Page 14 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
“Please! Please help me lift these!” I pleaded as I choked on the thick smoke. As I wiped the blood that trickled from my brow, my hands started trembling as I gathered my strength to try again.
“We have to leave, NOW!” Zayn urged, reaching for my arm, but I recoiled, shaking my head vigorously. “NO! Not without Mother!” I cried, my heart pounding like a war drum as I fought against the encroaching darkness of despair.
“Fuck!” Zayn shouted, and together we heaved the beam off of her.
I wasn’t ready.
I thought I was. I thought I could be brave. But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
My knees gave out beneath me. I collapsed beside her broken body, my hands flying to her face, trembling as I brushed aside the blood-matted strands of hair that clung to her skin. Her face—once so full of light—was barely recognizable. Pale. Bloodied. Beautiful even in death’s cruel embrace.
“No, no, no—Mother…” The word shattered in my mouth.
And then—“E-Elara…”
It was the faintest whisper. But it was her.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
Her voice rattled through her chest like gravel, and blood—so much blood—poured from her lips, dark and endless, staining my hands, the floor, and everything.
“Shh, shh, don’t talk,” I pleaded, cradling her head against me, my voice cracking with every word. “It’s okay… it’s okay… I can fix this. I can heal you.”
I didn’t know if I was lying to her, or to myself.
Magic surged under my skin, unstable and wild, and I reached deep, desperately clawing at the pieces of it, searching for the part of me that could heal, that could save.
But there was nothing.
Nothing but chaos.
Zayn knelt beside us, his voice thick, strained with emotion. “Elara… it’s too late. Even if you had the magic, even if you had all the power in the world—”
“No!” I screamed at him, at the gods, at everything that had brought me to this moment. “She’s not gone, she’s not gone, she’s not—!”
My arms tightened around her. Her blood smeared across my chest. My lips pressed to her temple, and all I tasted was iron and ash and loss.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, over and over, words barely forming through my tears. “I didn’t mean it—any of it—I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you—please, stay. Please stay…”
Her eyes fluttered open. Clouded. Flickering. Still full of that unbearable, unshakable love.
“Y-you are destined…” she rasped, her mouth trembling, her voice fragile. “…for g-great things, my child…”
She smiled. Or tried to. But another wave of blood spilled from her lips, and she began to choke on it. I leaned in closer, and she whispered—words only for me. Words that shook the very foundation of my soul.
Secrets. Burdens. Truths I never asked for.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, rocking her gently. Her breath hitched, slower now. Shallower. “Please, don’t leave me. I need you. Please, Mother…”
But she was slipping. I could feel it. With every faltering breath, a part of me was being ripped away.
I looked to the sky—or what little of it I could see through the flaming wreckage above—and begged. Begged anyone who might hear me.Lunara. The stars. The wind. The gods who had forsaken us.
Please… not her.
More blood poured from her mouth.
And I knew.
