Her eyelashes trembled. Slowly, with effort. One eye cracked open, letting in a dim gray glow. The other refused to obey, remaining shut.
Consciousness crept back sluggishly.
Thoughts wandered. Back and forth. Colliding, dissolving before they could form words. Appearing, vanishing. She didn't know where she was. Gradually, sound began to push through—at first faint, then stronger, until it filled everything.
Her eye opened wider.
Movement beside her—unclear, blurred.
For a while, that was all.
Then pain tore through everything. First her side—a thin streak. Then her shoulder. Her chest. Her head. It came in waves, one after another, until it consumed her whole body. It felt as though every cell had suddenly come alive. Muscles burned. Bones cracked from within. Her blood pulsed like molten metal poured through her veins.
A cough rasped from her lips. Her body jerked. Her eyes darted, searching for something—anything.
Thoughts took shape, but without connection. Fragments and a single realization: she was still alive.
Green light flickered, uneven and sparse. For a heartbeat it drenched the walls, then faded. Each flare of light seared deeper through her body, the pain rising higher, sharper.
She tried to move—but her body wouldn't obey. Every breath drained what little strength remained.
Her vision cleared.
The world came together. Now she could look straight ahead.
Lips beside her moved. Forming syllables. The chant was faint, like from far away. She didn't know the words—but she knew the rhythm: brittle, strained. Something familiar, yet distant. A church incantation. Yes—that was it. A girl's face surfaced in her memory, then slipped away.
Where hands pressed against torn flesh, it began to bubble, bringing with it a sharp wave of pain.
At first, small blisters rose, like water beginning to boil. They burst, leaving bloody gaps. From within, new layers of flesh were forced out, stretching forward, closing—then tearing again.
The wound's edges quivered, alive, reaching toward one another.
Threads of tissue stretched, fused, snapped, and joined again. Jagged scars formed before her eyes.
It all happened in jerks, as if her body were being rebuilt piece by piece—each fragment resisting the process.
After a while, she was able to see him.
Her eye focused. Through the fading haze, a face emerged. His eyelids twitched with strain, his lips shaped words. Sweat rolled down his cheek, fell onto her skin. His hands never left her wounds.
She saw his trembling hands. The blood under his nails, smeared across his palms—her blood. Each word of the spell sent another wave of agony through her.
The incantation broke on the final syllable. He collapsed backward, gasping for air in ragged bursts.
Sweat streamed down his face and neck, darkening his collar. His eyes were bloodshot; in one, a vessel had burst, the white turned pink. His skin was ashen gray.
His hands shook. They were soaked in her blood—fresh and drying, sticky, sunk into his skin and nails. His fingers twitched with exhaustion.
"You…" Her voice cracked out in a rasp, raw, as if through a torn throat. It caught his attention immediately. "…Zenith…"
Cough.
The sound broke into a harsh fit.
Her body arched. Her chest constricted. Pain lanced through her lungs. It was unbearable.
One lung had torn.
The spell had sealed the tissue—but not completely. Blood burst free again, flooding her throat. Each cough sprayed it from her mouth in crimson bursts.
"Shut up!"
His shout hit her ears like a blow. He began chanting again immediately, voice cracking with every syllable.
Green light spread from his palms. At first a thin, trembling thread—then a flash that flooded the darkness. Pain returned instantly. It burned her skin, then reached muscle and bone. Her chest gurgled, each new surge of mana making it worse. It felt like her whole body was being torn apart, bones and tendons pulled in opposite directions.
She wanted to scream—but couldn't. Her throat seized; the voice froze inside it.
Her mind drifted—flickering between awareness and nothing.
Green bursts blinded her. Each time sight returned, her body writhed from the heat and pain. Then blackness. Then light again.
She couldn't hold on anymore.
Then—everything fell away. The light vanished. The pain dissolved.
Darkness.
***
Pain lived in every movement.
It had burned for a long time. But now—now there was too much of it. Every cell screamed, as if the flesh itself was held to flame. I couldn't remember when it began. How much time had passed? I didn't know.
The flow inside me raged. Mana thrashed in every direction. I clung to scraps of control, each one slipping from my grasp faster than the last.
My head throbbed. The syllables of the spell still spun on my tongue, tangled and broken, but I repeated them again and again until my breath became a dry rasp. Sweat ran down my face, stinging my eyes. My hands wouldn't obey—but I forced them to stay pressed to her wounds.
Words tore from my throat as hoarse gasps, cracked and strangled. Each new spell scraped my vocal cords raw. I felt my throat tightening, every word drawn out through pain.
With every effort my voice grew quieter—first dull, then raspy, then barely a whisper.
I collapsed onto the stone. The words stuck in my throat. I opened my mouth, trying to say anything.
"R… kkh—"
Blood surged up from within. Hot, thick, choking. It flooded my tongue, ran down my chin. My voice died in a rasp. I tried to inhale, but my lungs met only pain, veins bursting with every breath.
I couldn't speak anymore. All I could do was gasp, clutch at the faint pulse in my temples, while consciousness slid toward darkness.
I looked at her through blurred vision. Her face was indistinct. She was breathing—still breathing. Faintly, but alive.
I held her. I'd managed… a little. But beyond that—nothing. No strength. No body left. It was over.
She'd die anyway.
I'd failed.
My head dropped forward. I struck myself. Hard. My teeth clacked; pain cut through the haze. My hand trembled—but I hit again.
My eyes snapped open.
"Can't… pass out…"
I knew—I couldn't keep chanting. My voice was gone. My strength was gone. Another attempt would break me for good. If I did nothing—it would be the end. For her. For me. For both of us.
The stone trembled. Something slammed into the cave. Dust fell, trickling through my hair.
I turned toward the entrance. The gray gap flickered, violet light flashing within it. A thought flickered through my mind:
I need to…
But then I looked back at her.
Roxy. Barely alive. Her chest rose rarely, each breath scraping for air.
If I don't do something—she'll die.
The only way out was through. Out there. Through the storm, through the vortex devouring the forest.
Could I?
Cold filled my chest. Stay here—in this hole, this cave that could collapse any second and bury everything.
I didn't know what to do.
Thoughts crashed into each other. Escape. Her. The storm. The cave. Her again. The noise in my head was louder than the roar outside. Each heartbeat pushed me forward, then pulled me back. The exit. Her breathing. The vortex. The stone above.
Where… what…
I couldn't move. Couldn't stay.
My teeth ground hard enough to crack. My body trembled, unsteady. I lifted my foot and took a step. The stone crunched under my boot, echoing in my skull.
I froze. My throat tightened.
Behind me—her breath. Weak, ragged. Each inhale like the last.
I had no choice. However this step ends—it's death. For her. For me. For both of us.
What are the odds I make it through the storm? That it doesn't tear me apart in the first second?
What are the odds I reach Paul? That the village still stands? That anyone's even left?
What are the odds Roxy survives? That she doesn't choke, or bleed out, or fade into silence?
I didn't know.
Everything spun in my head, crushing me from within. I was lost in despair.
"Forgive me…"