. Not only am I implicating you to deceive the King, I am also making you participate in a scheme that will kill the family member you just regained. 

‘It is cruel, but such is life. Some things had to be sacrificed. I hope you will understand.

‘Forgive me, Aureus, so that when you meet your mother in the future, you will tell her not what kind of lousy uncle I am but what a great, heroic person I am.’

On the day of the mourning, everything was conducted as planned. Morpheus had done things according to the vision, mirroring the future. He came early to scout the Netherfields, ordering his subordinates to place various gifts to all the gravestones, such as giving camelia flowers for the witches and baskets and wreaths of rare herbs for the Wood Elf Clan.

After the prayer ceremony, Thala successfully managed to get Draven’s attention, leading him away from the Netherfields. Meanwhile, Morpheus used his control over the warriors to disengage from the crowd and flew towards Draven’s palace. 

Zelda explained to him that the palace was a vital element of the vision. It was the place where the incident was destined to happen, that was why part of the plan involved getting  Draven to stay as far away as possible from the palace, as well as stalling him for as long as the Witch of Destruction could. The Black Witch meticulously calculated the exact time from the position of the sun in the sky in the vision, allowing Morpheus to plan the timing of his departure. 

When he reached the palace, he was shocked to see Isa about to stab Ember. 

‘Is there a mistake? Is this an effect of changing the future? I thought Ember is supposed to stab—’

Despite his confusion, Morpheus swooped down from the sky, hurrying towards them. His mind almost exploded in shock at the sight of the divine weapon in Isa’s hand. It was exactly the  same as the drawing Zelda made. 

“This little fox, she can’t—”

And as he shielded Ember from the fatal stab of the divine weapon, Morpheus found himself enlightened. The pieces of the puzzle in his mind formed a perfect picture. 

A person cherished by both Leeora and Cornelia, a weapon created to kill a divine beast, a woman stabbing a person to death, Ember flying into a fiery rage…

Morpheus had perfectly mirrored Draven’s destiny.

Dying while protecting his beloved woman, dying to save his closest friend, dying for the sake of his kingdom—nothing could be more fortunate than this for a warrior. 

It was a blissful death.