OMF V4C35 He Regretted Nothing

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A slight gasp sounded in the darkness, breaking the silence and seeming especially loud in the empty room.
For a while, his ragged breaths were the only thing filling the silence. If not for the pain that still racked his whole being whenever he took a breath, he might not have been sure whether he was still alive.
He turned to the side and curled up in the hope of alleviating the pain but it didn’t help. On the contrary, the movement made it even more painful. He pressed his eyes shut and continued to lie in the darkness, not moving a single inch for fear of suffering through another bout of pain.
He waited for it to slowly subside and only then did he crack his eyes open. Hazy light fell into them, blinding him and making him moan again. He felt as if he hadn’t seen it for a few years already when in reality it couldn’t have been more than one or two hours since he came to this room.
He never would have expected that the consequences of his actions would be this harsh. But he didn’t regret. He would never regret. That he was sure of.
He continued to lie there until his breath finally evened out. When silence enveloped the room again, a pale hand reached upward and clasped the edge of a stone altar. He remained like that for a moment, half-kneeling, half straightened up, until he finally opened his eyes completely. The signs engraved on the front of the altar fell into his sight.
He touched them gently and sighed. What did it matter if they warned him or not? This was something he had had to do. Now, there was no going back anyway.
He took a deep breath and pulled himself up with the help of the altar’s edge. He stood there, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind, his legs seemingly ready to collapse at any moment. Without the support of the altar, he certainly would have fallen to the ground again. But he couldn’t falter yet. He had already done what he intended to do. Now, all that was left to do was making sure that nobody would find out.
He lifted his other hand that held onto a dagger. The weapon was slim, the blade only as long as his fingers. Its most noticeable trait was its color though: It was crimson as if it had just been bathed in blood. In fact, in the hazy light of the room, it seemed to give off a subtle glow.
He placed the dagger down on the altar and stepped back, his gaze lingering on the weapon for a moment longer. Even though his body was still soaked in cold sweat, he could hardly believe what this seemingly simple weapon was able to do. It really was right for this to be locked away.
He slowly lifted his hands, magic surging through his veins until a pale blue light condensed at his fingertips. He painted in the air in front of him. An afterimage could be seen for a moment but nothing else seemed to happen. The afterimage faded and only those pale hands remained, unerringly painting in the air.
Finally, he took his hands back and his lips lifted in an imperceptible smile as if satisfied with the work he had just done. He only managed to take another step back before blue lines lit up. They instantly illuminated the whole room and formed an array that enclosed the altar and dagger, shutting everyone out who possessed even a shred of magic.
He continued to smile but turned to look at the door on the other side of the room. He remained standing there and listened with his head slightly inclined. Everything outside stayed quiet though. He couldn’t hear any movements from the guards. It seemed they were still busy dealing with his diversionary tactic. Nobody had found out what was going on inside the room. They hadn’t even noticed that somebody had managed to sneak inside.
A light sigh escaped from his lips and the last bit of tension left him. If he could, he really would have liked to collapse on the spot and rest for a while to recover his energy. He couldn’t do that though. He had planned well but this could also be called being lucky. He had to use the opportunity well or he would have a lot to explain if they caught him. Maybe … they would even find a way to undo what he had achieved. He couldn’t risk that.
He walked to the other side of the room and stopped in front of the door. Once again he breathed deeply, shaking off the last trembles in his limbs and that bit of breathlessness that had still persisted. He dabbed at the sweat that beaded his brow, smoothed out the strands of his hair that were out of place, straightened his sleeves, and raised his chin.
Seeing him like this nobody would be able to gauge what he had just gone through. Nothing could be gleaned in regard to the previous pain that had made him even unable to move. He seemed elegant and refined, like someone who would never violate any taboo.
Now, he had to make sure that it stayed that way.
With a last look at the stone altar and the crimson dagger on top, he opened the door and stepped outside, arriving under a canopied corridor leading around a courtyard.
He looked in both directions but nobody could be seen. The guards were indeed still far away. With a slight smile on his lips, he turned to the side and left the place he shouldn’t have entered, following the corridor deeper into the palace. By the time the guards finally returned, it seemed as if nothing had ever happened.

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