Page 8 of A Broken Ember

Water. Three days had passed. Maybe more. My mouth cracked. I blinked my dry, crusty eyes. I rubbed my face with the back of my hand, though my skin was beyond dry. I had stopped sweating long ago.

Water. My stomach shriveled; my lips were crusted with sand. Deep rivets lined my tongue, like the dunes I traversed. I panted, wishing my breath were moist, but even my air was sapped of liquid.

A shadow passed above. A vulture. It occurred to me to follow it. The creature would know where to go. Maybe. Or perhaps it was another hallucination, like the mirages I’d seen while on my endless walk through the Strip. My feet ached from the constant forward movement, but I kept on. To stop was to die. The thought was comforting. I shook my head. Keep going. Thousands of Circulus draconis were depending on me to get to the De Vita. To weaken them. The thought stirred the Ruptor, rousing me from my semi-alert state.

A screech pierced the air, making my hair stand on end. It was near and all too familiar: a draconis making a dreadful noise, reminding me of death—-a tone familiar to the Ruptor. It was the call of the suffering. My bones begged me to hunt for the source. I yearned for the comfort of being the Ruptor. Yet, to do so would compromise my mission. When I found the victim, the Ruptor would demand the completion of their Circle. A growl emanated from my chest. Fuck.

The agonizing wail assaulted the air again, rising in urgency. The sound of feasting predator birds joined the wail in a terrifying melody. I muttered an oath and did something I would regret later. The shift took over me, and I was flying moments later. From above it was easy to locate the draconis. My heart leaped in my chest as I spotted them. Their scales were midnight navy against the sandy hills, their flesh rotted on hollowed bones, scales sloughing off to reveal shredded muscle. Five vultures pecked at living flesh, a sixth swooping down to join the others. The putrid stench burnt my nostrils. It was horrid. I blinked, trying to clear the sight from my eyes, but it grew clearer as I approached. I could see their intestines moving through the thin line of flesh keeping them contained within the draconis’ abdomen. My gut churned. By the gods of the Circulus . . . How was it that I’d happened to stumble on a creature in such dire need of death? Perhaps this was another mirage—an elaborate one. I beat my wings, urging my body faster as those wretched cries escalated. I breathed in shallow breaths, not daring to inhale more than I had to. This had to be a trap. There was no place to hide my approach. No way to subtly assess the scene. They would have seen me by now anyway. My heart raced with the adrenaline of the hunt. The Ruptor roared at the blatant weakness—one so obvious and potent I couldn’t believe the draconis still lived.

When I was above the weakened beast, I dove, but the beasts didn’t shy away from me, too thrilled at the feast before them. I shifted the moment I hit the ground. Up close, the wounds were not just foul to behold. They were atrocious, worsened by the beaks of the pests indulging in their suffering. My stomach rolled, and I couldn’t stop myself from heaving. What I had presumed were intestines was a worm-like creature. It infested their body, feeding off the rotting flesh which still took in ragged breaths. The wings were shredded. At one point, someone had tried to stitch them back together as if they could heal the dead. The draconis’ chest heaved, each breath an agonizing effort. Hot blood pooled around them. Their reptilian eyes met mine, but where I expected to find hatred, I saw utter relief. They let out a long sigh, as if knowing what and who I was. I approached slowly with my hands visible, ensuring that I appeared as non-threatening as possible, not wanting to spook them. My heart pounded. I saw no deception in their eyes, only suffering. The parasites were devouring the beast, seizing control. They were a puppet in their own Circle, like I was. I frowned at the thought, contemplating it briefly before dismissing it. I lived for my Janardan. It was my choice to follow her commands.

“I’m going to help you,” I said and ran up to the closest vulture, who was gobbling down a scale torn right from the stomach. Despite the scale’s durability, it didn’t pause its feasting. In a flash of movement, I snapped its neck before it could even register me as a threat. The next eyed me warily, but the predator had become the prey. Another snapped neck and other birds scampered away, one of them vomiting before it took flight. They would be back once I left, so I would bury the suffering soul once their Circle was completed.

I tossed the dead animal away from the draconis and returned to their snout.

“Can you shift?” My words rasped from my parched throat. They just blinked at me and let out a warm breath, the sound tugging upon the strings of my soul as it escaped their jowl. I took another step toward them, coming close enough to rest my palm on their snout. That great blue eye that reflected the depths of the sea fell closed. “I see you, draconis. I see your Circle. You’ve done well, De Vita. Rest now,” I murmured, knowing the draconis’ acute hearing would let them hear me. The great beast let out a low moan, and their breathing settled into a slow rhythm. The smell of rotted flesh faintly shifted, but I focused on the draconis before me. Providing that peace, the assurance that one was seen at the end of life, was all that mattered now. That was my purpose as a Ruptor. Sometimes I hunted the weak; other times they found me. Whatever the case, it was my role to provide comfort in those precious moments. For years I had witnessed and orchestrated every death within the Circulus clan. I would wake in the night sensing the presence of death looming over someone. It was a gift and a curse, knowing when someone was weak. Bringing them peace almost made up for the pain it provided every time I looked upon the blood in the sky or earth. Almost.

The draconis gasped, the plentiful wounds on their body pulsing with blood. The stream slowed as their heart rate decreased. It wouldn’t be long now. The song of the Circulus came to mind. I choked out the tune, ignoring the cultural barriers to provide the only comfort I knew.

“Draconis

Don’t be afraid.

Circles only end

When they are complete.

Now rest among your ancestors,

Connected to those you love.”

At the end of the song, I felt the draconis’ spirit relax as their soul left this plane. Finally, they were at peace. I pressed my forehead to their snout, taking a deep breath . . . but instead of the toxic rot from the weak draconis, something else flooded my nostrils. Sunshine and spice. My heart froze in my throat.

I wasn’t alone.

Chapter 6: Anastasius

Magic brought me to Enid in an instant, but I hovered a few steps away. I was too late—that much was clear as the life left her eyes.

But she wasn’t alone.

The man with her was the most gorgeous being I had ever seen. I watched, transfixed by the scene before me. He murmured beautiful words to Enid, his voice as bright as his appearance. I should be at my friend’s side in the moments before her death, but watching the man, seeing how naturally he comforted her, soothed me. Even now, with his whole body tense, alerted to my presence, he focused on Enid as she took her last breaths.

I watched him with awe, taking in his appearance. Long white hair was tied at his nape, but it did little to cover the mark beneath. I inhaled sharply. The mark was one every Circulus member had, but his was different and all too familiar. The broken Circle. He let out a sigh, dropping his hands to his sides slowly, carefully. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and breathe in his scent. My heart tumbled around inside of me.

“That was beautiful,” I murmured.

He stiffened and slowly closed a fist. Gradually, he turned around, keeping his head bowed.

And then he looked at me with eyes so striking and familiar that I faltered. Time stopped and my breath caught in my throat. I had seen these eyes many times before, but this time they were on a man that wasn’t my friend. He wasn’t Ercan, but rather his son. The Ruptor, the one who had no mercy for his parents. The one who had killed his mother and left his father to be captured by my clan. He was supposed to be ruthless, but all I saw was the true prince of Eleos—Mercy.

Chapter 7: Claeg

By the gods. If De Vita believed I killed this draconis then my plans would be ruined. I peered at him through my lashes, keeping my head bowed in submission. The man had braided black hair which caressed sun-kissed skin. He wore a light robe, which did little to hide his flesh. Chiseled muscles rippled over his large frame. But that wasn’t what took my breath away. His body was lined with jagged scars—a sign of the weak. But he didn’t look weak. In fact, he embodied strength. My eyes rose to his square jawline brushed with stubble. His lips were jagged with scars but moist, no hint of the dryness affecting mine. Framing his eyes were sharp cheekbones and a perfectly shaped nose. And then there were his eyes. They were breathtaking, the color of a clouded moon.

Fuck, he was beautiful. The Ruptor purred, entranced by the tempting meal before me. After a quarter of a moon turn without indulging its impulses, it hungered even for the enemy. I shook my head. By the gods of the Circulus, what was wrong with me? His skin proved he was weak. He wore his scars like he was proud of his weakness. I scowled. He gazed at me with a slight narrowing of his eyebrows, creases forming on his forehead. A blade rested at his hip, but his hands made no move to grab it.

“You’re a long way from home, Circulus,” the draconis said, their voice like melted honey, with an intrigued rather than hostile tone.

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