Page 5 of Dark Fate

As the edges of consciousness fray, one thought clings stubbornly—it’s a race against time, and the clock is ruthless. They need me, my blood, with its life-or-death deadline.

Two days, that's the countdown etched into the sands of my fog-laden thoughts. I’ve got to quicken the pace and beat the ticking clock because failure... isn't an option.

Danica

3

The morning light peeks through the cave's mouth with the tentative touch of dawn, pulling me from slumber's grasp. Wishful thinking might have me believe that yesterday's insanity was a twisted dream, but reality's grip is too strong, too cold.

Sitting bolt upright with an urgency that defies logic, I pant like I've been running marathons in my dreams. Hyperventilating isn’t exactly my chosen workout, but here we are. This is no time for tears;Rhylandand his brothers are still out there, and I can almost feel the weight of their absence, a tangible force.

I smother the rising horror with a hefty dose of sarcasm. Panicking is so last season. It's time to face the music—no wallowing in what-ifs. I’m out the door and scanning the space for my unwilling host.

Fadeyrn's in the main cavern, where breakfast is being served with unsettling calm. His forest-colored eyes latch onto my impromptu entrance. "Eat. You’ll need the strength," he says, all cool Fae confidence.

I glance at the spread with a squirming belly. My cooperation with breakfast is reluctant at best, but the bread goes down, solidifying the knot of anxiety already camping out there.

Silent prayers toRhylandare sent with every disheartening flutter of silence from our bond. I’m trying not to think of the cosmic “Out of Order” sign that seems to be slapped on our connection.

"He's out there, Fadeyrn," I press with a voice sharpened by worry. "We need to search—now."

He's thoughtful, frowning and knitting his brows, taking in the situation like it's some elaborate chess game. "We'll track along the river," he decides, sounding like he's read the last line of the script and knows how this ends.

And yet my mind's thrashing with doubt. How bad are the others? Are we going to get a Hollywood ending or a Shakespearean tragedy? I'm no damsel in distress but one bad day away from feeling utterly helpless.

My bread has become cardboard, and Fadeyrn’s posed like a model of mystique, giving me that 'I-wish-I-could-read-your-mind' look with enough intensity to power a small city.

"You walk like a queen with your little headpiece, but you're not Fae," he observes.

Ugh, the crown. It took forever to wrestle my hair free from that mess. My face is now so hot you could fry eggs on it. Suddenly, my lap became the most fascinating thing in the room.

Smooth, Danica, let's keep it together.

His affirmation awaits, and I’m caught in the headlights. "So, why are you here?" He’s done with the niceties now.

I'm mentally pacing before launching the truth in his direction like a catapult. What choice do I have? I'm flying blind here.

"Okay, cards on the table," I say and go all-in with the prophecy that’s got my face pasted on it, the storm brewing like a bad cold front and that glittering Faerite stone that's supposed to amp up my inner sparkle.

Trusting Fadeyrn is like juggling soap bars, but times are desperate. Here goes nothing, I think, with an internal gulp.

His jaw drops like I’ve just announced I’m the long-lost princess of Atlantis. Can't blame him, though; it’s not every day you meet a walking, talking ancient legend.

"You claim to be the prophesied one, the herald of the ancients penned in forgotten tomes?" His voice is shaky territory, like he's asking and telling all at once.

I nod despite its sheer lunacy. "Wild, right? But it’s no joke." His skepticism is front-row, and I can see the gears grinding. "Do you think I'm pulling a Houdini with this prophecy stuff? Please, I’ve got better tricks up my sleeve," I say, half baiting, half begging him to believe.

"I’m the universe’s choice and don’t carry proof in my back pocket. But this..." I let a ball of light hover above my hand, flickering with promise, "...is my resume."

His breath hitches, and I can't help but smirk. "Oh, and I didn’t just wander into Wonderland. I made my own road."

Extinguishing the light, I fold my arms with a flourish of faux casualty. "And this stone?" I lift my chin. "Think of it as my battery upgrade."

Fadeyrn's still processing, gears meshing in his head. Then he splutters, not quite mastering the look of the collected guide. "You... you are imbued with light magic? But how?"

I declare head held high, oozing confidence like a royal flush in a high-stakes poker game. "Elysium? Have you ever heard of him? Yeah, that's my celestial postcode. I'm the heir with the stars in my veins and thick magic—you could spread it on toast."

MutteringElysium’s name, he goes wide-eyed. "The Light god's descendant? Incredible...the prophecy doesn't describe who or where the Savior comes from."

---