Chapter 377: Faded

Third-person POV

Electra did not react right away.

The fire still circled her grandfather, steady and contained, throwing shadows into the endless dark. She stood across from him, her face slowly smoothing into something unreadable. The shock had passed, the disbelief had dulled, and what remained was thought.

Her eyes lifted to meet his. “Why?” she asked quietly. There was no anger in her voice at all, only a need for clarity. “Why did you take my memories in the first place?”

He did not answer immediately, and she continued before he could.

“And why are you suddenly offering them back?” she added. “You don’t seem like someone who acts without a reason. So tell me what it was.”

The flames shifted slightly, as if responding to the shift in her tone. She kept her posture straight, her hands relaxed at her sides, though her fingers were tense.

“You wouldn’t have done something like that without a purpose,” she said. “So what was it?”

Her grandfather watched her in silence for a few seconds longer. His expression did not change, but something in his gaze sharpened, as if he were looking past her face and into something deeper.

“Well, as you do not remember our first meeting,” he said at last.

Electra rolled her eyes. “We already established that, old man,” she replied flatly.

He ignored her rudeness. “The first time we stood face-to-face,” he continued, “I made it clear to you that you were a disaster waiting to happen.”

The words did not echo, but they settled heavily between them, but Electra did not move.

“You carried power that you did not understand,” he went on. “Power that even I resented, and I didn’t resent your powers because they were weak, but because they were vast, uncontrolled, and housed inside someone who was ruled by emotion.”

His voice remained calm, almost detached, but the meaning behind it was sharp.

“You frightened me,” he said plainly. “Not just because you’re still a child or the disgrace you could be to my name as my granddaughter, but because I know just how much of a force you are.”

Electra’s jaw tightened slightly, but she stayed silent, letting him speak.

“I have seen what beings like you become,” he continued. “When that much power is mixed with human attachment, with grief, with anger, with love… it does not remain balanced. It tilts, it breaks, and it ultimately destroys.”

The fire rose a little higher, then lowered again.

“So I made a decision,” he said. “I removed your memories.”

Electra’s brows drew together faintly, but she did not interrupt.

“I left you in confusion,” he added. “In uncertainty. You woke without history, without identity, and without understanding of what you were. I believed that without those anchors, without the weight of your past, you would not react the same way you would have once did.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she remained quiet.

“And more than that,” he said, “your human side had already begun to fade.”

That made her blink.

He continued, still composed. “Your human half was fragile. It was always going to be in the background the more you discovered yourself. The more your true nature awakened, the less of it remained. By taking your memories when I did, I believed the transition would be smoother.”

Electra’s expression finally shifted. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice losing its steady edge.

“You are not simply half-human and half-phoenix,” he said. “You are something far more unstable than that. Your human emotions amplify your power. Every attachment deepens it, every loss sharpens it, and every act of love or anger feeds it.”

He looked at her evenly. “I believed that if you lost your memories, you would lose the emotional ties connected to them. Without those ties, your reactions would dull, and your decisions would become colder and more controlled.”

Electra stared at him, confusion clear on her face now. “You thought I would be… what? Empty?” she asked.

“Calmer,” he corrected. “Detached and less reactive. Without your human side fully present, I believed your power would remain dormant.”

She let out a small, disbelieving breath. “I don’t understand,” she said quickly. “You’re talking like my human side just… disappeared. I didn’t even know that happened.”

“It did,” he said simply. “And as to whether or not it would come back, I can’t say for sure.”

Her mind raced. “And what do my emotions have to do with my memories?” she demanded. “You’re saying you took my memories to dull my emotions? That doesn’t even make sense.”

He regarded her with steady patience. “Memories shape emotion,” he said. “Emotion shapes response, and response shapes power. You are not like other beings. In you, the connection is direct.”

Electra let out a short, sharp scoff. It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the space between them. She shook her head once, disbelief written plainly across her face.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, her voice edged with dry frustration. “You took my memories, the ones that would have kept me even slightly human, because you thought I would make emotional decisions with my powers. That’s what this comes down to?”

The fire behind him shifted, but her grandfather did not. “That is essentially correct,” he replied without hesitation.

She stared at him for a long second, almost waiting for him to say more, to soften it somehow, but he didn’t.

“And now,” he continued calmly, “you must decide whether you want them returned.”

His ember-bright eyes remained steady on hers.

“You may reclaim your memories,” he said, “and with them, your attachments, your full emotional depth, and the amplification of your abilities that comes with it.”

He paused, letting the intensity of that settle.

“Or you may continue as you are now. Detached, controlled, and unburdened by deep ties to anyone. A life where your emotions do not dictate your actions.”

Electra’s jaw tightened faintly. “A life where I don’t care about anyone,” she said flatly.

“A life where nothing can be used against you,” he corrected.

Silence followed as Electra did not respond right away. She looked away from him, her gaze drifting into the endless dark beyond the circle of fire. Her thoughts moved quickly, but her face remained mostly still.

After a few seconds, she spoke again. “Before I answer that,” she said quietly, “I want to know something else.”

He waited.

“You said my human side was fading,” she continued, turning back to him. “Why?”

Her voice had lost its edge. “Something must have happened,” she went on. “Because from what you’re telling me, all you did was take my memories. You didn’t cause whatever happened to that part of me. So what did?”

The flames flickered higher for a brief moment, then steadied again. Her grandfather’s expression did not change, but something in his gaze grew heavier.

“Well,” he said slowly, “in a way, I was responsible.”

Electra’s eyes narrowed. “In a way?” she repeated.

“When your earthly stepmother, Jella, arranged for your execution,” he said evenly, “I intervened.”

The name struck something faint inside her, not exactly a memory, just tension.

He continued, his voice still controlled. “You were meant to be killed in front of hundreds and become a spectacle, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

Electra’s hands curled slightly at her sides. “So you stepped in,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied. “But not in the way you might think.”

He took a single step forward, and the fire followed. “I whispered an instruction.”

“To who?” Electra asked, though she already sensed the answer.

“To Seraphina.”

The name hit her differently for some reason, and Electra’s breath slowed.

“She carried a sigil carved into her back,” he continued. “A binding mark. It maintained the balance between your human half and your phoenix half.”

Electra’s confusion deepened. “What does that have to do with me?” she asked.

“When Jella prepared to have you killed,” he said, “I instructed Seraphina to stab the sigil.”

Electra froze. “You told her to what?”

“To stab it,” he repeated. “To break it.”

“That sigil was stabilizing you,” he explained. “But the vessel carrying it, Seraphina, was already weakened. She had nearly died before that day, so the balance was fragile.”

Electra shook her head slightly. “You’re saying breaking it helped?”

“It saved your life,” he corrected. “But it damaged the equilibrium.”

He held her gaze. “By shattering the sigil, Seraphina disrupted the force that kept your human and phoenix sides aligned. Your human half was already weakened due to her condition, so the break made it even weaker.”

Electra swallowed. “And that’s why it’s fading,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

She stared at him, trying to piece it together. “So while you were taking my memories to make me less emotional,” she said slowly, “you were also involved in breaking whatever kept me balanced.”

“Yes.”

The bluntness of his answer almost made her laugh again, but this time there was no humor in it. “You keep calling her the vessel,” Electra said. “I don’t understand what it’s supposed to mean.”

“You can ask her for an explanation, but the simple summary is, as long as Seraphina remains alive and unharmed, your human half will always exist in some form. It may be faint, and it may be difficult to access, but it will never fully disappear.”

Electra’s chest tightened slightly. “And if something happens to her?” she asked.

The fire dimmed just a fraction. “If she dies,” he said calmly, “the balance will cease to exist entirely.”

“Your phoenix nature would consume what remains,” he continued. “Without the anchor of your human half, your power would destabilize.”

Electra’s throat felt dry. “And then what?” she asked.

“You would die,” he said simply. “Not by another’s hand, but by your own power.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep