Page 23 of Storm of Stars (Pride of Praxis #2)

But as I stared out at the water, a sinking feeling clawed at my chest. The fire was not contained to my island.

I could see a handful of other orange glows in the distance, flickering along the shores of nearby islands.

The flames were claiming them too. I felt my heart tighten at the thought of Briar, Thorne, and Ezra.

I could only pray they were safe and that they had the smarts to stay alive long enough to make it out.

I had nothing with me, aside from the hatchet still gripped tightly in my hand, and my soaked t-shirt, now pressed against my face to mask the smoke that was thickening around me. The water was close, but it did me no good if I couldn’t reach the fire and put it out. I didn’t have time to waste.

Ignoring the fire’s growing intensity, I forced my legs to move. The air was stifling, thick with smoke, but I couldn’t let it stop me. My lungs burned with each breath, but I pressed forward up the cliff’s edge.

I needed to get to higher ground, needed to protect my tower.

The flame had to be kept away. I scrambled through the trees, the smoke pressing in on all sides.

It made the air feel oppressive, heavy with heat and ash.

I was disoriented, my mind fogged with pain and exhaustion, but I pushed on, driven by the need to protect what little hope I had left.

Eventually, I reached my tower again. I barely noticed the way my palms were scorched from touching the burning roots on the climb back up. The heat was unbearable, but there was no time to stop. I couldn't stop. The fire hadn’t reached this spot yet, and I was determined to keep it that way.

I moved fast, snatching up the last of the branches and broken lumber from my earlier pile.

My fingers fumbled clumsily with the wood as I staggered around the base of the tower, laying it out in a wide, rough circle.

Every breath was a struggle, my lungs clawing against the thick smoke curling in the air.

Inside the ring, I dropped to my knees and, using the hatchet, carved a shallow trench into the dry dirt.

It wasn’t deep, my arms shook too badly for that, but it was something.

A pitiful line of defense. A thin scar against the oncoming fire.

It wouldn’t hold the flames for long. Maybe not even for an hour.

But maybe, just maybe, it would buy me enough time to see the sun rise. Enough time to survive.

The fire was growing louder now. I could hear it snapping and tearing through the trees, a living, breathing thing. Flames leapt hungrily at the leaves overhead, and the tall grass around the edges of the clearing swayed as it was devoured.

I finished the circle best as I could, and then, heart pounding in my ears, ran toward the inferno. I needed a torch.

Near the edge of the blaze, I found discarded brush, already dry and brittle.

The heat was unbearable this close, suffocating and thick, but I didn’t hesitate.

With trembling hands, I fashioned a crude torch, thrusting it into the searing edge of the fire.

Flames clung to it instantly, racing up the dry twigs.

Torch in hand, I turned and sprinted back toward the tower. Every step was agony, the smoke was a living thing inside my chest. When I reached the base, I didn’t stop to catch my breath. I jammed the hatchet into my belt, gripped the ladder tightly with my free hand, and began to climb.

The smoke climbed with me.

It was thicker up here, curling in heavy plumes around the structure. My muscles screamed with the effort of hauling myself upward one-handed, the other hand desperately clutching the burning torch.

I reached the top platform, panting, my vision swimming. The lantern was mounted too far from the edge, I couldn’t reach it from the ladder, not with the condition of my arm. I had to step onto the rickety platform itself.

The rotted wood would surely give out, but then again, I’d die if I didn’t try.

I slid under the railing, gritting my teeth as I eased onto the brittle, splintering wood.

Every step had to be deliberate, precise.

I didn’t reinforce a damn thing up here, a fact I was now regretting.

I kept the torch held high above my head, terrified of brushing it against the dry, crackling boards underfoot.

I spared a glance outward and immediately regretted it.

The fire had reached the perimeter of my makeshift barrier.

It roared and spat in defiance, wicked and bright.

To my left and right, across the water, matching infernos danced on matching islands, consuming everything in sight.

It looked like the whole world was burning.

I forced myself to look back at the lantern. Focus. Get it done.

I edged forward, one careful step at a time. A board beneath my foot snapped with a loud crack.

I gasped as my leg plunged through the floor. Sharp wood tore into my shin, slicing deep. Pain exploded up my leg. I screamed, the sound ripping free of my raw throat, but somehow, somehow, I kept the torch aloft.

Tears blurred my vision as I hauled myself up, my blood dripping steadily down my ruined leg. Every part of me shook, my nerves fraying, but I staggered the last few feet and shoved the torch into the lantern.

The flame roared to life.

Light burst outward, caught and magnified by the polished mirrors around it. It was bright enough to cut through the heavy smoke, bright enough to be seen even from miles away.

I stumbled back against the railing, nearly collapsing. Through the haze, I spotted the small black eye of a camera mounted in the corner of the tower, its cold lens watching me. Watching and recording every miserable second.

Good. Let them watch.

With what little strength I had left, I hurled the torch out beyond the defensive ring, praying it wouldn’t land inside it. It landed with a thud and sputtered out into darkness beyond my barrier.

And then there was nothing to do but stand there.

Blood poured hot and fast down my leg. My burned arm throbbed with every heartbeat. My lungs, scraped raw and broken, strained with each shallow breath.

I stood there, broken and burning, the tower creaking beneath me, and stared toward the horizon, waiting for the first fragile light of dawn to break.

Waiting to be saved.

My makeshift barrier had held for longer than I'd dared to hope, the fire slowing at the edge, dancing hungrily along the rim of scorched branches and half-burnt wood. But already, it was beginning to breach, licking over the trench I’d dug like it barely existed.

The horizon began to glow. Pale light bled over the glistening water, the deep purple of night giving way to bruised orange and gold. Dawn was here.

But where was the rescue?

I clung to the railing, scanning the line where sea met sky, heart hammering against my ribs so violently it hurt. I searched desperately for any sign, any shimmer of wings, any flash of silver, but there was nothing. Only the rising sun and the thick columns of smoke billowing from the islands.

Six lanterns burned against the creeping fire, small stars of hope in a sea of smoke and devastation.

I sent a silent prayer for the others. Please let my Wildguard be among those six.

Please let them have lit their lanterns.

Please let them be waiting like I was, perched at the tops of their towers, injured maybe, terrified definitely, but alive.

The minutes dragged on. The sun rose higher, gilding the world in indifferent light. Still, no rescue.

Fury bubbled up inside me, raw and bitter.

“We’ve passed your trial!” I screamed, my voice ripping through the smoke and up toward the camera still mounted in the corner. “We did what you asked!”

My blood, sticky and dark, was pooling around my boots as I gripped the railing, each word soaked in desperation.

Below me, the fire surged forward. The barrier finally gave way completely, and the flames spilled into the clearing. I watched helplessly as they danced toward the tower from every side, embers spinning like vengeful spirits.

“No,” I whispered, my voice cracking as the fire crept closer.

Was this it? Was this the punishment Veritas had planned all along? Was this the cost of rebellion? Would they make me burn, live on camera, to warn the others what disobedience meant?

Would I ever see Jax again? Ava? My Wildguard?

I staggered upright, coughing violently as I pulled the strip of cloth from around my face. The smoke filled my mouth and nose immediately, harsh and searing, but I forced myself to meet the camera’s unblinking gaze.

If they were going to let me die, then they would damn well look me in the face as I did.

“For the will of the people,” I said, forcing the words out, steady and strong even as my body trembled.

The heat coiled up around the tower like a living thing, the wooden structure groaning under its assault.

“For the will of the people,” I repeated, louder this time, louder than the crackling flames, louder than the part of me that screamed to run even when there was nowhere left to go.

I thought of Zaffir. Somewhere, he would be watching. Somewhere, he would see this footage. He would have to watch me die. But maybe he’d leave this final rebellious act in the edit. Let it slip through the cracks so everyone could see. Even if it put him in danger. Especially if it did.

I set my jaw, locking eyes with the camera, and screamed it again, “For the will of the people!”

The tower shuddered under me. I could feel it begin to give, the wood at the base devoured and crumbling.

Then, faint but growing louder, I heard it. The distant, beautiful buzz of engines.

I jerked my head up, squinting through the smoke. Small planes. Several of them, dotting the sky like black-winged angels.

My heart leapt in my chest.

The tower creaked alarmingly as it swayed, and I clung tighter to the railing. The planes came closer, slicing through the thick, smoky sky. I could have waved them down. I could have screamed for them.

But I didn’t. I refused to give Praxis the satisfaction of seeing me grateful for a rescue they had orchestrated the need for in the first place.

Instead, I stood tall. Bloodied, burned, and broken, but still standing.

The first plane hovered directly over me. A rope ladder uncoiled, swinging wildly in the smoke and turbulence.

I reached for it, but my arm, battered and raw, screamed in protest. The ladder swung just out of reach.

And then the tower groaned one last time and began to fall.

I had no choice…I jumped.

I caught the rope, pain exploding through my body as my injured arm wrapped instinctively around the rungs. The tower collapsed beneath me, the world a roaring chaos of fire and ash, as the plane began to lift me away.

I climbed, slowly, gritting my teeth against the agony, blood pouring freely from my leg, my muscles spasming and locking with every movement. The plane’s ladder swayed violently in the hot updrafts from the inferno below.

Hand over hand, I pulled myself higher.

When I finally reached the open door of the plane, I spilled onto the metal floor, my body too broken to do anything but collapse. My chest heaved in shuddering, painful gasps.

I’d made it, alive. Bleeding and injured, sure, but alive nonetheless. And I could only hope that my Wildguard managed the same.