14
SHATTER
We shattered the Soulstone, but not in true love’s unity, as we all make it back down to our bodies. Our horrible Bloodwalking a failure, it takes us a moment before anyone can even sit up on the star-cavern’s black stone, shuddering with agony from everything we’ve endured.
The cavern is a wreck. Massive chunks of the ceiling have come down, and it’s a miracle none of us were crushed, as Lærke shifts down now in an exhausted wave from protecting us.
Gargantuan cracks are riven through the floor, walls, and ceiling from the divisive energy that assaulted us in the stars. The ornate star-pattern of the walls is ruined; the standing stones with all their intense sigildry no longer mimic what was in the Void, if those star-stones even stand in the Void at all anymore.
Because even the Void was ripped apart from what we called to us in our botched Bloodwalking. It’s a power so potent, an energy so all-consuming, that it could literally rip the fabric of the universe apart. I shudder to my blood and bones as I understand what we’re up against.
A division energy so ancient, it can unmake the very cosmos itself.
I understand now that it’s not just some old god of the Blood Dragons coming for us. It’s a cosmic force our oldest Ancestors tapped into that fucked them up; just like we fucked up with our failed Bloodwalking right now.
But they fucked up even bigger, manifesting whatever’s out there into our world from their failed ceremony. I still don’t know what they were trying to do with their power, since we didn’t manage to contact anyone who was part of it.
I do know, however, that whatever intentions they held as they created their masterwork were off—way off.
Just like ours were right now, as we called disaster to us.
But we have other things to address first now. As I finally turn to look at Bjorn and Ström, neither has risen yet upon the fractured stone floor of the cavern. Heaving hard breaths, both stare at nothing, as I feel through our bonds how they struggle to come back to themselves.
As I scoot over to be with them, coming between them and setting an exhausted palm to each of their chests, I feel how both their hearts beat erratically. Frantic, both still feel lost to their inner rage and wrath, though we’re all disastrously drained and no magic rises inside us.
I feel how badly Ström and Bjorn still want to rip right up and go Wraith and Berserk right now, rushing off to join the battle for the Old Palace, thanks to everything that happened there.
But it’s impossible. We were drained of our very soul-essence out in the cosmos; I don’t even feel entirely like myself right now, but strangely porous, as if I’m not quite here anymore in the world.
I sit quietly, heaving hard breaths from our ordeal, as Mikkel, Baldur, and Lærke scoot over and put hands on Bjorn and Ström as well. We mourn everything we’ve lost, because everything is lost now, as I feel the Black Dragon roar through my connection to it.
Triumph spirals all through it, as it wings away from the battle, called off by Hedda via Lithava. Hedda is controlling the show now, riding the Black Dragon and making it feel elated her drakes will soon be returned toit. As she gets Lithava and her mates to rip open a massive portal, allowing our enemies to retreat now, I see it through the Black Dragon’s eyes.
But I feel only jubilation, as Hedda celebrates all through the Black Dragon’s mind.
Laughing, before shutting off my connection to the beast—entirely.
“Fantastic. We’re fucked.” Mikkel’s caustic laugh orates everything I’m feeling, as he sees my vision through our Bloodbond. We sit in the echo of Hedda’s celebration, the sundered cavern silent all around; its stones no longer ring, as if whatever magic they held has been lost, too.
Because we all know Hedda’s wights will rush back to the cradle of the Black Dragon’s birth, to be returned to it via Hedda’s second ceremony. And Hedda has everything she needs to work her second ceremony now.
And soon perform the third—sealing our doom.
But I cannot focus on all that, as my first two drakes battle for their very sanity now, in the waning darkness of the cave. Glancing up, I see why the light is dim; the glow from the fractured sigil-stars flows out from their riven places, as if their magic has been sundered in the universe by what happened here.
Everything is darkness now; from the disastrous battle to the sundered stars, to my drakes’ riven hearts. I close my eyes in my desolation, and pray for everything I’m worth.
Praying to gods I’m not even sure exist anymore.
“Even in the oldest stories, sometimes the gods lose.” Baldur’s voice is quiet now, as I feel him dredge deep from his exhausted power. Already linking whatever he, Mikkel, and I have left, he pours it into Ström and Bjorn to brighten their hearts, at least a little.
“Gods don’t exist. Those stories are parables,” Mikkel snorts as I open my eyes. I expected to see him wicked or wrathful, but it’s a strange, ultra-bright fire that lights his dark eyes now, as he glances at me.
Starbursts of copper and white sear through his eyes in a way I’ve never seen before. And I know why those beautiful starbursts shine in Mikkel—vibrant. It’s because Lærke is part of our family now, eventhough she’s not Bloodbonded to us. It lights Mikkel up inside with a hope the rest of us don’t feel.
Everyone except him and Lærke.
“Parable or not…” Lærke pins me with her gaze now, on fire with beautiful spring green and searing, bright white because of the hope she’s feeling, like her brother. “The darkness hasn’t won yet. We’ve been hit hard. We’re down right now, but we can still get back up. The darkness doesn’t win unless you let it, Rikyava. I divided my heart for years, understanding that. Because I had to keep that part of myself separate, lest it take me down forever. Now I can be whole again and feel it. And know that it doesn’t own me… but that I am my own drakaina. I can shine, despite the bitterness of my past. And the darkness I once thought would devour me…”
