Chapter 75
After what felt like an eternity of tears, grief, and mourning, the rain stopped.
Zion regained enough clarity to understand that all the tears in the world wouldn’t bring Serguei back—and that Kyller was alone in the house, vulnerable and still unconscious.
He forced himself upright, sliding his arms beneath his father’s back and knees.
Then he rose from the mud, screaming at the agonizing pain in his torn muscles, and carried the psychic.
Step by step, he crossed the small forest as dawn began to break and made his way to the cabin.
He laid Serguei’s body on the rustic wooden table in the kitchen and stood motionless in the center of the room for a long moment.
His mind and body seemed unable to communicate.
He searched for some feeling within himself, but he was numb to everything—as if some malignant god had disassembled him and put his pieces back in the wrong places.
Perhaps it had locked his nerves in a lead box and thrown it into the ocean.
He turned and, breathing deeply, walked toward the stairs.
With each step, drops of rain mixed with blood and mud fell from his clothes and splattered on the floor.
He opened the carved wooden door and saw his partner unconscious on the bed.
He approached, listening for her heartbeat.
All he could do was pray that heart would keep beating—and that when she woke, she would still be his Kyller.
Defeated, he walked to the foot of the bed, then stopped, paralyzed by what he saw: sunlight streamed through the stained glass, illuminating her body.
The arm that had once been a stump was now whole.
But it was different—the skin there was darker.
The freckles had disappeared, and golden-glowing runes covered it everywhere.
Anxious, he tried to reach his partner’s mind through the bond, but the bone barrier held fast. It would be impossible to break through, and the only person who could have managed it...
had died. He pulled back and tested his own shadows.
Nothing. Not a single tendril under his command.
Zion felt powerless without his abilities.
The shadows were part of him, and being without them after everything that had happened felt like having vital pieces of himself torn away.
He didn’t know how to live without them.
He felt like a child learning to walk, to speak, to be… to exist.
He had no way of knowing how many more hours she would sleep.
But one thing was certain: time was not on their side.
At any moment, the king could send a squad to search for him or to seal the destroyed section of the wall.
They had to leave the city, and if Kyller didn’t wake up, he would have to carry her.
With that in mind, he set about preparing.
He ran through a quick mental list of everything he needed to do.
He grabbed a painkiller from the first aid kit Serguei kept in the cabinet and swallowed it.
Then he gathered anesthetic applicator pens and used them on his thighs and arms to dull the pain from his wounds.
They were emergency medications designed for soldiers in battle—a stopgap to keep them walking or fighting even when gravely injured, until medical attention was possible.
Soon he was downstairs, shovel in hand. His father deserved far more than he could give him right now, but the only thing he could manage was to dig a grave and bury him with dignity.
He had to keep his mind focused on the work to avoid thinking about the psychic’s death, or what Kyller had faced, or Kiara suffering mutation, or the meaning of Kaori’s betrayal—let alone the shadows that no longer answered his call.
He didn’t know how to deal with all those problems at once, so he avoided dwelling on them.
In the end, the work helped him focus on what was necessary, not on what was beyond his reach.
After burying his father and covering the grave—not as shallow as he would have liked—he climbed back up to Kyller’s room, limping and groaning.
The stillness of the situation was beginning to terrify him, especially since he was injured and no longer had powers to defend her. She needed to wake up soon.
He took a quick shower and, hissing with pain, wrapped bandages around the cuts and wounds from the battle.
Everything still burned like lava and didn’t look good at all, especially since Zion wasn’t giving his body time to heal.
He had been awake for two days straight, and sleep was the last thing he could allow himself.
Ignoring the pain, he searched the house for supplies.
Luckily, there were weapons in the basement, where he used to train when he was younger.
He found bags and old clothes in the closet: uniforms belonging to Serguei and Ravena, from the late Night Squad.
Finally, he added the canned foods stocked in the pantry.
He was searching the bookshelf for the red volume Serguei had tasked him with delivering when he heard fabric rustling. An anxious chill ran down his spine as he turned toward the sound.
Kyller’s eyes were open. Still lying down, she stared at the ceiling.
Zion’s stomach dropped as he limped toward her. His partner’s eyes fixed on him, and the ex-general’s heart skipped a beat, the air rushing from his lungs: her eyes were golden, as they had always been, but there was a red halo around the irises.
Scarlet, like the eyes of the goddess of War.
Δ
The corridors were packed with people when Adele and her mother left the recovery room, travel bags in hand. The fae had just recovered from the intoxication and had barely woken when her mother told her they had to leave immediately—the last train to Yonser would depart soon.
She had hoped to leave the hospital without being noticed.
But when she stepped into the corridor, she heard Ambrose talking with a nurse.
He was in despair, saying his healing power had been drained to the last drop, but he would fight on with what he had: skilled hands and a brain full of scientific knowledge.
Adele headed toward the hospital entrance, where more half-dead patients awaited the doctors.
Then, unfortunately, the doctor noticed her.
She tried to slip past unnoticed, but the neurosurgeon looked horrified at the bags the Yonserian was carrying.
“You’re leaving?” he asked her.
Adele opened her mouth to respond, but her mother spoke instead:
“Of course. This place is a mess, and our train leaves in an hour. It might be the last one out. Adele’s graduated and she’s coming back with me.”
“Now? You’re leaving now?” Ambrose’s voice shook as more wounded were carried in around them. “We need help—you’re both elmedics, you can help.”
“This isn’t our concern.” Adele’s mother pushed her toward the hospital exit. “Come on, stop dawdling.”
The girl looked one last time at the doctor before turning away, picking up her bags, and leaving without saying goodbye.
“Please, Adele, we need you.” She heard Ambrose plead behind her. “My gift is already exhausted—Selene’s and Lorenzo’s too. We need more elmedics to help.”
Adele stopped in the corridor and stared at the man.
She felt guilty for turning her back on him in such a critical situation, but she didn’t want to stay in Interion.
She was tired of the city—nothing but painful memories here.
She didn’t want to stay a minute longer.
With this attack on the forests, the Yonser train might be cut off, and that was her biggest concern.
If she didn’t leave now, she might not be able to get out for a long time.
Adele turned toward the door, unable to say anything as she abandoned the elmedic in the chaos.
She and her mother rushed out through the double doors.
Lana, her sister, was already waiting inside the car, and rain poured down as lightning danced on the horizon.
She was opening the door when she heard the palace bells toll twice.
The world seemed to freeze. Her heart raced and her mouth went dry.
The bells were only rung to announce the death of the king or a Pillar.
One of the three had died—or all of them together, if it was Elitium.
She looked inside the hospital, frozen, watching people through the glass door as they crowded in front of the reception screen.
She had never been one for prayers. But in that moment, she dared to ask.
Not him, she pleaded. Her hopes shattered when she heard the whispers echoing Serguei’s name, hitting her like a blow to the gut.
The psychic was dead.
Adele felt something empty and hollow where her heart should be.
She dropped her bags on the wet ground, not knowing what to do.
She just stood there in the rain, breathing fast. Her pulse raced, and the knot in her throat tightened like a noose.
Her mother opened the car door for her to get in, and when the feeric didn’t respond to the commands shouted in her face, the woman yanked her violently by the arm, her long nails digging into Adele’s skin.
Then she threw the bags in the trunk and forced Adele into the vehicle.
As the car pulled away, rage began to bubble inside the feeric, tinting her vision red. It was hot, sickly, and vicious. She was already used to that scalding touch; there were days when that feeling was the only thing in her life.
He had died. That was all she understood.
The only person, besides Kyller, who had ever done something for her was dead.
The only man who had shown her any real respect was gone.
The rage was so suffocating she could barely breathe or keep her eyes open.
She couldn’t even make out the streets they passed.
The car stopped, and Adele was led outside. Bags were dropped at her feet, and simple commands were given to her.