Page 58 of Warlord’s Plaything

58

HIRA

T he world is silent.

Like it is holding its breath.

Like it is waiting for something to break.

The temple groans. The stone beneath me shudders, cracks, splinters.

The air is thick with the aura of burnt magic, of something ancient unraveling.

My ears ring from the explosion, from the collapse of Kaelith’s unholy empire, but I can’t focus on anything except the absence.

Kaelith is gone.

Erased.

His body—if it can even be called that anymore—has vanished, consumed by the magic he sought to control.

The altar is nothing but rubble, shattered and bleeding violet light into the dust.

The power that kept his monstrous form intact has been severed.

The dead?

The undead horrors that filled this place, that swarmed outside?

They are nothing but corpses now.

Lifeless.

Truly, finally dead.

But I don’t feel victory.

I don’t feel relief.

I can’t find him.

"Xyron!"

I stumble forward, my breath hitching, my body screaming in protest as I claw through the rubble.

The stones are sharp, slicing into my palms, my fingers slick with dirt and blood, but I don’t care.

My heart is racing too fast, pounding against my ribs like it wants to escape.

"Xyron!"

I dig faster.

Through shattered debris.

Through jagged pieces of altar stone.

Through what remains of the place that tried to consume us.

"You don’t get to do this!" I growl, my voice breaking. "You don’t get to leave me, you bastard!"

There is no response.

I tear through another layer of rubble, my breath coming too hard, too fast.

My vision blurs, the pain in my body insignificant compared to the panic clawing through me.

"No. No, no, no ? —"

My fingers brush something solid.

Not stone.

Not ruin.

Armor.

A choked sound tears from my throat.

I drop to my knees, gripping the edges of the broken chestplate, forcing aside the last of the rubble.

Xyron.

Unmoving.

Pale.

Too still.

Too quiet.

I press my hands against his face, searching for warmth, for breath, for anything that tells me he is still here.

His skin is cold.

His lips are slightly parted, his fangs barely visible.

His eyes?—

Closed.

Like he is already lost.

Like I am already too late.

"No, no, no."

My fingers dig into his shoulders, shaking him, willing him to move.

"Xyron, wake up. Get up."

Nothing.

"You don’t get to do this."

Still nothing.

"You don’t get to fucking leave me!"

The scream that rips from my throat is pure anguish, raw and hollow, breaking against the ruins of this cursed temple.

I press my forehead against his, my breath ragged, my chest caving in.

I shake him again.

Once.

Twice.

He doesn’t move.

And that’s when it hits me.

Like a blade straight through the ribs.

Like a death sentence I never saw coming.

Xyron is dead.

The world is still burning, still crumbling, still shifting under the implications what we have done.

But I don’t care.

The war?—

The war means nothing without him.

From when I was a child, since I learned that strength was the only thing that mattered?—

I break.

I shatter.

And I let the grief take me.

I grip his face, my hands trembling, my nails gripping into his skin like I can force life back into him.

"Please."

The word is nothing more than a whisper.

"Please, you stubborn bastard. You don’t get to die. Not now. Not after everything."

My voice wobbles, the sobs coming too fast, too strong.

"I hate you."

I press my forehead harder against his, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I hate you for making me care."

My hands fist in his hair, pulling, as if the pain will jolt him awake.

"I hate you for being the only thing in this gods-damned world that ever made me feel ? —"

My breath catches, my throat tightening so hard it hurts.

"I love you, you fucking bastard, so don’t you dare ? —"

I stop.

The words hang between us, too late, too raw, too broken.

There is no answer.

Only silence.

The silence of a dead man.

A man who gave his life for mine.

For all of us.

And I do the only thing I can.

I scream.

A sound that tears through the ruins, through my bones, through the very fabric of this night.

A sound that does not sound human.

A sound that sounds like a heart breaking.

Because mine already has.

“ NO!”