CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Smoke clawed at my lungs, thick and burning, and every breath cut through me.
I couldn’t scream.
Couldn’t cry.
Just breathe and hurt and breathe again.
Everything around me was screaming. The ground shook. People ran, stumbled, and fell. Some didn’t get back up.
Chaos. Real chaos. Crushing. Soul-ripping. I didn’t know where to look. Everyone was running as if there was a way out.
But there wasn’t.
We were trapped.
And I was in the middle of it. Fear heavy in my veins, weighing down every limb, like I was moving through tar. I tried to help, reached out to someone, but my hands just grasped at the air.
I couldn’t hold onto anything.
I saw a woman with her baby, flames climbing up her dress. An old man crushed under the stampede of Eredian soldiers. A boy screaming for his father, and no one hearing him.
People I knew. Faces I recognized. And I saw them fall. One by one.
My mouth opened to scream without sound.
I wasn’t there.
Not really.
I was just watching. A ghost walking through a nightmare.
The fire was everywhere. It roared and crackled and spat heat in my face, burning with something that felt personal. My skin stung. My eyes burned, but I still walked.
Bodies lay in the streets, broken and twisted. Some were blackened and brittle, the air around them still shimmering with heat, while others were still moving. I couldn’t tell which was worse.
Then there was the smell. Burnt flesh. Blood. Rot. It filled my nose and seeped into my mouth, making me gag from the taste.
And the soldiers. Death in armor. They moved with a rhythm, cutting through everything in their path with terrifying precision. Laughing. Smiling. As if it were sport.
My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. I kept waiting for it to give out. For something in me to snap so I could lie down and stop feeling any of it. But it just kept beating.
Kept screaming in my chest.
Then I saw my house still standing somehow. My feet moved on their own. I ran. Or maybe I crawled.
I don’t know.
All I could think was that my parents were still in there. Maybe I could get to them. Maybe I could stop it.
But I didn’t.
He was already there.
Arche.
Standing in front of my home like it belonged to him.
The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He looked content. Happy. In control.
I wanted to tear him apart. Burn him alive. But I couldn’t.
I watched them break the door down. My mother tried to defend herself. She raised her hands. Said please.
Arche didn’t hesitate.
One swing and she was gone.
I saw my father next, dragged out the back, kicking, shouting, refusing to go quietly. He fought, but they still crushed him.
It all started blurring together. The sounds. The heat. The screams. I couldn’t tell what was real and what was memory anymore. I think I was crying, but I couldn’t feel my face. And then Arche turned toward me.
He looked straight at me, as if he had known I was there all along.
And then he smirked.
“You couldn’t save them,” he mocked. “Not then. Not now.”
The words lodged in my ribs like splinters.
“You should have died with them.”
My voice finally broke through the fog. “Then kill me,” I spat.
His smile deepened and he stepped closer. He moved as if he didn’t want to rush the moment, spinning the knife between his fingers with a casual flick.
“My pleasure,” he hissed.
His blade met my throat. Cold and sharp. It was fast and slow all at once. Burning and stabbing and tearing. I felt the blood spill before I knew I’d been cut. It soaked my dress. My chest.
Warm. Heavy.
My knees gave out and the ground welcomed me. I landed beside my mother, her hand so close to mine, but I couldn’t reach it.
Everything faded and then finally it was quiet.
───── ????? ─────
My eyes flew open.
For a second, I thought I was still dreaming, but the weight in my chest told me I wasn’t.
The grief. The terror. The guilt. All of it was still here. My body remembered it. Every second of it. Every flicker of fire.
And the worst part?
I remember dying. I remember how it felt. How cold it got. How quiet. I remember knowing it was over.
The dream was over, but something was wrong. I was awake, but only in my head, my body didn’t move. Not even a twitch.
I could blink, but that was it.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t feel my body.
I wasn’t in it anymore.
I had been locked out of myself, my body becoming my coffin.
I was stuck. The panic hit so fast it felt like drowning.
My heart beat faster.
I was buried alive inside myself, screaming in my head, begging anyone, anything, to wake me up. But there was nothing.
Because I wasn’t dreaming, and I wasn’t dead.
I don’t know how long I lay there before I heard Will’s voice.
“Good morning, Kera.” he chimed.
Hearing him say my name twisted something deep inside me. I wanted to reply. Gods, I wanted to reply. But I couldn’t.
He moved closer. I could feel the bed dip as he sat.
“Kera?” he said again. His voice floated somewhere above me, too soft, too far. He touched my shoulder gently and shook it. Then again, a little firmer.
I heard him. I heard everything. The rustle of his coat. His breath catching. The way his voice cracked a little when he repeated my name.
I just couldn’t move.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice now panicked. “Kera?”
I wanted to scream. I’m here. I hear you. Please, don’t leave.
But my lips wouldn’t part.
I blinked, rapid and desperate. It was all I could do. Hoping he would see it, that he would realize I was still in there, trapped behind my own eyes.
But he didn’t. He shook me harder, his voice rising with it. “KERA!”
I wanted to sob. Wanted to grab his hand, dig my nails into his skin, do anything to show him that I wasn’t gone. Instead, I watched him bolt for the door, his voice ringing out into the hall.
“Iria! Something’s wrong!”
Footsteps. Quick and frantic. Then Iria’s voice, softer, concerned. They rushed back into the room. I felt the shift of air as they moved closer, felt their eyes on me.
“She’s been through too much, the poor thing,” Iria murmured as she gently touched my face. “She needs to rest.”
“Rest?” he shot back. “Will she be okay?”
Iria sighed, placing a hand on his arm.
“Calm down, dear. We should leave her for now. She just needs to rest.” Iria repeated.
I wanted to laugh.
Rest?
Sleep was a trap. Sleep was fire and screams and blood.
Sleep was him.
I wanted to beg them not to leave me alone with it. With the memories and the nightmares.
But they did.
Their voices faded into the fog of my mind, and the door clicked shut behind them. And then it was just me. Me and the body I couldn’t control. Me, and the memories scraping at my insides.
I had known grief before, but not like that.
Never like that.
Before, I could always fight it. Bury it and keep going. Keep living.
I had always been the one who held everyone else together, I never had a choice. But there was no one left to be strong for. I guess that’s why I fell apart. Why I became a shell of a girl in a stranger’s bed.
The days blurred. Or maybe it was weeks. I lost track. Will kept coming back, again and again. He would sit next to me and talk. Talk about the weather. About Iria’s cooking. About how he thought the dog downtown liked him. Sometimes he spoke as if I were still there. As if I might answer.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he’d tell me, his voice soft and certain. How could he be certain?
Then one morning, he walked in holding a little jar. Clear glass, a ribbon tied around the neck. And inside it was filled with wildflowers. A messy, imperfect bunch. Yellow and whites, violets and blues. Some were already drooping, almost wilted.
Will set the jar down on the nightstand beside the bed, right in front of my face.
“I found them in the garden,” he said, brushing the petals with his thumb. “It’s really nice out there. I’ll show you once you’re better.”
He paused, eyes lingering on the flowers. “Thought you’d like them.”
I wanted to tell him I saw them.
That I loved them.
He was so gentle and patient, but really bad at pretending like it wasn’t breaking him too, seeing me like that. Not knowing if I’d ever come back to him.
Iria came to visit me too. She cleaned me. Fed me. Brushed the knots out of my hair. Treated me as if I was a child again.
The first time she undressed me, I wanted to disappear. My face burned with shame, but I couldn’t stop her. And when I saw my own body again, I felt even worse. No scars. No bruises. No signs that anything had happened to me at all. As if none of it were real. As if my memories were lying.
It made me sick.
“Don’t worry, love,” Iria said one night, noticing my flushed cheeks. “I’ve done this many times before.”
Her kindness made it worse. I didn’t deserve it.
But the nights were the worst part. I couldn’t sleep, but I couldn’t move either, so I just lay there, trapped with my thoughts.
My memories.
Reliving them again and again and again.
At least I’d never forget. And I’d never forget the vow I’d made.
I’d make them pay.
Maybe I couldn’t do it now, but I would find a way.
Then finally one morning, Iria came to my room with soup. She opened the curtains and sunlight spilled across the room.
“Thank you.” I managed.
I couldn’t believe it. I spoke. The words scratched at my throat and I didn’t even feel them leave my lips, but there they were.
Iria smiled.
“Good morning, love,” she said, her whole face lighting up. I smiled back.
Later, Will stepped into the room with a kind of nervous energy that made my chest tighten.
“I heard you were feeling better,” he said.
He came closer, holding a large gift box tied with twine.
“I brought something for you,” he said, setting it down on the bed. “Do you want me to open it?”
I shook my head, and my hands trembled as I reached for the string. It took more effort than I wanted to admit to pull it loose, my arms felt distant, unfamiliar, but I sat up, and opened the box.
Inside was a dress.