Will – Hope
Will
Hope
Death was supposed to be cold, but the air filling Will's lungs burned with the sharp, undeniable sting of life.
He blinked against the harsh gray light, his head pounding with a hollow, echoing ache.
The phantom chill of the siphon still haunted his bones, but the absolute certainty of Malin's hands resting on his chest anchored him to the living.
She pulled him back from the absolute brink.
Lying in the ash-stained snow, a profound, terrifying realization took root in his fractured mind.
Merely surviving was no longer enough. He had to truly heal for her.
“I guess it worked.” Will’s voice cracked into a bone-dry rasp.
Her fingers white-knuckled the cold stone of the amulet resting against her collarbone. “I’m so sorry,” Malin whispered, her voice thick and wavering.
Her gaze darted to her recovering father, then dropped back to Will.
Her eyes dropped, shadowed by an unspoken burden.
“Because of you, I saved him. But I didn't realize I would need to take so much from your core to do it. I’d like to heal you more, but the amulet has to stay on until I can lock the siphon down again.”
She looked away with a tremble in her chin. He reached up, his muscles protesting the movement, and gently turned her face back to his. His thumb brushed across her cheek, catching a stray tear.
“I would have gladly given my last breath to save you the pain of losing him so soon. I would have given almost anything to have a moment more with my parents.”
She leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
He wrapped his arms around her, but his hollowed-out frame lacked the strength to hold her for long.
When she pulled back, her hands, entirely devoid of their healing magic, rapidly pressed against his neck and chest, checking his pulse, temperature, and breathing with the practiced, frantic efficiency of a doctor.
Will let out an exhausted breath. Purposely giving the lopsided grin he knew she loved.
“You know, Sparks,” he rasped, weakly catching her wrist to stop the frantic probing. “We can find a room somewhere... maybe in the village up ahead... if you want to examine my body more thoroughly.”
Maybe a little humor would help rebuild the bond he missed so much.
He tipped his chin vaguely toward the periphery. The clash of steel had long faded. The family they had passed earlier and a dozen terrified but curious local villagers had crept out from the tree line, forming a wide, staring circle around their battered team.
“Keep your ego in check, transporter,” Malin murmured. She sat back on her heels, swiping a streak of soot and blood from her cheek, completely failing to hide the faint, genuine smile tugging at her lips.
Before he could offer another flirt that would likely bring that blush he loved to her face, she turned.
A young boy with copper-bright hair and a constellation of freckles broke from the crowd and approached Malin with trembling steps.
His eyes, wide as full moons, reflected the golden aura still clinging to her skin.
“Our Oracle said I would meet the Chosen One. You were flying and have fire, like the prophecy says you would. Are you the Feniks Talavo?” he asked with reverence, voice hushed with awe.
Before Malin could respond, an older woman stepped forward, her silver-streaked hair bound in intricate braids adorned with tiny bells that chimed with each step.
Her gnarled hands clutched a staff carved with spiraling flames.
“We celebrate your return,” she intoned, voice rich with emotion.
“It is foretold. I saw this day just as it was. There is no doubt. The Gods have shown the truth.” She shook a walking stick adorned with ribbons and bones in the air above her.
The crowd fell silent.
Her smile vanished. Pulling away from their worship, she helped him to his feet as the others gathered around them. “I’m …,” she said to the woman and the breathless crowd. “You have the wrong person.”
Before Will could push himself upright, a low murmur rippled through the gathered crowd.
“Feniks Talavo.” The chant started as a whisper among the traders and locals before swelling into a chorus. Villagers dropped to their knees, pointing at her and staring with a suffocating reverence.
Malin covered her ears, squeezing her eyes closed. His exhaustion made it difficult to understand what they were saying. His legs shook violently, completely hollowed out, but Khelek’s massive hand clamped onto his shoulder, steadying him before he could tip over.
Malin shrank back, pulling her shoulders up toward her ears as her eyes darted around the circle. Malin recoiled, retreating as if the sheer weight of their worship were a physical blow. She raised her hands with her palms out, desperately trying to push the sudden wave of devotion away.
“Stop. Please,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “It’s not me. You’ve got the wrong person.”
Will’s chest tightened as he watched her. He did not need a soul-bond to see that their chants were suffocating her.
“Let’s move,” Will growled, when his body would not stay steady under him. She reached for him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
They started the slow, brutal trek toward the village, Nar and Jacien supporting the pale General, and Khelek and Malin helping him.
At least, Aldrik wasn’t bleeding any longer.
But the crowd didn’t disperse. It grew. Word was spreading like wildfire as people lined the path, their eyes wide, chanting the title of the Chosen One… Feniks Talavo.
The stories of the prophecy were fables from his travels. Almost every culture had the same story. How could anyone think Malin was the one who would bring peace to the world?
Just because she could fly and used flames? It seemed absurd to base all of this on that limited scope. Who were these Oracles that had foretold this?
Their words echoed off the pine trees. Malin pulled her frost-dusted cloak tight around her shoulders, ducking her head to hide her face in the thick collar.
“It would be our honor to give rest for the Chosen One,” a village elder interrupted, gesturing toward the center of the settlement. “You are injured and freezing. The council hut is warm, and the beds are empty. Please, let us offer you sanctuary.”
Every step toward the center of the village demanded a monumental effort.
The elders guided them to a colossal wooden structure dominating the settlement.
It was a true longhouse, constructed from massive, rough-hewn logs meant to outlast the harshest winters.
As the heavy wooden doors groaned open, the flickering orange glow of a massive hearth illuminated the cavernous space.
Rows of empty beds covered in thick, warm pelts lined the outer walls, offering the exact, desperate sanctuary his hollowed-out body needed.
Khelek’s massive grip finally eased, lowering Will onto the nearest fur-lined platform. His exhausted muscles gave out the second his back hit the heavy pelts.
His battered body screamed for the familiar, golden warmth of her healing magic to soothe the deep, echoing ache in his bones. Yet, the phantom chill of her siphon magic still clawed at his mind. Risking another brush with that terrifying power was completely out of the question.
Jacien deposited Aldrik onto the adjacent bed a moment later. Unwilling to let either of them out of her sight, Malin dragged a heavy wooden stool directly into the narrow gap between their cots and stubbornly anchored herself right in the middle.
Turning to each of them, she whispered, “Are you going to be all right? Should I heal you more? I might have enough for a little healing by now, if you need it.”
When she looked up, her icy-blue eyes held a storm of conflicting emotions. The rigid anger from their fight in the tent was still there, a lingering frost around the edges of her stare, but the center was soft, melted by the massive, selfless sacrifice he made for her family.
“I am still incredibly mad at you.” She leaned in, keeping her voice pitched low so only he could hear, but she held a weak smile on her lips.
Will managed a weak, exhausted smirk. “I know.”
“We are going to have a long, very loud conversation about your dictatorial commands….”
He reached for her face, his thumb gently caressing her jaw. “I’m counting on it, Sparks. As long as it includes you still talking with me, I can accept any loud conversations you want.”
She swallowed hard, her throat working as her gaze traced the pale, drained lines of his face. Her hands slid up from his chest to cup his jaw. Her thumbs brushed gently across the soot and blood on his cheekbones.
“But thank you,” she breathed, her voice thick with raw emotion. “For dropping your walls. For trusting me, and for saving him.”
She leaned in and kissed him lightly. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate claiming from the trail. It was a slow, grounding press of her lips that gave him hope that, despite her anger, she still loved him.
A heavy, unblinking stare anchored on them from just over Malin’s shoulder.
An older man stood a few paces back, possessing the rugged, sun-browned features of a people forged entirely by ice and wind.
Deep creases lined the corners of his dark eyes from a lifetime of squinting against blinding snow glare.
Thick layers of stitched animal hide and heavy white fur completely swallowed his sturdy frame.
Aldrik shifted on the adjacent cot and cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence.
The elder stepped forward and bowed his head reverently. “It is with great privilege that we offer the Feniks Talavo space in our humble village. Our elders will act to serve. If you need anything while you are here, it is yours… should you want it.”
“Why do you all keep saying I’m the prophecy?” Malin asked. Her voice slurred heavily as she practically collapsed onto the edge of Will's fur-lined cot.