Page 12 of Unseen Eye (Aetherian Chronicles #1)

I don’t wait for Garet to respond, nor do I care what he might say; my mind is already made up.

I run faster than I ever have in my life, taking all the shortcuts I’ve discovered over the years.

My feet pound against the familiar forest path, and with each step, I can’t help but feel a creeping guilt settle into my chest, heavy and relentless, as if this is all my fault.

With each step, my necklace rises and falls against my chest, bringing a flood of memories—of laughter and training, of the countless times Kendry and I walked this path together.

Now, the once comforting route feels like a race against time.

I reflect on the stories Kendry told me as a child, the tales of ancient battles and dark creatures. My mind races, trying to piece together what I know—the hellhounds, the shadowfiends, the dreams. Everything seems connected, but I can’t quite grasp how.

Garet finally catches up with me, and in his hand is a much prettier sword than what he had before. Not only is it pretty, but it is also clean, almost as if it has just appeared. It looks stunningly similar to the one the man had yesterday.

“Eva, we need to be careful. Whatever did this is still here.” Garet says, his voice tense but resolute.

The cottage comes into view, or what’s left of it. My heart plummets at the sight. The once cozy and welcoming home is now a smoldering wreck, its walls charred and the roof partially collapsed. Flames lick at the remaining wooden beams, casting an ominous glow against the dark night sky.

The familiar garden where Kendry grew his herbs and remedies is trampled and scorched, a stark contrast to the vibrant life it held just this morning. Smoke billows from the ruins, carrying the scent of burning wood and herbs, stinging my eyes and throat as I approach.

Suddenly, I hear yelling—a voice filled with pain and desperation. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize Kendry’s voice. Panic surges through me, and I sprint the remaining distance to the cottage, weaving through the debris.

“Kendry!” I shout, my voice cracking with fear. I scramble over the fallen beams and rubble, my hands and knees scraping against the rough surfaces. The heat from the flames sears my skin, but I push forward, driven by sheer determination.

“Kendry, where are you?” I call again, my voice hoarse. I follow the sound of his yelling, praying I’m not too late. The noise seems to come from the back of the cottage, where his workshop used to be.

I reach the remnants of the workshop and freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. Kendry is not trapped; he’s fighting for his life.

Moving faster than I’ve ever seen him move, he battles a figure cloaked in darkness.

The creature—no, the man—is tall and imposing, with long black hair and pitiless onyx eyes.

His movements are fluid, almost graceful, as he wields a dark blade with lethal precision.

He is clearly someone of importance, a commander of some sort, maybe?

“Shit, what is he doing here?” Garet whispers from behind, his face pale with what looks like terror or shock.

Kendry is a blur of motion, parrying and striking with a speed and agility that seem impossible for his age. But it’s clear he’s struggling. The commander’s attacks are relentless, each strike pushing Kendry closer to the edge.

“Eva, get out of here!” Kendry yells, his voice strained and desperate. He doesn’t look at me, his focus entirely on his opponent. “Run, now!”

Ignoring his warning, I step closer, my mind racing. Garet appears beside me. “Eva, we need to go now,” he urges, grabbing my arm. “We can’t fight him. We won’t survive this.”

I wrench my arm free, my eyes never leaving Kendry. “I’m not leaving him,” I snap. My heart races, a mix of fear and adrenaline fueling my every move. “I won’t let him die. I have already lost my parents; I can’t lose him too.”

As if he was toying with Kendry this whole time, the commander raises his hand and Kendry goes flying backward, landing against what is left of the cottage. The sickening thud of his body hitting the wall sends a jolt of terror through me.

Wasting no time, the commander heads in our direction, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

Garet steps ahead of me, raising his sword in a futile attempt to protect us.

The commander chuckles, forcing the hair on my arms to stand.

“If only your father could see you now,” he says, his voice more sinister than his laugh.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, Garet is sent flying backward, crashing into the debris and leaving me standing there. Alone.

My heart pounds in my chest as I quickly pick up the sword Garet dropped, gripping it tightly. “I won’t let you hurt them,” I whisper, more to myself than to the dark figure advancing toward me.

The commander laughs, a cruel, mocking sound. “What do we have here? Do you really think you stand a chance against me, little girl?” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re just a scared little child pretending to be a hero. But heroes die, they always do.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Garet stirring. Good, I think, he is alive. Summoning all my courage, I decide that offense is better than waiting for the commander to flick his wrist again. With a determined cry, I launch myself at him, swinging the sword with all my might.

The commander blocks my initial strike with ease, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Foolish girl,” he taunts, parrying my blows with little effort. But I don’t stop. I swing and slash, each movement fueled by desperation and a need to protect those I care about.

For a moment, I think I might not be completely hopeless.

I manage to land a glancing blow on his arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

The same black blood the hellhounds have.

But then, with a swift and almost casual motion, he retaliates.

His blade slices through the air, and I feel a searing pain in my side.

Gasping, I stumble backward, my hand instinctively moving to the wound.

The pain is intense, but I force myself to stay on my feet.

The commander advances, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure.

He swings his sword again. I barely manage to block it, and the force of the blow sending vibrations through my wrists and up my arm.

Gritting my teeth, I prepare for his next strike.

I manage to block a series of his attacks, each clash of our swords sending sparks flying.

But the commander is anticipating my every move, his experience and skill far surpassing my own.

With a swift, calculated motion, he feints to the left.

I instinctively move to block, but it’s a trap.

He swiftly changes direction, driving his blade into my arm.

A searing pain shoots through me, and I gasp, stumbling backward.

My hand flies to the wound, blood seeping through my fingers.

The commander smirks, his victory seemingly assured.

I know I can’t hold out much longer. My vision starts to blur and my strength is waning. As the commander prepares to strike the final blow, a sense of calm washes over me. If this is the end, at least I fought to protect them.

But just as the commander’s blade comes down, I throw my hands up, and a blinding burst of light explodes. The light engulfs the commander, sending him staggering backward. For a moment, the entire world seems to pause, the brightness illuminating every corner of the wrecked cottage.

The commander lets out a roar of anger and pain, his form flickering as if the light is burning him from the inside.

He stumbles, his dark eyes wide with shock and fury.

But unlike the hellhound, he is still standing.

My heart races as I try to summon another burst of light, desperation fueling my actions.

“How?” The commander’s voices echoes with more anger, “How?”

The air crackles with tension as another surge of light explodes from my palms. This time, the beam is even larger, blazing with a blinding brilliance that forces the commander to stagger back.

The light sears through the shadows clinging to him, stripping away the dark shroud to reveal the monstrous truth beneath—his face twisted with malevolent rage.

His eyes, glowing with a fire that pulses like molten lava, and his skull grins in a mocking, predatory sneer.

Every inch of him radiates pure, unrelenting malevolence, as if the very essence of evil had taken form. Eyes burning with an unnatural fire.

The beam intensifies, pouring out with a force that seems to tear at the very fabric of reality.

The commander tries to resist, but the light is relentless, burning hotter, brighter, until it feels like the whole world is ablaze.

His screams are drowned out by the deafening roar of the light as it utterly consumes him, leaving behind nothing but echoes and ash.

When the light finally fades, the battlefield is silent, the commander gone—his sword the only trace of his existence, lying alone in the dust.

I stumble to my knees, drained from the effort. The pain in my side throbs with renewed intensity, and I struggle to stay conscious. Garet rushes to my side, his eyes wide with awe and concern. “Eva, are you all right?” he asks, his voice trembling.

I manage to look up at Garet, noticing the cuts on his arms and the large gash across his forehead. His clothes are torn and bloodied, but he is alive, and that’s all that matters right now.

My head is throbbing so badly that I barely make out what Garet is saying, and at the moment, he looks like he has two heads.

A flash of pain hits me in my side, and I slowly look down at my shirt, or what is left of it.

A cut runs from right below my breast to around my hip.

Another cut across my arm, so deep you can see bone.

Both are still bleeding profusely, with no signs of stopping.

As my heart rate starts to slow down, the adrenaline starts to fade, making the pain so much worse

“Kendry!” I scream as I try to stand, but all my strength is gone. I stumble a few steps forward before Garet is there to catch me. Using him as a crutch, we manage to make it over to Kendry.

Kendry is whiter than a fresh piece of parchment.

His face and arms are littered with cuts and gashes.

His leg is twisted in a way that I know means it is broken.

He has lost a lot of blood. Too much from the looks of it.

Tears start falling uncontrollably as I make my way to lay on Kendry’s chest, careful not to hurt him anymore.

As if sensing the pressure, his eyes begin to flicker open despite how painful it must be. “Eva,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Tell me what I can do. Tell me how to fix you,” I scream through the tears.

Kendry’s face softens. “There is nothing you can do. We don’t have much time. Garet?”

Garet steps forward, steadfast by my side. Kendry and Garet have never met before; Kendry avoids markets and crowds. Though I’ve spoken of him often, it’s not enough for instant recognition.

They lock eyes. It’s not a look of surprise, but one of recognition—of some unspoken understanding that passes between them like a ripple in the air. Garet nods slowly, a silent agreement.

I stare at the two of them, struggling to place it. It doesn’t add up. How can they lock eyes like this, like they’ve known each other for ages?

“You need to get her out of here. More will come when they realize what happened. That power surge was too strong to ignore,” Kendry says, each word strained, his energy waning.

“Help him!” I plead through tears streaming down my face.

“There’s nothing I can do. I can’t save both of you. I’m not that strong,” Garet admits in a whispered tone, reluctance evident. He tries to pry me away from Kendry, but I cling desperately.

Garet’s efforts strain my muscles, reigniting the bleeding from my sides. Blood rushes out anew, and I feel my strength ebbing. The world spins around me, but my focus is elsewhere.

“Kendry, I’m so sorry,” I sob, guilt and regret heavy in my voice. “This is all my fault. I should have told you everything.”

Kendry tries to respond, but either no words come or I can’t hear them over the rushing darkness that envelops me next.