OGE POV...
I still remember the way his words fell, slow and deliberate, like stones dropped one after another into my chest, when my brother calmly asked—almost too calmly—whether I had ever tried cutting myself just to see if my body would heal on its own, and as unsettling as that question was.
It was nothing compared to what followed, because after he finished writing everything down with that focused expression of his, he began explaining each detail out loud, his voice steady as he walked me through my abilities and even his own, answering questions I hadn’t yet found the courage to ask, until I realized that compared to him, my existence as a Banshee carried no grotesque distortion of the body, no outward curse, only a terrifying gift hidden beneath the surface.
The ability to glimpse the near future—an ability far more potent than I had imagined, yet one that demanded a price, because such visions would only come through screaming or crying aloud, a revelation that made my heart clench in fear as I wondered what would happen if someone saw me like that, if they witnessed me breaking down without understanding why.
When I voiced that fear, my brother reassured me, telling me it would only happen around people I deeply cared about, people who would understand, and yet his tone soon changed, growing heavier, colder, as he told me there were two absolute rules I could never forget as a member of the Wild Hunt, as a Banshee—first, that our secret must never be revealed, because the history of Cursed Child and Banshees had been erased through blood and silence, narrowed down until it became nothing more than myth, since anyone foolish enough to spread the truth had always ended up missing, dead by accident.
Or erased so completely that not even their memory remained, and when he admitted that even he didn’t know how many of our kind existed, that everything he knew had come from instinct rather than records, my shock deepened when he spoke of the Holy Shrines, because the moment he said their name, I felt an instinctive chill crawl up my spine.
He told me, without hesitation, that if I ever tried to reveal the truth, I would be hunted—by my own kind, by his kind, or worse, by the Holy Shrine—and as he said this.
The darkness in his eyes ignited into a menacing crimson glow, his voice dropping into something ancient and merciless, like an elder recounting a horror story meant to scar a child for life, and despite my fear, curiosity pushed me to ask why, only for him to explain that humans would never accept the truth.
That they would ridicule only me, brand me insane, or try to exploit me, and if the secret spread far enough, it wouldn’t just ruin my life—it would lead to a massacre where every human who learned the truth would either die in an "accident" or vanish from the world entirely.
As he paused between each statement, I felt myself changing, realizing I was no longer the naïve girl I once was, because my illness and everything that had happened recently had already shattered that illusion, forcing me to accept that I had only two choices now—to adapt or to die, to summon courage or drown in fear while waiting for the world to strike without warning—and when I finally asked, barely able to meet his eyes, whether even our parents and sister were excluded from the truth, his answer hurt more than I expected, because he told me that unlike his case, mine was far too dangerous, far too unique, and that only the two of us could know.
Then he spoke of the second truth—that as a Banshee or Cursed child, we were likely to live far longer than humans, aging slowly as transcenders, growing stronger through meditation and sub-techniques that refined the body, filled the Mana core, and eventually reduced our dependence on blood by drawing energy directly from the world itself, yet the cruelest part wasn’t the power.
It was the future, the certainty that I might one day watch my family, my husband, my children grow old, wither, and turn to dust while I remained frozen in the body of a growing teenager, forced to choose between living quietly as a normal Banshee or pursuing strength and slowly drifting away from what it meant to be human.
I told him I needed space, curling into myself beneath the tree as he left me alone with my thoughts, and I could feel the weight of the world pressing down on me despite the cool night breeze, as if everything I had dreamed of was collapsing at once.
Only finding a fragile sense of calm when the moonlight brushed my skin and reminded me that I was still alive, still here, and when loneliness finally overwhelmed me, I called out to my little brother, asking if we could just walk for a while, because the fear of secrets, death, and a future without the people I loved had become too much to bear, and as I stared into the darkness where he stood, six crimson points slowly emerged, expanding until they became his glowing eyes, watching over me in silence.
[Author Notes: I would like to say a big thank you to everyone for reading this novel, and our top fans,I appreciate every comment, review, powerstones, golden tickets you guys give the book. But we need more.]
[Our hunger grows!]
[If you want more Chapters, here is a chance to do it, vote, vote and vote for Cursed System, thanks to everyone who voted we were able to get over 34 powerstones this week, hitting two milestones, let’s push even harder this week to hit 50 powerstone milestone, for extra 3 Chapters this week. Thanks once more for voting and commenting, don’t forget to enjoy the Chapters, also, special thanks to marcus_rice for the golden ticket]