Page 63 of Elysian

I sniffled to clear my runny nose. Poor Piper never deserved such an end. I had always taken comfort in knowing I would not outlive her—that there would be no day without her.

That was what it should have been. I was never meant to outlive her. I am alive only because a Warlord held power over death. I brought down the blade over and over again, pausing in bouts to drag in harsh breaths.

Despite the pain in my limbs, my exhaustion, everything in my mind, I needed this release. Another tendon snapped, gushing dark green sludge upon my chest. Hollow innards were a deep muddy shade.

I stopped to catch my breath, staring down at the nearly severed head. Thick flesh stretched where I had stabbed it repeatedly. Leathery cords held on for dear life.

Cassiel had yet to move, lying upon the leaves. His wounds had not knit back together yet, but there had been the slightest progress. I turned back to the creature. It was massive. A large, two-legged monster out of tales. The type of Hollow that had slaughtered my parents and fed upon their innards. There were marked differences from the four-legged ones unaffected by sunlight.

My arms screamed. If Cassiel had not been here to slice his sword into the creature’s stomach, I would have met the same fate as my family. But . . . it would be a lie if I said I wouldn’t invite a true death.

My breath formed plumes of fog with my efforts to slide the heavy blade through bone.

The council, for all its cruelty, was not stupid. They couldn’t be with how well they fooled the realms. They’d kept Warlords for their protection, a mercenary of sorts. Cassiel proved how well he served as such by easily sliding the blade through the thick flesh. Self-preservation had driven them to keep Warlords. They could control one of them . . . but many? Multiple Cassiels running amok was the last thing they wanted. There would be no control. More importantly, they would not be the most powerful.

I swiped my shaking hand across the bottom of my face.

My hands would not stop trembling.

I returned to slamming the blade down. Over and over. I did not want to risk it waking up and finishing the job while I was vulnerable. The tendon finally snapped and caused the head to roll away from the body.

I had finished.

Air gusted from between my lips, and my knees buckled. I dropped to the ground, landing on my side. A pinch wrenched my hip.

Another mark left on me: Cassiel had hurt me, leaving me permanently broken.

Since Awakening, it took longer for the ache to set in, but if I was on my feet too long, as I had been, it became a dull throbbing deep into my bone. Pressure compounded on my chest. The tears kept coming in a torrent.

Fortunately, Cassiel remained still, unconsciousness.

He must regain his strength for us to continue forth. I was not strong enough to hoist him onto the horse. My body had been depleted. I hugged my knees to my chest. The dirty robe did nothing to shield me from the chill. I swiped the back of my hand across my face. We could not remain out here. I smacked at an insect crawling on my arm, shivering with disgust.

I knew what I must do in order for him to regain himself. Dragging myself onto my hands and knees, I reached for the goop coated blade laid beside the beheaded body. Foliage crunched as I dragged it closer to me. The blade carved a path in the dirt. The edge nicked me and I had barely touched it. Hissing, I yanked my hand back, shaking it. With more care, I dragged it the rest of the way so it was closer to me, a few paces from the Hollow corpse. I tugged the bottom of my already tattered robe and slid it across the tip of the blade until it reflected moonlight. I took care in handling it. Blood would come with ease if I cut across my wrist, so I positioned it with one hand to angle it up.

I took a deep breath and brought my wrist down gently, not needing to use much strength. A thin line welled with scarlet.

I turned my wrist upward. Droplets trailed down, leaving streaks. Carefully, I held it up and limped to Cassiel’s side, falling to my knees. I hooked my arm around the back of his head and pulled him up just a bit, then pressed my wrist to his mouth.

He didn’t move or drink.

“Come, Cassiel,” I encouraged, keeping my wrist to his mouth. With care, I lowered his head back down and reached to rub his throat.

He finally swallowed.

I hovered over him, waiting for another gulp from him. Angling my wrist, I eyed the edge of the cut. I had sliced closer to a small mole on my wrist, but the cut seemed to begin further from it. Frowning, I massaged Cassiel’s throat until his throat moved.

The cut had shrunk?

Blood dripped down toward my elbow. The edges were undoubtedly smaller. It had shrunk. An aspect of my Awakening—I had fundamentally changed.

The council had caused this all.

I should crack open the Lore of Old. All my answers were there, but pushing myself after everything I put my body through would end poorly for me. A yawn climbed free. I would rest my head for a moment. I arranged myself beside Cassiel, laying my head on his chest.

A touch kissed my cheek, jolting me awake. I frantically looked about.

Woodland was illuminated by dawnlight. Cassiel’s face came into view, hovering over me. I squinted, and his features rippled. He grunted, head falling forward. Breaths sawed from his throat.