Page 118 of Of Wind and Terror

“Everything will be okay,” I rush to reassure her, even as something hard lands directly between my shoulder blades. I grit my teeth together and hiss out air. “I promise.”

Her sharp exhale of breath trails over my neck, exacerbating my goose bumps.

“Are you okay?” Aleksander crouches down beside us and rolls me off of her.

When my back touches the ground, pain explodes within me. I grunt out something that may have been a curse, may have been a scream.

And in front of us, where the castle once was…

There’s nothing but debris.

Blaze is bleeding from a wound on his head—and there are numerous bruises scattered throughout his body—but he doesn’t seem to notice any of them as he drops to his knees and howls his despair to the sky.

The sound seems to shake some life back into Kassandra. She immediately attempts to sit up, but Aleksander places a hand on her stomach to stop her. She swats it away with an irritated hiss and finally drags herself into a sitting position. Pain dances across her face, made all the more prominent by the bruise just above her right eye.

She spots the remains of the castle right away, and her lower lip begins to tremble.

Turning towards me, desperation fueling her movements, she signs, “Bailey? The guards? King Darius?” She pauses and then adds, “Runt?”

I slowly shake my head.

I see the exact moment her expression shutters.

The exact moment grief closes around her throat like a noose.

The exact moment despair and self-loathing war for dominance inside of her.

A strangled sob escapes her, and she lowers her face to her hands and cries.

Aleksander immediately wraps an arm around her and pulls her into his side. He whispers something to her, too low for me to hear, and she sniffles and clings to him. Over her shoulder, he gives me a look I cannot read but interpret anyway.

Blaze and Kassandra are both lost in their grief, but I can go see if there are any survivors. Maybe… Maybe Kassandra will be able to heal them. I don’t want her to use her powers and be in pain, but I know she won’t live with herself if she didn’t do everything within her power to save all the lives she can.

So I get up, and I walk.

For the longest time, I only find bodies.

Body after body after body after fucking body.

All dead.

But as I move around the perimeter of the crash site, I hear tiny whimpers that drag my feet forward, towards a pile of boards. I grab the largest one and heave it up.

Alarm and relief wrestle in my chest at the sight of Runt, alive and well, his tiny pink tongue out as he pants.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe, removing another board.

The pacon wiggles his tiny body out from the pile and falls to his belly at my feet. He’s covered in scratches, and his back leg is twisted at an odd angle, but he’s alive.

He’s fucking alive.

“I am so glad to see you,” I breathe as the pacon’s eyes flutter shut.

And then the strangest thing happens.

A white, fluttery powder surrounds the pacon and expands upwards like particles of dust. I take an automatic step backwards as golden light explodes from the creature’s body. That’s the only word I can think of to use. Explodes.

Silhouetted in the detonation of light, I see the pacon’s body change and distort. Its legs lengthen, as do its arms, and its horns recede back into its hairline.

---