Page 20 of Above Cursed Winds

Through it all, Jeremiah never backed down. He met every strike with his own, the unspent fury within him fueling the need for revenge that’d never come to pass. He needed the pain.

Only after it was finished and his final opponent laid unconscious and bleeding at his feet, did he return to Nero’s clan lands. Invisible, he entered his borrowed quarters and quietly closed the door behind him. One step inside, his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the wooden flooring under the effect of his injuries.

Cheek smashed against the ground, he lay unmoving, the air circulating around his injuries in the most loving caress. Each delicate whistle of wind healed the bruised and bloodied portions of his flesh. His element cradled him as he called it, willing it to wrap around his battered body.

Eyes closing, he allowed himself to relax against the cool flooring. Since Gideon’s death, he’d spent many a night on the floor, whether purposeful or not. It no longer bothered him in a way it did most people. After witnessing such terrible things, after having his soul ripped from his body, physical discomfort ranked low on his list of grievances.

The sound of the crashing tides against volcanic rock was distant, dulled through glass and wood. Allowing his abilities free rein, he clicked the lock on the sliding glass door open, pushing it along its tracks as the roar of the ocean gradually built to a crescendo.

Jeremiah remained still, breathing steadily in and out where he lay upon the floor.

Again, he wondered whether now was the time to give in. He’d lived four hundred years, lifetimes upon lifetimes, and seen wonders the world over. He’d climbed Everest, scuba dived in underwater caves, and explored the pyramids. He’d flown the world over, seeing things no mortal had ever seen.

The tethers that had once tied him to the ground had begun to loosen. Gideon had moved on with his life, establishing a new purpose with his wife. Much the same, Rukia had Isaiah now, and their child. Only Tyee had remained the same: on one of his many mysterious adventures, never knowing when he’d return to see his friends in Paracel.

When Gideon had died, he’d left Jeremiah behind. Rukia had vanished, and Jeremiah had been stuck with keeping Paracel afloat. He’d been forced to deal with it all while they took the easy way out. He had been forced to pick up the pieces of a life that’d shattered. No amount of glue would ever fix it.

Now, Gideon and Rukia—even Aidan at times—had attempted to persuade him to move past it. He loathed them for it. No one could understand what Jeremiah had gone through, and he hated that they were telling him what to feel and when to feel it.

Jeremiah had begun to wonder whether it’d be better to simply disappear. To give in to the call of his element and renounce his bodily form. ‘Becoming their element,’ the Elementals called it, but that was merely the name given to a form of suicide that seemed romantic and peaceful.

He had begun to question his purpose and calling before Gideon’s death. It was only when he experienced the shock of being incapable of saving his best friend that the hollow void began to eat him whole. Every question he asked of himself left him unsatisfied with the answer, hating every second of his pitiful solitary existence.

On the heels of his disturbing thoughts, he gave in to slumber.

***

Thunk.

Jolting into consciousness, Jeremiah’s eyes opened. He blinked groggily, attempted to clear his vision. He sat bolt upright while his head whipped around to examine his surroundings.

The condo. Nero’s clan lands. Hawaii.

Thunk.

Straightening slightly, Jeremiah peered toward the source of the sound. Light beamed in from the open sliding glass doors, brilliant sunshine illuminating the entire room. While he’d have sworn the sound had come from the wall next to him, the echo reverberated through the open door.

Thunk.

Now he knew his mind wasn’t playing tricks. In four strides, he’d pushed open the sliding door and exited the condo, lifting a hand to shadow his eyes from the burning sun.

Thunk.

Pinpointing the sound, Jeremiah turned and rounded the corner of the condo, halting when he happened upon a youngling practicing with a soccer ball.

No more than ten years old, the boy’s curly dark hair brushed slightly over his ears, his childish features hinting as the man he’d one day grow into. Though he could be called skinny, his movements were full of a strength no youngling his age should have.

Clearly a Raeth child, and one born before the most recent Heat.

As if suddenly noticing Jeremiah’s presence, the boy froze, turning wide, dark eyes toward where Jeremiah silently observed.

“I—I didn’t know there was anyone here!” he sputtered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you!”

Instantly, Jeremiah’s features softened. “Chill, little man. No harm done.”

The boy let out an anxious breath. Grabbing the soccer ball, he shifted nervously back and forth on his feet.

Jeremiah decided to break the ice further. “What’s your name?”

---