Page 15

Breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

Trailing up his nude body, he found his face and winced at the cold metal coiling from his lips. He gripped the obstruction tightly and ripped it from his throat, giving way for relief from its expulsion. He fell to his hands, heaving up a thick white mucus that stunk of decay. He continued hacking until he was able to suck in a full gasp of air.

Three people rushed around the room, but his gaze wandered to the flickering lights beating down on him like a burning sun.

Turn them off. He slammed his eyes closed and clenched his fists, brittle nails digging deep into his skin. Turn them off!

The energy left his body, swirling around like a cyclone. Shattered glass rained to the ground, one broken bulb at a time. Cool darkness touched his skin, and the storm abated, returning to his body. His lips quivered, remembering the feel of words leaving his mouth.

“Name!”

The movement in the room came to a halt, one right after the other. He begged his mouth for more, but all that left was slurred and stunted.

“T-Tell me my name.”

After a moment, a set of boots lumbered in the darkness.

“Draven,” a man’s voice said. “Your name is Draven.”

He mouthed the word, but it didn’t bring back anything other than frustration. “Where?” he asked.

“You’re in the Coffers.”

Coffers. Chambers built to extend the preservation of the body for as long as possible. The energy within him surged again. “No… no! Not in the Coffers.”

The man hushed him. “You don’t remember?”

“No!” he shouted again. The only memory he could find was the night he took the Serpent. “I can’t.”

The man held his posture in silence while Draven’s breathing steadied once more. He allowed his eyes to crane open, noticing a thin, dark green cloud hovering around whoever was across from him.

A chill rippled underneath his skin, bringing feeling back into his limbs with every breath, along with each ache and sensation. He managed to push himself backward, sitting properly on the ground.

He licked his dry lips. “Water.”

The man patted against his person, and then the clinking of tin over uneven ground fell into Draven’s ears, growing close until it came to a cold stop against his thigh.

He fumbled with the lid then guzzled down the liquid. It was lukewarm and tasted of dust, but his throat relished it like sweet nectar. When the bottle was empty, he tossed it to the ground in a manner that seemed more like dropping it by mistake.

The aura of the stranger lightened. “Better?”

The energy quieted, seeping into the back of Draven’s mind. Across the room, he could make out two other forms, both surrounded by green auras. He rested his face against his palm, rubbing his moist skin, his soaked brown hair hanging in front of his face and clinging down his shoulders and back.

Have I really been in the Coffers?

The thought sent a chill down his spine. How did he know about the Coffers? He couldn’t remember a thing! He must’ve let out an audible noise because the figures on the other side of the room adjusted in the darkness, holding small glinting objects. He waited for those in his presence to offer him more information, but they gave him nothing.

“Your name,” he demanded of the man across from him.

The man who gave him water glanced around then pointed to himself.

“Yes.”

The man smiled wide. “It’s an honor you’d ask. My name is Kyer. Kyer Toman.”

“Tell me about Draven. I cannot remember.”

Kyer hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “We’d be here all day if I did that, and we don’t have much time…”