She shakes her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she watches the village burn.
“I killed them,” she whispers.
I follow her gaze across the square. Villagers flee through smoke-filled streets toward the marsh beyond the village, their silhouettes flickering through the firelight as they abandon homes that have already begun collapsing behind them. Mothers drag crying children through the mud while men shout frantic instructions that no one obeys anymore.
The village is lost. The moment arrives with terrible clarity. Briarthorn cannot be saved. And the longer she remains here, the worse the fire will become.
“Come on,” I say quietly.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“We have to help them,” she pleads.
My heart twists painfully.
“I am helping you.”
She shakes her head again, tears streaking through the ash on her face.
“I can fix it,” she insists weakly. “I just need?—”
Another explosion of sparks interrupts her. Across the square, the council hall ignites.
The tall wooden structure burns faster than the rest of the buildings, its dry beams catching instantly as abyssal fire devours it. The windows shatter outward with a big crack as heat tears through the interior.
The sight breaks something inside her.
“No,” she chokes.
The word is barely audible through the roar of the fire.
“I did this.”
Her body trembles violently against mine as the weight of the destruction finally crushes the fragile hope she has been clinging to.
“I’m a monster.”
The pain in her voice cuts deeper than any blade. Something tears open inside my chest.
I wrap my arms more tightly around her shaking body, pulling her against me as my wings close protectively around us.
“You are not a monster,” I say.
But the words feel painfully inadequate. Because the fire continues spreading. Because the inferno still answers her fear. Because the village behind us is already becoming a graveyard of burning wood and shattered stone.
“We have to go,” I say softly.
She shakes her head.
“I can’t leave,” she whispers.
The words carry desperate conviction.
“These people?—”
“Will survive if they run,” I interrupt gently.
Her gaze lifts toward mine, red-rimmed and broken.
