Memphis followed his agitated movements as he whispered, “There are no desolates that survived, Brokk. My p-parents...”
Brokk crossed the space in two strides, bringing his best friend into a tight hug. “I know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kept his voice soft as Memphis completely broke down, the loss of their world crumpling down around them all. It would seem Cesan was making sure it would be a fight of might against might. The loss of the innocent lives crashed into him, carving out a hole that would never be healed.
Minutes passed until they finally broke apart and Memphis gruffly whispered, “What can we do?”
Running a hand through his hair, Brokk weighed the situation. “Right now, I say we make it through the funeral. After that, we can start digging.”
“And if we don’t have enough time?”
Brokk looked his friend square in the eyes. “Then we fight for what we believe in. If that’s still the Academy, then we do what we can.”
A heavy silence locked in between them and Memphis groaned. “I hate it when you’re right.”
“I know.” He grimly smiled, clapping him on the back. “Now come on, don’t we have the same class next?”
He stalled, his gaze lingering on a worn, black book. Dried blood stained the pages, and it looked like it had been shoved back into place. He mused, “And what are you doing here?” He grabbed the book, the worn title staring back up at him, Myths of Kiero. Intrigued, he flipped open the old pages, the book naturally falling open to a worn page, and as Brokk read, his eyes widened with every word. Looking up, he whispered, “I think I found our first lead.”
Memphis walked over, peering over his shoulder. He soaked up every word, and when he was finished, bewildered whispered, “Do you think it’s true?”
Brokk smiled wolfishly. “There is only one way to find out. Meet me at my room tonight at twelve.”
The corners of Memphis’s mouth pulled down. “What about the lockdown?”
He winked. “You truly think I haven’t discovered an alternate route by now? Just be there.” They filed out, Brokk tucking away the old book with the rest of his things, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. They walked through the bustling hallway toward an afternoon of listening to Professor Smet drone on about the history of Kiero and the trading routes developed over the years. Which to say was pertinent, seeing as their trading partners were the Shattered Isles.
Casting a look over to his best friend, Brokk’s heart sank. He had never had a family to lose except Emory and Memphis. He had fantasized about what his parents would be like and look like, but they were never a physical thing he had. Memphis’s skin was ashen, his bloodshot eyes squinting against the bustle of the Academy. Every step was too quick, every movement jerky. He didn’t know what he could possibly say that would make this situation easier. So, he said nothing at all as they navigated the hallway.
13
Adair
The days had little meaning anymore. Ever since arriving back at the Academy, he felt hollowed out. Every second, every breath, his heart sank a little deeper, his thoughts consumed by one thing. To find this Book of Old. After he had killed the creature from Sarthaven and passed out, Roque and Nei had moved him so he awoke in their office, bloodied and bruised but nevertheless there with them. With their pale faces staring at him filled with fear. He clenched his fists, remembering the discussion. How they were so proud that he was standing with the Academy even though both of his parents...
He had blocked out most of the conversation after that. But sitting there as they bantered on, the room around him seemed to bend and move, like the ocean, until he was staring at one fixture in the wall. It seemed to pulse, a strange glow seeping around the edges, a deep green. The mist spiraled and churned toward him, making his pulse thrum. Blinking, he was entranced but pulled himself back to the conversation. He had nodded and thanked them graciously, saying that he was honored to be a part of this with them. How of course he had thought his parents were wrong. He had left them reassured, claiming he needed rest and had made his leave.
The first thing he did after heading back to his room was get rid of the book that had led him to the Gortach. The Faes wouldn’t be looking for it, especially in the common library. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t care who found it; it would only lead them to their death. A day had passed, and he could practically hear that call clamber to him through the walls of the Academy. Find me. Find me. Through his classes, through the night, it called to him. He went through the mandatory day, floating through his classes, his mind constantly calculating how he would get back into that room. How he would claw and tear through the walls, destroying and consuming. Until he found it. He could practically taste that same ancient magic oozing through the walls, and he wanted it. He blinked, looking at himself in the mirror. His bedroom was more chaotic than usual, books and clothes strewn around the space. His skin was deathly pale, bruises covered almost every inch of his skin. Deep bruises lined his eyes, leaving a dark stain. Taking in a shaky breath he started to unbutton his loose shirt.
One came loose. And then another. Slowly he made his was down the line, until the shirt floated loosely to his sides, and his breath hitched. At his heart’s center, a circle the size of his palm had risen to the surface of his
