Page 76 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Viridian searches my face. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

My sleep isn’t kind to me that night.

Images flash before me.

I see my father. Acantha.

Loren.

People are wailing around me. Their grief is so strong, so palpable, that I feel as if I’m drowning in their sea of sorrow.

Slowly, I turn. I cover my mouth in horror.

All around me are holes. Pickaxes strewn about. Some whole, some broken. They’re all scattered between the graves.

The grisly headstones span as far as I can see. There are no houses, no farmland, no windmills.

Only graves.

Miners’ graves. One by one, claimed by the sickness. Until there were none left.

When I turn back around, Father, Acantha, and Loren are gone.

“Father!” I cry until my voice runs ragged. “Acantha! Where are you?”

I start to run through the graves, reading each one with desperation. Praying I’ll find them. Praying they’re not in the ground.

“Father! Acantha! Loren!”

“Cryssa!”

“Father!” I shout. “Father, where are you?”

But my father’s cry grows faint. “Cryssa!”

“Father!”

I force myself to go faster, pushing myself through the burning in my thighs. I trip. Lifting myself up onto my elbows, I spit the dirt from my mouth.

“Cryssa!” My father’s voice is nearly gone.

I move to stand.

And then…

Darkness.

“Hello?” I call out, whirling around. Ebony nothingness surrounds me.

A figure steps out from the shadows.

“Who are you?” I ask. “Step back.”

But the figure keeps walking. I move away from it, though no matter how fast I am, it always closes the gap between us.

I freeze. Though, it’s not of my own accord. It’s as if my feet cling to the earth, even though there is nothing below me.

The figure stands, eerily still.

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