The sand deepens.
My horse slows, snorting and stamping as massive drifts block our path. The wind howls, drowning out my own panicked thoughts. As the sand shifts beneath us, the horse rears with a desperate scream, and I’m thrown violently from the saddle.
I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling my teeth and sending a sharp pain through my shoulder. Sand engulfs me, dragging me into the suffocating darkness as I claw and kick to keep my head above the rising tide.
“Aren!” I scream, but the wind rips her name from my throat and scatters it into the void.
I kick my legs, forcing my body to move through the heavy sand. My limbs feel like lead, my muscles scream in protest, and my lungs burn with every breath. The horses’ cries pierce the storm. They’re sinking fast. The sand has buried their legs up to their bellies. They thrash and kick, but it only pulls them deeper. The sand is relentless, swallowing everything.
I can’t find her.
She’s gone.
The realization slams into me like a fist to the gut. A cold, sickening dread grips me, hollowing out my chest. My breath hitches as images of Aren buried alive, suffocating under the sand, flash behind my eyes.
No. No, no.I can’t lose her. I can’t.
The Rings in my back stir. They feed on my fear like a parasite. Their hum grows louder, vibrating through my spine, taunting me. They want to help.
Use us, they whisper.
The temptation claws at the edges of my mind. I could stop the storm—Ishouldstop it. But I don’t trust them. I don’t trust myself.
What if I make it worse? She’s out there, somewhere.
What if I kill her?
I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms, the sting grounding me. The Whisting’s wild power churns inside me, feeding on my desperation, begging to be unleashed. My entire body shakes. My head pounds with the effort of holding it back. I feel tears streaking down my face, mixing with the grit of sand.
I have to find her.
“Aren!” I scream again, my voice cracking with anguish, but the storm consumes her name like it consumes everything else. My throat is raw, my voice lost. I stagger forward, nearly blinded by the sand that slips beneath my goggles and stings my eyes.
Then I see it. A shadow, crawling beneath a collapsed wall.
Aren.
I drag my body through the unrelenting storm. The sand presses against me, pushing me backward, but I don’t stop. My knees buckle, and I slam into the ground. I claw my way forward, ignoring the searing pain in my hands and the sharp sting of tears streaming down my scratched cheeks.
When I reach her, she’s pressed against the wall, her arms covering her head, trembling as the storm rages around her. Relief washes over me so fiercely it nearly steals the breath from my lungs. I throw myself on top of her, wrapping my arms around her as tightly as I can, shielding her with my body.
“You’re okay!” I yell, though I don’t know if she can hear me over the roaring storm. She clutches at me, her fingers digging into my back as she hides her face in my chest. Sand pours over the wall, piling around us, burying us inch by inch. I kick at it, trying to keep it at bay, but it’s too fast. Too much. It’s going to bury us alive.
The Rings grow louder now, a steady, insistent thrum that radiates through every nerve in my body. They mock my fear, my weakness.
Use us. Stop this. Save her. Save yourself.
“No!” I scream, my voice raw, throat burning. “No, I won’t! I can’t!” What if I make it worse? What if instead of saving us, I doom us? I can’t give in.
My chest tightens, the anguish suffocating me as much as the sand and the wind. I futilely try to push us both above the rising tide. Pain rips through my shoulder like fire, but it’s nothing compared to the fear. The fear of losing her.
I close my eyes, my forehead pressing against hers. “Please,” I whisper, not even sure who I’m begging—her, myself, the gods. “Please don’t let me lose her.”
The sand is at our chests now. My magic rears up inside me as it senses the deadly weight crushing in on all sides. My fingers twitch of their own accord, and I clench my fists tight, fighting it.
I can’t—not when Aren is right here. Not if I might hurt her instead of helping her. Each breath I take is shallower, sharper, the weight of the sand squeezing the air out of my lungs.
The Whisting screams to be used.
