Chapter 43 Dastian
Dastian
The static hits my skin first. It prickles along my forearms, raising the fine hairs. I know this frequency. It is stubbornness wrapped in a soul that refuses to quit.
Dreven doesn’t feel it. He stays on his knees, head bowed against her chest, shadows pooling around him in a sluggish, mourning tide. He thinks he killed her. He thinks he drove that blade home and ended the best thing that ever happened to us.
“Dreven,” I say, my voice rough.
He ignores me. He grips her hand like he can force life back into it through sheer will.
The air pressure drops. My ears pop. The water in the tunnel ripples without a current to drive it. I grin. My hands spark, red energy jumping between my fingers. The chaos in the room aligns, snapping into a sharp, singular point right above her body.
“She’s coming,” I tell him.
He lifts his head, eyes silver and hollow. “Stop.”
Then she gasps.
It is a wet, desperate sound. Her back arches off the cold stone. The wound in her chest knits together under a layer of black shadow and gold light, sealing the impossible damage in seconds.
Dreven freezes. He looks at her face, then at the healing skin, terrified to believe it.
Nyssa coughs. She sucks in a breath that rattles her ribs.
“Told you,” I whisper, the knot in my chest loosening until I can breathe again. “She promised.”
Dreven gathers her up against his chest, his hands moving over her face, her arms, her back. He checks for reality. He needs tactile proof that she isn’t a ghost. His shadows swarm them, coating the floor and wrapping around his boots in a frantic embrace.
“Nyssa,” he chokes out. It is a sound I never want to hear from him again. It sounds like something breaking.
She blinks, her amber eyes unfocused for a second before they find his. “Ow,” she croaks. “That really hurt.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. The sound bounces off the wet stone walls. The relief hits me in the chest with enough force to stagger me. I drop to a crouch beside them. My hands still spark, but the red energy feels lighter now, less jagged.
“You cut it close, slayer,” I tell her. “I was about to start breaking things.”
“You’re always about to start breaking things,” she whispers. She tries to sit up, but Dreven holds her fast. He buries his face in her neck. He shakes. The god of Shadows, the unshakeable force, trembles.
Voren steps out of the gloom near the tunnel entrance. He looks solid again, the grey overlay of the veil gone. He nods to me. A simple, flat acknowledgement. We won.
“He’s gone,” Nyssa says, her voice gaining a little strength. She puts a hand on the back of Dreven’s head.
I scan the room. The pressure is normal. The water outside the pocket holds its shape without the extra weight of the void pressing against it. “You evicted him.”
She nods. “He thanked me.”
Dreven frowns.
“Yeah,” she says. “I was surprised too. I guess he became something he didn’t like.”
“Or Aethel drove him to it,” I say.
“Aethel,” Nyssa spits out. “What the hell are we meant to do with her ghost? I really don’t want her hovering around making comments for the rest of eternity.”
Voren snorts. “Don’t worry about her. She is under my command. She will go to the void and stay there.”
“Good riddance,” I say, straightening up. “She was a tyrant when she was alive. I doubt death improved her personality.”
Dreven finally pulls back enough to look Nyssa in the eye. He looks wrecked. His composure is usually absolute, but right now, he looks like a man who stared into the abyss and didn’t like what he saw.
“We need to go,” I say, clapping my hands together to break the heavy mood. The sound echoes sharply off the wet stone. “Pool can’t hold this tunnel forever, and I am done with damp air. This place is depressing.”
Nyssa tries to stand. Dreven helps her up instantly. He grips her waist like he thinks gravity might try to steal her again.
“Can you walk?” he asks.
“I can walk,” she says, though she wobbles on her first step. “I just died, Dreven. I didn’t lose my legs.”
She finds her humour fast. That is a good sign. It means the Nyssa we know is actually back in there.
Voren joins us. “The dead are silent. It is truly done.”
“Let’s get topside,” I suggest. “I want a drink. A strong one.”
“Tea,” Nyssa states.
“Whatever liquid you want, slayer. I’m buying.”
We move back toward the tunnel. The water outside the magical barrier presses in, dark and heavy. I keep the pressure off us with a thought, guiding the chaotic energy to reinforce the walls as we pass.
Nyssa stops at the entrance and looks back at the empty chamber. The cut stones look ordinary now. Just wet rocks in a dark hole.
“No more Devourer,” she whispers.
“No more Devourer,” Dreven confirms. He kisses her temple.
“You saved the fucking world, slayer,” I say, taking her from Dreven and wrapping my arms around her. “How does it feel?”
“Like I’m a god,” she whispers, her hands cupping my face as she presses her lips to mine.
I deepen the kiss, claiming her mouth with everything I have. She responds with equal force, her fingers tangling in my hair. She is alive. She is ours. The chaotic energy under my skin settles into a hum of satisfaction rather than the jagged need to destroy.
“As touching as this display is,” Voren says, stepping past us toward the ascent, “Pool is vibrating the walls. She is losing her grip.”
I pull back, though I keep my arm around Nyssa’s waist. “Right. Let’s not drown after saving reality. That would be embarrassing.”
Dreven takes her other side, his hand finding hers instantly. He needs the contact more than I do right now. We move up the sloping floor of the tunnel. The light from above grows from a pinprick to a disc. I keep the pressure of the water back, pushing against the crushing weight with a thought.
We break the surface and scramble onto the wet rocks of the shoreline. Pool stands there, her face pale, arms trembling. She drops her hands, and the water collapses behind us with a roar, sealing the passage.
“Don’t ask me to do that again,” she snaps, wiping water from her eyes.
“Noted,” I say, helping Nyssa find her footing on the slick stones.
She looks up at the sky. The clouds break apart, revealing patches of blue that look impossibly bright. The purple bruise of the Devourer is gone. The air is clear. “I don’t think I’ve seen it this sunny in months,” she comments.
“It’s perfect,” I say, keeping my gaze on her.
She smiles, but it has a tinge of sadness to it. “Home, then?”
I nod. “Back to the cottage for tea.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not the cottage. The Pantheon Realm.”