Page 123 of The Ballad of a Bard

His chest heaved, what did this mean?

His gaze snapped back up to the cart long out of his sight as he stepped in front of Cobalt. “Rook.” He called and the man came to his side without complaint.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Take Cobalt back to the room and lock it. Make sure that no one takes him.”

“West-” Cobalt tried to protest but he only turned and sank down in front of him onto one knee. He grabbed his shoulders gently, forcing his attention to him and only him.

“Listen to me, Cobalt.” He said softly. “I’m going after her. But in order to do that successfully, in order to make sure that I can get to her, I need to know that you’re safe first. I need you to be brave for me. Do you think you can do that?”

The boy listened patiently.

“I need you to go with Rook and stay in our room, okay?” West couldn’t have Cobalt on one side of his mind, whilst Crimsonwas on the other. “I promise that we’ll both come back, that you won’t be alone again but please do this for me.”

Cobalt’s mouth twitched up. “Promise, Gold?”

He held his hand out, every finger down except for the very last, very smallest one. West didn’t fight his grin as he replicated it and wrapped his pinky around his, tight.

“Promise, Blue.” He uttered and stole one last hug from the boy before rising to his height and straightening his spine. “Go on now.”

He was done being a pawn, used against anyone- let alone her. He was a damned Saint, a full one, and he’d been letting a half control him. Sentries murmured warily around them, hands slowly finding their weapons and withdrawing them, levelling them at West and Cobalt. As his magic completely settled into him, searing his soul like the start of a new galaxy, he flexed his fingers.

Rook pulled the young boy away before he could be hurt and ushered him towards the palace doors. Cobalt peeked over his shoulder for another look at him, and West only dipped his head in confirmation. He turned back around without any struggle, allowing himself to be led away.

“I suggest,” He started with a hasty chuckle that felt so good after years of everything being tucked away, curling his hands into a fist as he flared. “That you close your eyes.”

They charged.

He exploded.

And the world shuddered around them as West allowed himself to return to North.

Moonlight as pure as a freshwater pearl poured from him, slanting through every crack and crevice in his skin. It draped across the realm and shattered the guards sight as he raced forthe start of the Gold Gate. West called the sparkling stardust of every single orb in the night to his beck and call, slamming it on top of the light that shot from him.

He ducked under an overhanded swipe of a sword from a man who cried out as soon as he blasted radiance. The weapon easily flew over his head by a couple of inches and West slid on his knees along the cobblestones, ignoring the ache of the rock that tore at him. He shoved off the ground as another sentry chased after him. Pebbles tumbled underfoot, slipping down the slanted walkway as he jumped over another guard.

Three followed on his tail, one daring to attack after everything he’d just witnessed. Bold, he’d give him that.

The Saint had them down in a matter of minutes with a focused beam directed at his line of sight, a punch to the upper gut and a sweep of his leg. The second was out within a handful of seconds as he slammed his elbow into his chest and sent him flying back. The third paused, smart thing, but ended up charging at him with a scream that was meant to bolster his confidence. West grabbed his wrist, flipped him over and left him on the ground.

Two more hurdled after him.

He was only three feet away from the Gold Gate.

There were certain things that he could do as a Saint, harness as the Northern Star. Any light belonged to him. He could blind, whip it around, turn himself into a star. He could glimmer and glow. The everlasting darkness, he could wrap around him until there was nothing to be seen but his eyes, which could never be dulled- no matter how much of a glamour that Dream tried to put in place. Shadows, that allowed him to slip in and out of places without being seen if he so much as wished it. And then there was his favourite one, one that he hadn’t touched in ages.

The crescent scythe.

The power of the moon and the sharp glint of the wicked curve it held, even in its round shape. The light that blasted from him might have been written off as a trick of the eyes, a blink and it could disperse. Blending into the shadows could be a sign of stealth and creeping feet. But this?

There was no explainable answer for it other than the fact that he was one of the six.

West twisted his arm as he pictured the item, his magic rallying to obey him and sent a small crescent moon hurdling at the last opponent. It flew through the air and sliced through his shirt, blood oozing from the cut on his arm. His goal wasn’t to kill these men, not when he’d known them for eight years, worked alongside them, respected and trained them.

But he needed to get to her.

So he’d do whatever it took, including tearing the world apart. Heartache had already built it from a speck of dust floating in the cosmos, he could easily do it again.

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