Page 141 of The Cruel Dawn
I blink and see Jadon’s boots backing away from me.
I blink, the sky is gray.
I’m alone.
Linione.
No moths. Spryte depleted.
I blink, and a bank of fog surrounds me. Lights twinkle in this new gloom. The wind roars.
My heartbeat slows…
Those dead windwolves circle me. They laugh, and they howl.
You always fail.
35
I’m speeding through the Aetherium like a dying star, through the dust of realms that used to be and realms yet to come. Pain slices through my core and cuts into my heart, burning up my throat until it fills my body like broken glass.
I want to scream. I’ve never felt pain like this, and I never will again.
I want to close my eyes forever, but in Anathema, I will wander with them open.
I tried to do the best I could for the realm, for my people, but it was never enough, and now…I’m dead.
However…I glimpse a realm that I don’t know. I want to turn my head away, but my neck won’t move no matter how hard I try.
Ithlon Realm.
Heat surrounds me in this new land with its sea of crystal. As the flames around me die, I glimpse a colorful quilt on the seashore.
I see a tall woman bright with light, with glowing bronze skin, her wild curls the color of mulberries and cinnamon.
I see a man, his bare chest covered in the orbs and vines of destroyed realms, his eyes ever-changing pools of golden smoke. Sitting between them: a girl with still-soft knees and pudgy arms, her wild hair and his golden eyes. The girl piles wet sand to form a castle.
The world beyond this beach is a drab shoreline. There are no fish swimming in the sea, no birds flying across the sky, no slick-backed creatures slipping like arrows through water.
A basket filled with honeycakes, wine, and crabapples sits on that quilt. The knife by that spread isn’t meant to slice food. It’s a weapon of war.
Not far away, one raven perches on a boulder while another hops across a fallen, rotted tree. Their feathers are as glossy as the sea.
The man stands and scoops the tot from her piles of sand. He plants kisses on her ruddy cheeks and runs his fingers through her curly hair. He smiles, but there is regret in his eyes.
The woman stands, and the joy in her face melts into fear and worry.
His smile dies and his smoky eyes turn as flat and lifeless as the waters beyond this beach.
She presses her face against his large hand as she speaks.
What is she saying?
He kisses the top of the child’s head. The girl pulls a lock of his thick hair. He presses his forehead to her tiny one.
A raven hops across that quilt and picks through the basket of sweets. The bird finds a small cake but then discovers the knife. It drops the cake, plucks the knife from the basket, and soars back into the dying forest.
For a moment, the woman watches the raven. Then she turns back.
