“I’m sorry!” A tear falls from my eyes. Its path down my cheek is slow as it pushes through the dried blood, dirt, and sweat, attempting to forge a bitter path.
“You were scared of the truth. I knew you would be. I saw how today would end, and I do not blame you for it.” His confidence is now a whisper, each breath tight and pained, like fire that screams when water is poured over it.
“Then why didn’t you run from me?” I hiss in outrage.
“We are soldiers. We don’t run from what scares us. We embrace it.” His lip twitches in agony.
I lower him to the ground, locking eyes with him. Magic creatures can heal faster than humans, but heart wounds are often fatal.
His eyes cry with discomfort. I look at my sword and begin to reach for it. Once I pull it free, he’ll bleed out in seconds. His pain will vanish.
“Wait!” He seizes my wrist.
“Keeping it in only prolongs death,” I gently admit.
“Let me finish.”
I slowly nod. “What’s your name?” I ask.
His teeth grind when he exhales. He lays his head back and looks up at the sky. I know the sight he sees.
“I won’t let the birds have you, friend,” I assure him.
“I know.” He nods as tears roll down his cheeks. “My name is Everett."
There are those consequences.
“Prince Everett of Solaria?” I ask with dread, already knowing the truth. That’s why he’s a skilled fighter and wears such ornate armor.
“A prince is just a man, and a castle is merely stacked stones. We’re all the same in the end.” Everett’s breathing slows. “My death will win you this war. My father will stop.” He smirks. “One man’s death can win a war or start it. One man can change everything.”
I hold him closer. “My name is Titus.”
He closes his eyes. “I know.”
“So you can foresee.”
Everett doesn’t reply. I want to shake his shoulders. I crave his snarky rebuttals.
The surrounding battle is louder; the bubble he trapped us in is on the cusp of breaking because his time is almost up.
Instead, he asks, “Do you know what happens to a fae’s magic when they die?”
I glance at my sword. The blood pouring from his chest slows now. His heart is barely pumping.
“We release our magic into the land again, but we have a choice, Titus. We can gift it to another.”
Slowly, I push my hands on each side of my sword, trying to slow the bleeding, but it is a fool’s folly. He and I both know it. He doesn’t flinch when my hands press in. He has moments left now. “I don’t understand.” I lick my lips, feeling all the cuts that sting under my parched tongue.
Everett’s hands grab me. I expect a sword to meet my flesh, but it is just his fingers. He speaks words I don’t understand, and then a surge of icy cold numbness sinks into me. I hear my heart slow, and the blood in my veins sounds like a calm river brushing against a peaceful bank.
His eyes glow, locking me in place and binding my tongue shut so I cannot utter a word of defense. Then a massive, luminous shadow rips from his body and curls into a ball that rests on his chest.
“I give my magic of time-weaving to you, Titus Tarragon, to use until you find the Vitalis; then, I release my magic back into the lands.”
His words spill free like a blow to the stomach. Too much at once, impossible to shove back in. My body sways like a sword, forced to endure and be responsible for its actions. His words keep pouring like blood into my mind. Echoing like a beast crawling out from a deep cave.
My inner magic is no more than a drop of water on dry, cracked earth—it tries so hard to rise, grow something to defend me, but it can’t.
