The lights flicked back on.
Coughing, Roque stumbled forward, his voice rasping, “Nei...Nei!”
“Here. I’m fine. I’m fine.” His wife lay across the room, looking shaken but unscathed.
With ringing ears, Roque stood, any trace of the Oilean and Aine gone; the scorched ground and the ashes skittering around the room were the only trace of what had happened. The room tilted, but Roque walked toward the table, the blackened book pulsing with light, the surface of the wood completely singed underneath it.
“Roque, no! Can’t you see it?”
Nei was before him in a second, pushing against his chest, shielding him from the work they had cultivated over the years, the work that would change the face of their culture, for Emory, for Kiero. The book that contained spells from worlds of Langther, the windwalkers, Daer, and the fey, and he had been the commander behind such an expedition. A desolate, orchestrating the most influential artifact Kiero had ever seen.
Now, all of it was destroyed in a second.
He seized her forearms. “Nei, I have to see it! All our work...” he trailed off, and tears slid down her face.
“They destroyed it. I can...sense it. It’s dark magic. It’s not safe. We must get rid of it! Roque listen to me. The channels are destroyed, closed. It’s over. But those faeries tainted it. They may be gone; they may not be. But their magic is a siren call to them. A weapon. And dark magic only calls to its master.”
The stirring of the Academy sounded behind them, and his mind was freefalling. Clenching his teeth, he said, “No. No, we will hide it, and until we can understand it, we won’t destroy it.”
Nei paled, stepping away from him, shaking her head. “Aine’s and Damien’s blood is now staining our hands, and you would have us keep it?”
There was no trace of the rest of their society having disappeared with the Oilean. No blood stained the floor. Ash was the only trace left, floating gently down to the ground. Roque looked up at her.
“Yes, we are going to keep it. We don’t even know what we are dealing with yet. All those years of forming this group will not go to waste. The whole point of this group was to prepare and compile a history of each world’s culture and magic, a peaceful agreement to bridge foreign allies with Kiero. To pass down to our children so they could live in a world not in arms with one another.”
The memory became washed out and dull, churning until Adair’s settings become clear once again. Curled up on the tunnel floor, cold sweat soaked through his shirt, clinging on the inside of his jacket.
“You see, we did have one purpose.”
Shivers racked through him, making his teeth chatter as the voices cut through him.
“For your greatness, Adair, we needed your body to act as our vessel. Together, we will be unstoppable.”
Tears slid down his dirtied cheeks, and he pushed himself up onto his knees, whispering to the darkness, “No, please no. You promised me, if I did this, if I k-killed them, I would be free. I would be more.”
“You already are.”
They attacked relentlessly, tearing through his mind, through his ability, through his memories. His secrets and fears, all dissolving as he was pushed under, drowning in the old magic burning through his veins. It was like having his oxygen cut off, everything becoming fuzzy except for the last desperate attempts to remind himself of who he was.
Laughing with Emory as the sun set, the golden light brushing the world in a soft luster.
Walking through the courtyard at night, the rest of the Academy asleep, but when the stars erupted in the velvet sky far above, tracing constellations, leading his heart and his mind to every untouched adventure that awaited him. He would lie on his back, boots crossed over his legs, the bench cool underneath him as the hours slipped away, directed by his imagination, and reality would shatter him.
All that ever mattered was that one day he would break out of his confines, and he would discover exactly what the world had to offer. Because each day that disappeared and Adair was taught about the mythology, the history, and the mystery of Kiero, a piece of him died because he wasn’t experiencing it.
Adair snarled and clawed and threw himself at those memories, at the burning desire to hold on. As fast as they came, they were gone, and the walls of his reality disappeared as well. The room was much like the one before, the curling stairs plunging down into the cavernous room. He stepped forward, his footfalls echoing and falling alongside his panicked breaths. Down and down, he walked. Sweat collected in his palms, as he clenched and unclenched them.
Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, he turned, a soft silver light bouncing against the slick walls. A pale hand stroked his cheek. The touch froze him and broke down every barrier he had, laying him bare. Every dream, wish, hope, longing that had ever taken root within him was gone.
Until he felt nothing.
Until he was nothing.
“Adair.”
Tears fell as his lip trembled.
“Don’t be afraid.”
He felt their nails dig into his jacket, pulling and pushing, and he didn’t know what his reality was anymore.
The Oilean hissed in pleasure, clawing at his chest, at his arms, pushing him further and faster back. Stumbling, his gravity tipped, and the wind was pushed from his lungs. His fingers started to burn, the heat spreading viciously up his arms, binding his legs, surging through his chest. It splintered and pulled him apart, and all he could do was watch in horror as all around him dark spears sprouted from the ground, shuddering around him and growing taller and taller.
And that darkness that had been waiting for him, greeted
