Chapter 47 Wren #3
From one breath to the next, something rushed inside Wren.
A torrential downpour of memories flowed into her.
The pain she had caused. The terror she had inflicted.
So many innocent souls. Destroyed by her hand.
Ripped apart. Arthur. She’d contorted his soul into a mindless shadow creature. And she had smiled…she had laughed.
She had enjoyed every second of it.
NO.
Wren let out an agonized wail, clutching her chest. This pain…
this was worse than any physical wound. Than any injury she’d endured.
This was the pain of knowing there was no fixing the damage she’d left behind.
Inside her, the shadows begged to resurface, to numb the memories.
She’d managed to push her consciousness back to the surface, but she was weak, and she knew that the moment she lowered her defenses, the darkness would claim her once again.
But there was still one thing she could do. One final act of defiance.
She stretched out her hands toward the pile of ashes beside her—toward what was left of Silas—but she couldn’t quite reach, a deep guttural groan emanating from the back of her throat. August looked on, brows furrowed.
“What is it? What do you need?”
“The ring,” Wren rasped, recoiling as another wave of torment shot through her body, sharpened nails ripping at her insides, tearing at her ligaments.
The screams echoed in her mind endlessly.
The terror. All her doing. Her fault. “It belongs to the Soulless One. You can’t let him put it on.
You can’t let him unleash what he’s hidden inside it. ”
You think you can stop this, my sweet catalyst? That you can change what you’ve done?
But Wren ignored the Soulless One’s taunting voice.
Her fingers finally found the ring beneath the pile of ash.
She slowly unfurled her palm. Nestled inside, burning with an emerald glow, was the brass ring marked with the Soulless One’s name.
August didn’t hesitate, taking the ring into his own hand, securing it tightly.
“Go…” Wren muttered. “You need to find a way to destroy it.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“You have to. You need to run.” Her ribs snapped. Her spine cracked unnaturally. There was no barrier protecting her from the pain anymore. This was her punishment, and the shadows wouldn’t relent until she gave herself up once more.
Mmmm. Do you feel my hands tearing at your soul, sweet catalyst? Ripping you apart? Do you feel the torment of your memories? Of your pain? Let me take that away from you, Wren. Let me back in.
Wren let out a hoarse scream as something slithered inside her. She wanted to tear her skin off. To rip herself open and yank that festering darkness out. She wanted—needed—the suffering to end.
Panic burned behind August’s slate-gray eyes. For a moment, Wren thought she’d managed to convince him, seeing a steady look of determination washing over his face, but then August was tossing the ring into the air, straight toward Irene, who caught it with a strangled gasp of surprise.
“Go.” August looked among the four of them. “Find a way to destroy it.”
The others hesitated. Their eyes snagged on Wren.
She mustered a strained smile, nodding feebly in encouragement.
“It’s okay,” she muttered, voice thin and thready. “Go.”
And then the four of them were turning away, bolting out of the office and into the chaos of the battle.
I will find them. I will tear them apart.
Wren shuddered. She wouldn’t give the Soulless One the satisfaction of answering his call. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on August. She committed his face to memory—etching every detail into the farthest reaches of her soul. In the place nobody could ever find it. Not even the Soulless One.
“I don’t have…a lot of time.”
August gripped her hands tightly in his, bringing them up to his lips, planting soft kisses on her knuckles.
“Truthfully…” August winced, and it was then that Wren realized how haggard he looked. Deep plum-colored bruises stained the skin beneath his eyes. Black veins trailed down his face and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. “Neither do I.”
Wren tilted her head in confusion, but then understanding struck her hard in the chest.
The shadows…they were consuming him. He’d used too much shadow magic.
He’d damned himself.
Wren could only manage one word.
“Why?”
August smiled, but an unmistakable sadness lingered behind his eyes.
“Why do you think?”
Wren bit back a sob. Her insides were alight with an unbearable agony, a searing fire consuming every inch of her soul, yet still…she smiled. She raised her hand, fighting the pressure threatening to consume her, and placed her palm upon August’s cheek. He shut his eyes, leaning into her touch.
In that moment, Wren was no longer scared. She no longer feared the pointed claws of oblivion. She no longer feared the darkness that awaited her if the shadows finally swallowed them both whole.
Because if this was how her soul fractured, if this was how it all came to an end—staring up at August, at the boy she loved—then so be it.