Page 86 of What Blooms from Death

I chanced a glance at Kaelen, who seemed to be trying to avoid my gaze. His brow was deeply furrowed in thought. The expression highlighted the dark circles beneath his eyes and a puckered scar above his cheek. A man who had clearly seen his share of battles. Horrors and sorrows, too—and had likely inflicted his share of such things.

Despite this, he didn’t really strike me as abadman. More like a desperate one. But the desperate ones were far more dangerous, I’d long ago learned.

Because you could predict what a bad man would do.

That wasn’t always true of a desperate one.

And worse: Iwantedto help his city. I wanted to rekindle all the fires, to go back to the market and find that distraught-looking woman and see how I might be able to aid her. It was a familiar compulsion of mine, the need to fix things. A role I’d gravitated toward throughout most of my life—that of the helper.

Often to my own detriment, as Orin frequently chastised.

But like so much of what I’d encountered in this realm thus far, so many things about Erebos simply didn’t add up. I had the same feeling with Kaelen as I did with Thalia: That he was leaving parts of the narrative out. So how could I possiblyhelp? It would be like trying to steer a carriage that was missing one of its wheels.

The mansion came back into view, its whitewashed exterior burning orange in the light of the strange sky—a lighting that I was beginning to associate with late evening. Whether that was accurate or not, I didn’t know; I just needed to label it in order to give myself a sense of time and meaning.

Rather than walking straight to the main residence, we veered onto a more narrow side trail, twisting our way past overgrown hedges and dead clumps of prickly bushes, following a path of red bricks that soon gave way to mere dirt. There were curved metal troughs lining our way; scorch marks in their interiors suggested they, too, had once held flames—but now they were empty, just like the metal bowls in the center of the city.

The manor remained in my peripheral vision, but that wasn’t where Kaelen led me. Instead, we made our way to a smaller building off to the right, where a sizable host of wraiths milled about in a fenced section of yard. Most of them were carrying more shallow versions of the metal bowls I’d seen on display in the city, each with a small, dying flame in its center. Like starving people wandering, preparing to beg for food that I feared didn’t exist.

“What is this place?” I asked softly.

Kaelen’s expression was solemn. His voice, low. Pained. “An infirmary, of sorts. A holding place for the ones whose flames are going out.”

Ones like that distraught woman in the marketplace?

“Sometimes they find a way to rekindle their fires, however briefly. Other times…”

“They’reerased?” I asked, recalling the word he’d used earlier.

“You’ve seen the shades outside of this city. They’re the cursed ones, the fallen ones—the ones who aren’t strong enough to keep themselves burning, so to speak.”

I couldn’t help my morbid curiosity; I stepped closer, studying the gaunt figures who stood before me. The beings were caught somewhere between the drifting shades and the sentient wraiths, as Kaelen suggested. Their bodies were still well-defined, solid aside from the occasional wispy edges. Butthey moved slowly, as if each step took a massive effort. It was haunting to watch them struggle. Like I was watching the living embodiment of dying hope.

“You say you can’t control your magic,” came Kaelen’s voice, cold and distant, “butsomethingmust trigger it. The question is…what?”

He seemed to be speaking more to himself than me. Regardless, I had no definite answers to give him. Lots of things seemed to trigger it. Fear, pain, arousal…any powerful emotion.

And the strongest waves, unfortunately, were undeniably kindled during my interactions with the King of Light.

Another fact I had no intention of sharing with Kaelen.

As I continued to watch the fading wraiths, a sudden, sharp pain ripped across my shoulder and down my arm, followed by a blossoming warmth. It happened so abruptly it took several seconds longer than it should have for me to register what that warmth actually was—

Blood.

It rushed over my arm, soaking my sleeve and gathering at my fingertips, a few drops dripping down to the dusty, grey ground.

Fear and confusion tangled together, tearing a violent path through me. My shadows leapt to the surface, ready to defend against whatever threats were causing me pain. Their movement triggered a reaction amongst the fading wraiths—they surged toward me so violently, I nearly fell backwards. Clearly drawn to the energy I’d unleashed, to the scent of blood and magic swirling in the air.

“As I suspected,” came Kaelen’s still-musing voice, from somewhere far behind me.

I realized quickly what he’d done: He’d answered his own question, pulling my magic to the surface on purpose, throwingme like a scrap of meat to a pack of dogs just to see what would happen.

One of my shadowy scraps drifted into the faint flame carried by one of the wraiths, and to my surprise—and horror—that flameinstantlygrew brighter.

The one holding it slowly lifted his gaze to mine. His eyes seemed to grow more aware, morealive, even as I stared into them.

Again, I found myself bringing life and light into this world, rather than the death and darkness I was used to.

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