Chapter 56 Nothing Cradles Me Anymore #2
I’m connected to the Weapon. I hoped I was wrong, that it wasn’t true, but I look around at the trembling world—the falling trees, the blood-red hue overtaking the sky like a merciless god claiming its retribution. I don’t know how else this could have happened.
As if reading the look in my eyes, my mom says, “Baby, it’s okay.”
“No! It’s not.” I can’t look at her as I say, “I did this?”
“The Memorium holds a lot of memories, a lot of magic—more than you could use otherwise. The Weapon feeds on that.”
The people I promised to help, their children—they’re dying. Because of me.
Beneath my breath I whisper, “No, no, no.”
But Mom forces my gaze back to hers. Still trying to protect me from the monstrosities I commit. Maybe that’s all she ever did with the memories: tried to protect me.
“Baby, that’s why I’m here. You have to know it isn’t your fault. You were fated to power the Weapon, but if you know what’s happening, then fate doesn’t matter anymore. It can be a decision. Every time you use your magic, the Weapon wakes up. So you can stop…”
I caused this. This is the answer to my anger—
That’s not fate, that’s me.
And she must know that, to some extent. She must know what she’s asking me to do—not use magic in this messed-up universe—is a nearly impossible task.
What does that even mean for me? I can’t die. I can’t use magic. Am I meant to sit and rot away? Would I have been better off in the dungeon?
The wind hits my face, the air stifling and hard to breathe through.
Destiny of destruction is exactly what I am. My magic has always meant murder. Now it’s on a much larger scale.
I look at my mom. I nod.
“Okay,” I say, not sure how this could even be possible. “No more magic.”
Then a branch—massive and jagged—comes crashing down from above, like a lightning bolt from an angry god. Wind slaps my face as it passes by. It doesn’t hit me, but the branch strikes Mom’s skull with a sickening crack, the force so brutal it drives through her, cleaving her body down the center.
Her fingers twitch at her sides.
Time stutters. The world goes silent. And her form, a second ago whole and intact, collapses in two.
The chaos around me ceases, and I stand in a frozen space, outside my body. I see the world through a different lens: what could be. A happy village, full of food and abundant in rest.
A breathing mother, happy and healthy, reading me stories at night and trusting what I can become.
A prince not bound by duty, but free, unburdened by the weight of revenge.
And me, not swallowed by power. Someone good and whole. I’ve never killed. I’ve never grown used to it. I’m exactly what I could have been.
Content.
For the quickest moment of my life, it warms my heart. What I’ll never have.
Then the world resumes. I’m already stepping forward, falling into my mother. There’s nothing to see. She’s covered in blood. Violence spills from her bones. Debris crashes down around me. I wish a branch could take me, too. I wish I weren’t invulnerable.
I try to fold her body back together, as if she’s a broken vase that can be mended with glue. But nothing can fix this.
Nothing can cradle me anymore.
“Tell me how to fix this,” I cry, looking at the sky. Is Zola there? Does she hate me? “How do I fix this?”
Can I turn back time? Can I stop what I’ve become?
I did this.
You used the Memorium.
This is my fault. I killed my mom. Is this all I am? A magnet for destruction—is it all I was ever meant to be? Because again and again, fate has laughed in my face, kicked me while I was down.
Maybe there was never any hope to begin with.
My mom can’t be gone. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I want to hold her, to bring her back, like I did Wendy.
But her body… there’s nothing to bring back. I don’t know what would happen if I tried. She’s split in two. I sit over her, wishing I could piece her back together.
“I forgive you.” Tears soak my cheeks. My voice is weaker than I’ve ever heard it. I don’t think there’s anything left to do. “I forgive you, just please, please forgive me, too.”
I hardly pay attention to the destruction around me—the falling trees, the breaking houses, even the blood-red sky. None of it matters. I sit with my mother. What will happen to me if I don’t get off this world? Would I be able to die?
I hope so.
I lie beside my mom, wrapping my arms around her severed body like I can piece it back together.
I close my eyes, imagining her fingers raking through my hair and braiding it again.
But they never will. She’s gone. And it’s because of me.
If I hadn’t been spiteful, if I hadn’t used that stupid stone, she would never have gotten her memories back.
She wouldn’t have come to find me. And this planet wouldn’t be in peril.
It’s all my fault.
I rest my head on her shoulder, blood touching my cheek—still warm. I pretend I can feel breath in her chest. I hope something takes me out here. I hope immortality was never truly mine. It’s a burden. Who would want to live forever when life is painful moment after painful moment?
Then, a small, weak voice rasps, “Stop him.”
I turn, looking at Damien, then Lucian. He’s close to unconscious. I want to look away and be with my mom again. But inches away, fire falls from the sky, roaring as it bursts to life. Damien will die if I stop fighting now.
I glance up. Burning fragments of stars fall from the sky, streaking downward, tearing through the clouds and sending flames across the entire planet. As one slams into a tree nearby, the trunk splits down the middle, just like my mom. Burning leaves and bark shower around us—on Damien and Lucian.
I jump on top of them, covering their bodies with mine as much as I can. The fire rains down, burning through my clothes on impact, the disintegrating fabric filling the air with thick smoke. I choke on the scent of burning wood. My skin sizzles away.
The blisters hiss, loud, like a snake in my ear.
I scream. It’s just my skin, but the fire feels like it goes through to bone, like it’s burning through all of me, melting my stomach.
My body can’t take anymore. The feeling goes away.
The fire still falls on me, but I’m numb. All I can feel is the impact.
I raise my arms, protecting the boys’ heads.
Damien stirs, his head lolling to the side. “Please,” he says, his voice barely audible.
He didn’t choose to come with us—I’m not blind. But I don’t care what Lucian did or what he’s doing to save him—to help me. Lucian isn’t a good man, and I never expected him to be.
This is exactly what I would expect from a person like him.
Looking back at Damien, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Save what you can save.
I reach for Lucian, settle a hand on his bicep, and do what I did every time I held the Memorium.
I feel.
The power unfurls in my stomach like a blooming flower. It races through my veins, like lava filling the cracks in asphalt. As the world shatters around us, it feels as if an invisible shield keeps all the debris, stars, and fire from crashing into us.
My veins glow with a subtle red hue as the magic wraps around Lucian, turning his veins the same color.
My destiny.
My doom.
His eyes open wide at once. His irises are washed over with crimson, nearly the same color as mine. They slowly dim back to their midnight blue as he looks absently into the sky.
I rest my hand on the top of his head, moving my fingers through his hair as I turn his gaze to me.
“Can you stand?” I ask.
Panting, Damien says, “Tell him—” He’s too weak to finish.
Lucian nods. “I can stand.”
I glance at Damien. “Take him.”
I loop an arm under Lucian’s, pulling us both to our feet.
Damien, mindless, follows, groaning in protest as we hobble toward my dwelling—what’s left of it, at least. The once-solid stone walls lie in ruin, gray, dusty, and jagged chunks scattered across the floor.
One side of the ceiling has caved in, exposing wooden beams splintered like snapped bones.
Furniture lies crushed beneath fallen stone, glass shards glinting.
I can only hope there’s still a piece of mirror left to save.
I let go of the boys, both of them falling to the ground just in front of the destroyed dwelling. I push past the rubble. My ankle twists, and I lose my balance, falling onto something sharp. It pierces my side, drawing blood, and I wince as I pull it out.
The broken mirror.
When I emerge, bloodied and heartbroken, Lucian gulps.
“Open,” he heaves, “the portal. Visnatus.”
I look between the two boys—my past and my present—and I do what the prince asked.
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