Page 24 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

Iwas dressed for war.

The red leather of my uniform clung to me like a second skin, whispering against itself as I moved forward. The weight of the dagger at my hip was familiar, a steady presence, an extension of my own body. My boots crunched against the dry earth, each step a drumbeat toward an ending.

A group of men knelt before me in the dirt, bound and silent. Shoulders slumped, heads bowed. Some trembled. Others had already surrendered to their fate.

This was the end.

I was their executioner.

I had been trained for this. Molded for it. Born into it. I knew what was expected of me—efficiency, precision, the cold detachment of a killer who did not question orders.

I had never questioned them before.

And I would not question them now.

My gaze swept over the group, assessing. Among them, a man with silver-blonde hair sat motionless, blood painting the side of his face in streaks of red. He did not tremble. Did not plead.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back.

His face tilted upward, and the breath in my lungs froze.

Violet eyes met mine.

Recognition lanced through me, swift and brutal.

Malakai.

But it wasn’t really him. Not the Malakai I knew. This version of him was vacant, his gaze glassy, detached. He wasn’t looking at me—he was looking through me, past me, to something only he could see.

He had already accepted what was coming.

Resigned himself to darkness.

The weight of the dagger in my palm was suddenly unbearable. My fingers curled tighter around the hilt, as if they might betray me.

I had no choice.

This was what I had been made for.

With a sharp breath, I drew the blade from its sheath.

One clean motion.

One swift cut.

The tip of the dagger hovered just above his throat, poised to carve a final silence into the man who had once saved me.

I hesitated.

A breath. A single heartbeat.

Malakai’s eyes flickered, something flashing behind them. A whisper of recognition. A shadow of knowing.

And then—

“Nix.”

The sound of my own name, spoken without a voice, screamed through my head. The world blurred, shifting, unraveling. The edges of the scene bled away like ink on wet parchment. My breath caught as a sudden wave of nausea roiled through me.

No.

This wasn’t real.

I staggered back, my grip on the dagger slackening. My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of panic.

The kneeling figures melted into shadows. Malakai’s face wavered, flickering like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.

I gasped awake as the vision shattered, yanked violently from whatever dark recess of my mind had conjured it.

Cold sweat beaded along my brow. My breath came in short, shallow bursts. The cave came back into focus, the flickering firelight casting long shadows against the stone.

My hands shook.

I stared down at them, at the phantom weight of the dagger that was no longer there.

I could still feel the press of his throat beneath my palm. The way the blade had hovered. The second where I had almost—

I swallowed hard, a sharp taste of bile rising in my throat.

It was just a dream.

But the horror clung to me, sinking its claws into my ribs and twisting, reminding me of a truth I could not escape.

I would have done it.

If it had been real—if that moment had come to pass—

I would have killed him.

Malakai reached me faster than humanly possible. One moment, I was drowning in darkness; the next, warm hands cupped my face, steadying me, pulling me back. His touch burned in a way that had nothing to do with heat.

“You’re safe,”

he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, but sure.

"It was just a dream.”

His thumbs brushed along my cheekbones, grounding me. I couldn’t breathe. My chest heaved, my lungs straining as if I’d surfaced from the depths of the river again. My pulse thundered beneath my skin, pounding against the base of my throat.

I wasn’t safe. Not from this. Not from myself.

My eyes darted around the cave, searching for something real. The flickering silver light from the storm outside spilled through the cragged opening, casting shadows that crawled up the stone walls. The fire that had burned low before I fell asleep had been stamped out, leaving behind smoldering embers and the ghost of smoke curling through the air.

But my hands—my hands still shook. I clenched my fists against the phantom weight of a dagger that wasn’t there, against the memory of cold steel pressed to a throat that didn’t exist.

It had been a nightmare. But it felt like something worse. A truth I didn’t want to name.

“Nix.”

Malakai’s brows pulled together as he studied me.

"Are you okay?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. I could still hear the rasp of Malakai’s voice in my head, the way he’d surrendered to death in my dream. I could still feel the power that coiled in my veins, urging me forward.

I barely made it to my feet before my stomach turned violently. I stumbled toward the cave’s mouth, barely registering the pain that flared across my back as I pitched forward and emptied my stomach over the rocks. The cool night air hit my feverish skin, but it wasn’t enough to stop the bile from rising again.

A warm hand brushed my hair away from my face.

“Another nightmare?”

Malakai asked, his voice softer now.

I could only nod as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“What was it?”

I didn’t know where to begin.

How could I tell him that I’d dreamed of slaughtering him? That I had stood above him, dagger in hand, ready to sever the breath from his lungs? That some deep, terrifying part of me had wanted to do it?

He was still crouched beside me, his presence steady, solid.

"Nix, I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

I met his gaze then, and the concern in his violet eyes made my stomach twist even more violently. He didn’t look afraid of me. He should be.

I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to open my mouth and let the truth spill out like blood.

Instead, I lurched forward again, my body rejecting whatever was left inside of me.

Malakai didn’t flinch. He just rubbed slow, careful circles along my shoulders as I trembled.

“They’re just dreams, Nix,”

he murmured, voice low and sure.

"They can’t hurt you.”

I closed my eyes, the salt of sweat and sickness thick in my throat.

“They feel real,”

I whispered, my voice hollow.

"The things I see. The things I am capable of.”

The storm raged on outside, but it was nothing compared to the war inside me.

Malakai let out a slow, heavy sigh, the kind that carried the weight of years—centuries, even.

"I wish I could tell you that feeling goes away, love. I really wish I could. But even with as long as I’ve lived, I still don’t know. I live with my own guilt every day.”

I swallowed hard, his words unraveling something deep inside me. I wanted to believe it wasn’t permanent—the gnawing, festering rot of guilt. That maybe, one day, it wouldn’t feel like I was dragging a mountain behind me.

I looked up at him.

"What did you do that was so awful?”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Regret. Pain. A deep, weary kind of sorrow.

“I have a long list, love.”

Silence stretched between us, thick as the storm still howling outside. Without another word, we turned and headed back into the cave. The air inside was cool compared to the humid breath of the jungle, the firelight casting restless shadows across the rock walls. Malakai sat down first, crossing his legs with a casual grace that made my stomach tighten.

“Remember what I told you earlier? About my mother sending me away?”

I nodded, feeling an unexpected pang in my chest. There were few things more painful than being discarded by the one person meant to love you unconditionally. We’d both suffered that. The rejection, the abandonment. The desperate, unanswered question—why wasn’t I enough?

Malakai’s voice softened, as if he, too, felt the old ache resurfacing.

"After my father died, she sent me to train with the Hunters in Tiepaz.”

I stiffened. The Hunters. I’d heard whispers of them in the stories passed down among soldiers, old legends of the Hada who roamed Corinea, banishing spirits back to the depths of the Underworld. They were warriors, trackers, ghostwalkers. But that was the thing about legends—none of them were real. The Hunters had vanished from Corinea millennia ago.

Or so I’d thought.

Malakai rubbed his hands together, staring at the fire.

"The Crown Prince of Tiepaz was my age, and his father thought it would be good for him to learn ‘practical skills’ fit for a king.”

He let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head as if the thought was absurd.

"An’dru was a lot like Lian. Full of compassion. Couldn’t even step on a bug without apologizing to it first. Patient, kind, far too trusting.”

He smiled, but it was laced with something sad. Something broken.

“We were an odd pair,”

he admitted, running a hand through his silver hair.

"He was everything I was not. I was reckless, hotheaded, constantly getting into trouble. I pulled pranks on our teachers and spent more time evading punishment than actually learning discipline. But for some reason, we gravitated toward each other. Became inseparable.”

I could almost see it—two boys, one golden-hearted and the other wild and restless, forming a bond that even time couldn’t wear away.

Malakai’s voice lowered.

"When we graduated, I was chasing glory. I wanted something bigger, something that would make my name mean something. Rojas was having demon infestation problems—nasty ones. The kind that smelled like dark magic. It had all the telltale signs of someone practicing Sangruje.”

A chill slithered down my spine. I knew what Sangruje was. Blood magic, the darkest kind. The kind that could twist life itself into something monstrous.

Malakai’s jaw clenched.

"I convinced An’dru to come with me. We thought we’d find a Bruja hiding in the shadows, dragging demons into this world. We thought we’d be heroes.”

He took a breath, his hands curling into fists.

"But we were wrong. I made a bad call. Trusted the wrong person. And An’dru paid the price for my arrogance.”

I barely breathed.

“He was captured,”

Malakai said, his voice flat.

"Tortured. Experimented on. And when they were done with him—when they’d drained every last drop of whatever they needed from his body—they killed him.”

A sick feeling twisted in my gut.

Malakai’s hands gripped his knees, knuckles white.

"But that wasn’t the end.”

He looked at me then, his violet eyes storm-dark.

"They brought him back.”

A slow, cold horror spread through me.

“He wasn’t An’dru anymore,”

Malakai said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really. They made him into something else. A husk. A weapon.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"I went to Rojas looking for a monster. And I found one. Because I created him.”

His words rang through the cave, heavy with grief.

I sucked in a breath, my mind spiraling. Malditas weren’t just elite warriors—they were nightmares brought to life. Ghosts of the living, twisted into something unrecognizable, stripped of choice and will, molded into weapons. And Malakai’s best friend had been the first.

I didn’t know what to say. There was no comfort for something like that. No words that could stitch up a wound like his. I knew, because I carried my own.

For the first time, I understood why Malakai looked at me the way he did.

Not with pity. But with recognition.

Malakai kept speaking, his voice a jagged edge against the quiet of the cave.

"When An’dru’s father learned what happened to his son, he banished me from Tiepaz. Stripped me of my runes. My wings.”

His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his skin.

"He exiled me. That was almost two hundred years ago, and I still can’t talk about it without feeling like a failure.”

Two hundred years.

He’d carried that weight, that grief, for two centuries.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat thick and painful. I knew that feeling—the unbearable, crushing weight of guilt. The way it pressed against your ribs, making it impossible to breathe. The way it whispered to you in the dark, reminding you of every misstep, every drop of blood on your hands.

My heart ached knowing Malakai had faced all of it alone.

“I’m so sorry that happened,”

I whispered, the words feeling pitiful and small, like a single drop of rain against a wildfire. But I meant them. Goddess, I meant them. And honesty was the only thing I had to offer him.

Malakai let out a slow breath, shaking his head.

"He was my best friend.”

The admission was raw, unguarded.

"After that, I joined up with the Rojano Bloodguard. I thought—maybe I could make up for my sins by protecting others. Maybe if I fought hard enough, long enough, I could outrun my past.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"But when the Mondragóns needed me, I failed them too.”

I stiffened at the name. The Mondragóns.

Dom’s family.

Something cracked in my chest, splintering open like a fault line.

“Malakai—”

I started, wanting—no, needing—to say something, to tell him that he hadn’t failed. That he had saved Dom, and that had to count for something. But the words got tangled in my throat, strangled by the weight of my own guilt.

Because the truth was, I understood him too well.

I knew what it was like to carry ghosts. To live every day in the shadow of your own sins. To wake up and wonder if you even deserved the breath in your lungs.

I wanted to reach for him. To close the space between us, to touch him, to offer something—anything—to lessen his pain. But I didn’t know how.

“You don’t have to talk about it,”

I whispered, a weak attempt at comfort. His pain was too familiar. And the only way I knew to handle pain? Bury it so deep it stopped existing.

Malakai ran a frustrated hand through his silver hair, his breath coming out ragged. “No,”

he said, his voice thick with something raw.

"I need to say this.”

His eyes burned with unshed tears, his jaw clenched like he was fighting to hold back a flood he had kept dammed for too long.

“I don’t talk about it because it hurts Dom to think about it. But I did fail that night—”

His voice caught, and he swallowed hard before continuing.

"The night Danixtl invaded the palace. I made a choice, and that choice cost the life of an innocent little girl.”

My chest tightened.

“She was such a sweet thing too,”

he choked out, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes like he could shove the memories away.

"I used to rock her to sleep when she woke in the middle of the night. She liked when I sang to her.”

His breath hitched, and he shook his head, swiping at a stray tear that escaped down his cheek.

"But she was a troublemaker, too,”

he continued, his voice colored with the ghost of a smile.

"She’d run from her aunties and play in the mud. Break into the aviary and torment the birds.”

He let out a quiet, broken laugh.

"Once, she snuck into my quarters and left a very angry parrot inside my closet. My uniforms were covered in bird shit.”

Despite the heaviness in the air, I almost smiled at the image, but the warmth of the moment was fleeting. Malakai’s expression turned somber again, the weight of grief settling into the lines of his face.

“I love Dom. I’ve raised him since he was six years old. I don’t regret saving his life for a second.”

He inhaled sharply.

"My only regret is that I failed her. She was my queen. Crowned the night of her mother’s death. The sole heir to the throne. And I failed her.”

I knew that feeling.

I knew what it was like to be powerless when it mattered most.

To watch someone die because of your choices.

To carry that weight, that impossible, unbearable weight, knowing that no matter what you did, it would never be enough to balance the scales.

My mentor’s face, Mistress Cryx, flashed through my mind. I had failed her.

Malakai exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Nix,”

he whispered.

The way he said my name made my throat close up. Like a prayer. Like a plea.

I peeled my forehead from my knees and forced myself to meet his gaze. I regretted it instantly. His violet eyes burned into me, holding me there, making me feel seen in a way that was almost unbearable.

“Thank you,”

he murmured, leaning forward.

“For what?”

My voice barely carried over the crackling fire.

He smiled—a real, genuine smile, small and aching. And for just a moment, my heart forgot how to beat.

“For looking at me like I’m not a monster,”

he said quietly.

"Like I’m not a complete coward.”

I shook my head, something painful catching in my chest.

"I could never think of you that way,”

I admitted, before I could stop myself.

Before I could think better of it, I reached out and took his hand.

His fingers curled around mine, strong but careful, like he wasn’t sure if I would pull away.

I didn’t.

I squeezed his hand gently. Just a little reassurance, just a moment of shared grief.

Neither of us spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

The rain had begun to let up outside, but beneath the rhythmic patter of water against stone was another sound—low and unnatural, a deep, mechanical whooshing that sent a spike of unease down my spine.

I sat up slowly, my pulse quickening.

"What’s that noise?”

I asked, tilting my head to listen.

Malakai was already on his feet, moving toward the entrance of the cave. He peered out, his posture stiffening.

"Airships,”

he murmured, his voice tight.

"A scouting patrol, by the looks of it.”

The words sent a bolt of terror through me.

I shot up, ignoring the sting in my back, and tiptoed to the edge of the cave, pressing myself against the cool red rock. Carefully, I peeked around the edge.

Triangular monsters loomed in the night sky, their steel hulls dark against the storm clouds. Even through the sheets of rain, I could make out the blinking red lights lining their underbellies, the hum of their engines vibrating through my chest like the slow, steady drumbeat of doom.

A sharp inhale caught in my throat.

No.

I couldn’t go back. Not now. Not after everything.

Not when I’d finally put distance between myself and the King Regent of Aguatitlan. Not when I was so close to leaving everything behind. Rojas. Mother. The Malditas. My Bloodguard. Everything.

My hands curled into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. I forced myself to breathe evenly, but my body had already gone rigid, every muscle locked with the instinct to flee.

Malakai’s hand landed on my arm—steady, warm, grounding.

"I won’t let them come anywhere near you,”

he said, his voice softer now, quieter.

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure I’d actually heard him. My heart was a wild thing in my chest, hammering against my ribs.

An involuntary shiver wracked my body, whether from the cold or the ice-cold fear sinking its claws into my gut, I couldn’t tell.

Malakai studied me for a moment before shrugging off his jacket and pressing it into my arms.

"I’ll build another fire once those airships clear out. For now, all we can do is hunker down and pray the Aguatitlans don’t find us.”

I swallowed hard, wrapping the jacket around my shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body, smelling of spearmint and woodsmoke.

I forced myself to step away from the cave’s edge, curling up near the back of the shelter where the shadows were deepest.

Malakai sat near the entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade as he kept watch. The flickering remains of the fire cast his face in shifting shadows, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.

I wanted to say something. Thank him, maybe. Apologize for dragging him into this. But the words stuck in my throat like thorns.

Instead, I curled tighter into myself, gripping the edges of his jacket, and let the exhaustion pull me under.

Even as I drifted toward sleep, I could still hear the airships above us, circling like vultures.