Lightning cracked through the sky, a blinding white flash, and for a moment, Dominic saw the silhouette of a girl. “Saige!” he shouted over the boom of thunder, over the sound of the pounding rain, the hissing of unnoticed creatures lurking behind him, the screams of the lost souls. The only sound was his sister’s distressed voice, and the blood rushing in his ears as he hurtled through the rubble.
Real or not, if there was a chance he could see Saige’s face again, he’d take it.
Tree branches rustled nearby. Footsteps followed behind him. Dominic halted, drawing a dagger from his belt. Its smooth obsidian blade was one with the night as the light in his hand dwindled to nothing, plunging himself into the shadows, undetected.
Except something else was also obscured by the dark, which Dominic only discovered after stumbling blindly back into it. An arm wrapped around his neck, along with the overwhelming scent of carrion. It squeezed and he choked, gasping for air.
Dominic threw his head back, swift and harsh. Something broke with a sickening crack beneath his skull. Hot liquid ran down the back of Dominic’s neck, but it wasn’t his own. The thing staggered back. A furious, guttural sound emerged fromits throat. Dominic leaped forward, burying his dagger into its throat. Blood sprayed as he yanked his weapon out, anticipating the next attack. He turned in a slow circle, scanning the desert for more of them.
Shadows emerged from the depths of the sand. Lightning streaked across the sky to reveal humanoid creatures, but there was something off about them. Their eyes were elongated vertically, pupils thin slits rimmed with red irises. Their noses were nothing but gaping holes in the middle of their faces, and their mouths stretched entirely across their faces, lined with rows of needle-like teeth. Tattered clothes clung to their emaciated bodies beneath plates of broken chainmail. Weapons were clenched in their hands—swords, axes, knives, spears—and Dominic wondered if this was what happened to the souls from the Wasted War. Morphed into these hideous creatures as punishment. Long, barbed tails flicked anxiously back and forth behind them as they prowled closer on two long legs.
A sinister grin spread wide across Dominic’s blood-spattered face. He’d seen these creatures before, and while he used to run in terror, he would not run now. He’s spent every moment loathing this desert, wishing to purge it from his memories, to destroy the wretched place that destroyed him. Perhaps now, he had the chance.
Dagger twirling in his hand, he quirked a brow, amused. All at once, they surged forward. He glanced at his knife and felt as if Adara was fighting alongside him. One of them, audacious yet idiotic, charged at him, sword aimed at his chest. Dominic easily evaded the attack by ducking and stepping to the side. With a shove, he sent the creature stumbling into its kin. He turned, throwing the dagger into the back of its head. Its deadweight fell onto the other monster, trapping the other beneath its body. Dominic rushed toward them. He pulled his dagger free from his victim’s skull, then plunged it into the other’s neck, brieflywatching the life drain from its angry red eyes before wiping his blood-slick hands on his pants.
The adrenaline coursing through him was short-lived as his magic began ebbing away.No, no, no. Not now!He thought to himself, hoping his powers wouldn’t fail him. He’d been doing so well, magic flowing freely through him without consequence, making him think that he had more time on his hands than he actually did. But the symptoms of his depleting magic were returning, determined to let him die in this cursed desert. Dominic swayed for a moment, head spinning. He steadied himself, prepared to fight for his life, whether his magic would aid him or not.
The moment Dominic whirled around, two more creatures ran at him. Despite his head pounding, he sprinted toward them. At the last second, he dropped to the ground, sliding through the sand on his knees. Their barbed tails cut through the air, aiming at his throat, but he leaned back, ducking beneath the lethal spikes. With daggers in both hands, he slashed at the back of their legs. The beasts went down with trill shrieks.
When Dominic shot to his feet, dizziness overwhelmed him. He staggered briefly, black splotches dancing in his sight.
Dominic screamed as hundreds of sharp needles pierced his wrist, forcing one of the knives to fall from his hand. With the dagger in his other hand, he stabbed the onyx blade into one of its eyes. He hissed through gritted teeth as the creature reeled back, retracting its thin teeth from his skin, and he pulled his dagger free.
The monster let out a fierce hiss, charging again, pulling a small axe from its belt. Dominic attempted to dodge the blade, but his movements felt slow and labored, like his limbs were stuck in mud. The blade sliced deeply through his thigh. Reeling back, Dominic cried out in pain. He gripped his dagger tighter in one hand while the other instinctively covered the bloodgushing from his thigh. His vision started to blur, and he didn’t know whether it was from blood loss or his diminishing powers. Figures faded in and out of sight.
He gritted his teeth, throwing his dagger with the last of his strength. Its obsidian blade flew through the dark, embedding itself in something’s shoulder. The thing foolishly ripped the blade from its flesh and lunged for Dominic. Praying his magic hadn’t faded more, Dominic cast out a hand. To his command, a vine swiftly stretched from the trees, wrapping around the creature’s neck and abdomen. With a sweeping arc of his hand, the vine yanked the creature backward and sent it flying through the air. A sickening noise resounded through the night as a tree branch impaled its chest.
Ragged breaths escaped Dominic’s lips as he fell to a knee. Using so little of his magic had taken more of his strength than he expected. His head pounded, and his hands shook uncontrollably. Wheezing breaths came shallow and quick, only worsening his dizziness. Unable to stand the world spinning around him, Dominic let his eyes fall closed. Although he knew he had only been on one knee, he felt like he was falling from the peak of Andreilia’s mountain, as if he was tumbling through a never ending void.
Low, haunting moans filled the desert. Dominic’s eyes cracked open to see the figures slowly rising to their feet, despite the fatal wounds he’d given them.
Dominic!Saige called again, the sound of her terror-stricken cries flooding him with determined energy.
He had to get to her. Groaning as pain shot through his thigh, blood soaking his pant leg, Dominic shoved to his feet. He dusted the sand from his face and turned toward the monsters. Retrieving his onyx dagger from the ground, he sheathed it at his belt.
It took everything in him to summon his magic, muscles straining. It felt like the lightning shot through his veins, tearing him apart from the inside as the white light sparked from his fingertips. It shot out in white-hot streaks, striking the monsters. Crackling lightning skittered over their bodies, billows of smoke rising into the night. Their screams followed as he turned to run.
Dominic heaved in deep breaths as he sprinted after his sister’s voice. His magic was turning against him from within, sending sharp jolts of pain through him that he tried desperately to ignore. But at least he still had it. Andreilia’s curse hadn’t succeeded at reclaiming its magic just yet. And he didn’t plan on ever giving it back.
Dominic!Saige called one last time before fading away.
His mind was quiet now, except for the pounding of his blood. Slowing to a walk, he could hardly see a few feet in front of him. The world shifted, a strange feeling settling in his stomach. A sense of pure wrongness lay ahead, yet it was familiar. It chilled his bones. When lightning flashed, he caught a glimpse of a rickety cottage before him, and Dominic knew exactly why his breath became shallow.
Standing before him, old and worn with age and whatever the Hel the Ruins did to it, stood Dominic’s home. A small, ramshackle cottage, mostly destroyed save for a third of it that miraculously still had a roof, the wooden beams balancing precariously against each other.
Weeping was barely audible over the storm raging around him.
Hesitantly, Dominic stepped forward, over the broken stairs of the rotted porch. The moment his foot met the wood, it splintered beneath his feet. Quickly, he leaped across the threshold, the door already open and hanging off one of its hinges. Dust flew up around him as he landed inside theconfines of his demolished home. Coughing, he waved a hand around his face, trying to clear it away.
Through the dust, a shadow appeared in the remnants of the kitchen.
“Saige?” he asked, dropping his pack of supplies by the door. He squinted, darkness ebbing and flowing in and out of this world. One moment it was there, the next gone, then back again.
Not Saige. Dominic turned on his heel, ready to sprint out the door. It slammed shut the moment he made a move. He pounded a fist on the door, jiggling the handle. It wouldn’t budge, locked and barricaded by some invisible force.
He paused, hands dropping to his sides. Slammed shut? Locked? The door had been barely hanging onto its hinges when he entered. Their front door never had a lock. He turned to face the interior of his home, trepidation sluicing through him.
Repaired. All of it. As if it hadn’t been worn down over the years of disuse and extreme conditions of the Ruins. Dominic stared in disbelief at his childhood home—shabby, on the verge of falling apart, but still the home he remembered. The home he’d tried desperately to forget. The home he avoided looking at too closely now. His eyes darted back and forth, never settling too long on anything, only catching glimpses of all the things he tried to purge from his memories. A dusty vase filled with dead flowers here. A fringed rug with mud stains there. Dishes piled on the table, littered with sticky remnants of a meal from long ago. A broken window was hardly covered by a dull yellow curtain swaying in the breeze. A hole in the wall, about the size of a fist. The old leathery brown sofa, worn with an indentation in its center. An urn sat broken on the floor, ashes piled in the corner.
