I was on the Citadel's roof, but something was wrong. The stone beneath my feet was scorched black, still radiating heat. Smoke drifted across the platform, acrid and choking. In the distance, dragons roared—not the joyful sounds of flight but screams of rage and pain.
Bodies lay scattered across the roof. Cadets in their training uniforms, still and broken. Blood pooled on the stone.
My heart hammered. Where were my friends? Where was?—
There. A figure was slumped against the parapet.
I knew before I reached him. Something in the way he lay, the angle of his body. I ran, my feet sliding on blood-slicked stone.
"Alar!"
He was covered in blood. It soaked his uniform, spreading in a dark pool beneath him. I fell to my knees and touched his face with shaking hands.
His eyes opened. Those familiar blue eyes, now clouded with pain.
"You should have saved me..."
"I tried." My voice broke. "I'm sorry."
"Some fates..." He coughed, and blood flecked his lips. "Can't be changed..."
"No. Don't say that. You're going to be fine. We'll get a medic, we'll?—"
But his eyes were already going distant. The light was fading. His last breath escaped in a soft sigh, and then he was gone.
Dead.
Alar was dead in my arms.
Gasping, I jolted awake.
Sweat soaked my nightclothes and the sheets beneath me. My heart raced so fast it hurt. For a terrifying moment, I couldn't remember where I was, couldn't shake the image of Alar's lifeless eyes.
Then I felt warmth beside me. Heard his steady breathing.
I turned and saw him there, sleeping peacefully. His chest was rising and falling with each breath.
Alive.
I reached out with trembling fingers and touched his face. His skin was warm. I felt the flutter of his pulse at his throat. He was real. Present. Living.
It was only a nightmare.
But Elu, it had felt so real.
I pulled my hand back before I could wake him and checked the clock on the desk. Three in the morning, still hours until dawn.
I hadn't drunk the sleeping draught, that must be the cause of the disturbing dream. Missing a dose after nightly regular use had caused a rebound effect, bringing on a nightmare. It was also possible that it had been triggered by my anxiety about theletter from Alar's family. My subconscious had processed and amplified fears I'd refused to acknowledge while awake.
It hadn't been a vision. It had only been a nightmare born of stress and medication withdrawal.
I slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb Alar, and retrieved the small bottle from the drawer. My hands shook as I measured the dose into water and drank it down. The bitter taste made me grimace, but I welcomed it.
Anything to prevent more dreams like that.
I crawled back into bed and curled against Alar's warmth. He murmured something in his sleep and pulled me closer, his heartbeat steady against my back.
Alive. He was alive.
