Chapter 28 #2
She tapped Xander, shaking violently. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t witness what she had caused; her body convulsed, every nerve screaming.
Xander pulled back.
The memory didn’t last long enough for the child to die, but the echo tore through her chest as if it had.
She gasped, trying to draw a breath that wouldn’t come, tears streaking down her face, hot and relentless.
Her vision swam with smoke and cinders, fire licking every corner of her mind, and her voice came out broken and ragged: “It’s all my fault,” she whispered, each syllable cutting deeper than the last. “All of it.”
Her chest heaved, breath stuttering as the pain in her body gave way to something worse—guilt.
“Those lives… those babies—they’re dead because of me.”
Tears streamed freely now, unchecked, soaking into her hair, her hands shaking as if her body couldn’t decide whether to collapse or run.
Xander was there in an instant, his expression stripped of its usual lightness. “He is the monster, Ellaryn,” he said quietly, fiercely. “Not you.” His eyes shone, like he carried the echo of her pain inside his own. Like he meant it.
She let out a hollow scoff. “He is a monster,” she agreed bitterly. “But he made one too.”
She scrubbed at her face with the heel of her hand, smearing tears away, forcing herself upright. Xander was still looking at her like that—like she was something broken he wanted to shield.
She hated it.
“Let’s go again,” she said, straightening, her voice barely holding together.
Xander’s brow furrowed immediately. “Ellaryn, I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”
“I want to go again.” She cut him off, already lying back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling like if she didn’t look at him, he couldn’t stop her.
He hesitated. She felt it in the silence, the war behind his eyes. He didn’t want this—for her, for himself. She could tell he hated hurting her. Hated being the hand that pulled these things to the surface.
“Come on,” she said softly, reaching for him. She took his hand gently and pressed it to her chest, right over the ache that never really left. “Please.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, jaw taut, like he was at odds with himself.
Then he exhaled, long and defeated.
“Okay,” he murmured.
His palm warmed against her skin as he leaned in, magic stirring beneath his touch. Ellaryn braced herself, lungs filling as if for a dive.
Whatever waited for her this time, she would face it.
Because running had never saved anyone.
The fire returned with sickening intensity, and Ellaryn cursed herself for choosing this again. But in her mind, it was the lesser evil.
To endure the pain was to save the city. To destroy herself was to ensure no more innocent babies would die by his hand.
Her fingers gripped the sheets instantly, a biting groan slipping free from her mouth.
It wasn’t just guilt or loss anymore—it was the King himself, every cruel lesson etched into her soul.
Ellaryn saw herself on her knees in the blackened dungeon, the King looming over her with that awful smile, his black gums glinting under the torchlight.
The dagger in his hand wasn’t just steel—it was intent, a promise of pain that tore into her chest even now.
She gasped, trembling, and the weight of his power—the memory of his soul-cracking hold—made her entire body rigid.
“You’ve failed me before, little Ruin,” his voice boomed in her mind. Every syllable sank into her bones like molten iron. “Do you think you can protect them? Protect anyone? You are Ruin. You leave only ruin.”
She had to hold on.
Her fingernails dug deeper into Xander’s wrist. She could feel her heartbeat hammering like a war drum in her chest, each thump a spark that set the memory ablaze.
The King’s laughter echoed through the hallways of her mind, mingling with screams of pain she had endured—and caused.
The chains on her wrists, the cold bite of the dungeon stones beneath her knees, the dagger tracing a line along her ribs—it was all here.
She bit down on her tongue to stifle her screams.
Her eyes forced open, and Ellaryn could see Xander, his eyes pinched shut, a permanent wince on his face, until the memories dragged her under again.
She could feel the flames spreading into her stomach, into her legs, a tide of heat and pain she could not contain. The images of the agony, the screams, the blood, the King’s smirk—it all collided at once. Her body arched violently, nails scraping Xander’s skin, teeth gritting.
The pain was everywhere, rolling in like a tide, her body convulsing with it.
She would not give up; she would not tap out.
She had to hold on.
The fire inside her surged past agony, past sensation, into something vast and annihilating. It reached a crescendo that swallowed memory and flesh alike, until there was no separation between pain and thought—only heat, only burn.
Anything.
Just find anything.
The plea fractured inside her as the world dissolved and the pain turned white-hot, so absolute it erased the edges of her body.
Ellaryn was almost certain she was burning from the inside out, that if anyone touched her, she would scorch them to the bone.
Her skin felt stretched too tight, like it might split and spill her into the world as liquid flame.
She was heat given shape—molten, furious, unstoppable—ready to pour through the streets of Cinders like a living river of lava.
And then—
The fire changed.
Her body convulsed violently, the heat finally overwhelming flesh.
Her vision shattered into blinding light as the blaze ripped outward, uncontrolled, tearing through nerves and muscle alike.
She felt herself slipping—falling away from herself, from Xander, from the room—burning out from the inside.
“Ellaryn!” Xander’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp with panic.
Too late.
The fire consumed the last of her strength in one final, violent surge—and then—
there was nothing.