Page 75 of In Your Light

His thoughts wandered in circles, slipping through his fingers like dust. Names surfaced and vanished. Faces dissolved before they could form. Even his own reflection, caught in pools of blackened glass, seemed to belong to someone else.

Darkness in all directions, as far as the eye could see, and a silence he never thought possible.

It was so complete, it became a weight, pressing against his ears until it roared louder than any battlefield. A deafening emptiness.

Then...

A single note. Soft and impossible. And with such sorrow.

A flute.

The melody drifted through the ruins, delicate and haunting enough to be mistaken for memory. It rose and fell with aching familiarity, carrying a warmth that had no place in this ruined world.

He stopped. His breath caught in a chest that had forgotten how to feel.

Again, the flute.

Somewhere beyond the shattered columns. Somewhere beyond the silence.

He did not know who played it—only that he needed to follow it.

But for the first time in an age he could not measure, he remembered that once, long ago, someone had played music for him.

And without knowing why, the forgotten god followed the sound, compelled by the warmth of... hope.

He didn’t know where it would lead, only that he had to follow.

To feel hope, to feel that warmth that he knew was calling to him, and like a rat to the piper, he would follow.

Chapter

Seventeen

FYN

Fyn startled awake at the sound of footsteps and muted voices. Gazing at the unfamiliar ceiling, the strange angle of light from the window, it took a second for him to remember where he was.

He’d slept on the floor in his living room.

Ciaran and Sawyer had brought out Fyn’s mattress so he could sleep more comfortably by the fire. They’d helped Hadeom onto it, and Fyn had settled in under the blankets with him. Hadeom hadn’t objected to being put on the mattress. He hadn’t even reacted. He hadn’t changed. He’d just lain still with his blank eyes open.

He hadn’t even reacted when Fyn put his arm around him and held him, rubbed his back, and stroked his hair. When he’d whispered that he was okay, that he was safe, there’d been no reaction at all.

But Fyn could see that Hadeom’s eyes were now closed.

He looked to be asleep. He looked peaceful.

“Hey,” Fyn whispered, stroking Hadeom’s jet black hair, hoping and wishing that his eyes would flutter open.

They didn’t.

There was a quiet knock on the door before the footsteps and muted voices that had woken him came into the room. Sawyer came in first, followed by Ciaran.

“Morning,” Ciaran said. He was holding a container. “Some fruit and bread for you.”

Fyn scrubbed a hand over his face, got to his feet, and pulled the blanket up over Hadeom. He didn’t know what time it was or how long he’d slept, but from the light outside, it still looked early. “Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to, but I do appreciate it.”

Sawyer went to the fire and added some smaller logs, and then Kellan was there. “How is he? Any change?”