Page 65 of A Rising Hope

Born to love, bred to fight.

But so fucking be it.

I was a survivor.

I would endure. Against all odds.

I was Finnleah, Daughter of the Dead. And I would never yield.

I’d sleep today. And I would sleep tomorrow. And each day after.

I would stand and face my haunted dreams with my eyes wide open, so whatever world, whatever cursed place my mind would wander to, would know that I would not fall. I would withstand it all.

And then I would burn it all to the ground.

I stayed motionless, forcing my mind to lose itself to sleep.

A second later and the soul-rendering terror swallowed me entirely. I watched spikes as thick as my arm pierce Gideon again and again, shredding his body piece by piece. I watched creatures of claws and teeth feast on the bodies of people I knew. My voice became raspy from the silent screams that erupted from me as I watched people of all ages die.

I coughed, choking on the bile burning in my throat as I sat up, shaking.

Awake. I was awake. I scratched the red stinging burn of my vision mark on my unsteady palm. Cold sweat rolled down my back. My skin paled, and I felt lightheaded.

The sounds of the village being rebuilt, happening outside and the sun blazing high above meant that time had passed, and I had slept.

I was awake. And I was alive.

And I fucking slept.

Even though the horrors and the nightmares made my eyes burn with tears, I slept.

Priya grumbled, rolling over as she slowly recovered from the toll her body had taken from killing all the creatures.

I was victorious, and yet my heart was full of dread. My eyes lingered on the broken glass, watching a little moth climb its sharp pointed end, scavenging for shade or food.

I just needed a single fleeting sign from him. Anything.Anything.

“Please be alive, Gideon,” I whispered to myself, fighting the despair that was like tar covering my soul. “Please.Please, I beg you, stay alive.”

A chill breeze brushed my clammy skin, and I hoped it’d carry my words to him.

A small boathad been loaded with provisions, polished and waiting for its adventure. Marching through the village, I chewed on a piece of dried fish. Everyone was busy at work. Bodies of the monsters burned, smoke billowing up to the small clouds above before getting scattered by the wind. I was dressed in freshly washed and cleaned leathers, daggers, knives, and a crossbow on my back. Nicks and cuts stitched and mended. My face washed and hair braided as I winded through the crowds.

Priya was already at the beach, settling down in the boat. Her commanding snarls the only warning needed for the terrified mages to scatter away.

I held the map tight underneath my arm. A gift from Frederick De Villiar, who was similar to Viyak, wounded by alive.

A silver compass hung down my neck on a long chain, a terrible replacement for Tuluma’s necklace I had given up, but much more useful for the journey ahead.

“Heading out?” Xentar caught up with my step.

“Yep.” I nodded.

“Give her hell.” He patted me on my shoulder before getting called by the crowd near him. Every mage, old and young, wasbusy at work recovering the little normalcy they had. Each group responsible for something as their magic restored their homes.

I reached the edge of the island, heading for the steep steps carved in the cliff that led to the beach, when someone called out my name. I turned to see a beautiful young lady. Her charcoaled hair was down, pinned on the sides by small red roses, so deep in color. Gusts of ocean wind ruffled the long, flowy skirts of her worn white dress.

“Hi, can I help you?” I looked at her again, so familiar and yet I couldn’t quite place her name.

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