Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
"There must be something we can do," I say, desperation making my voice crack.
Voss glances around the room, taking in the destruction—toppled columns, shattered stone, scorched walls. "I would stay, but we're hosting guests, and my absence will soon be noted. Emissaries from Empire here to dig for reasons to bury me, no doubt," he adds with a sour twist of his lips.
"You're just going to leave us here?" I demand, anger flaring hot and bright. "How can you—"
"There's nothing that can be done for him. The siphon won't return for now, so you have nothing to fear on that count. Just... take your final moments with Raith. And come see me tomorrow. We have much to discuss." Voss strides out of the room, walking over the remnants of the blown in door. He regards the open doorway with a faint grimace, then disappears from view.
Typhon moves to my side, exhausted but still alert. "You will need to try to heal him. It could work. It could cleanse him."
"I don't know how," I reply, panic rising as the black veins continue to spread. "I've only ever healed myself."
"I’m too weak to help you as I did during Confluence Day. If you form a tether with him, it would be easier. The tether carries energy of its own. You could use this energy to fuel the healing. Use it as a pathway to draw out the void.”
I look down at Raith's paling face, the black veins now spreading across his jaw and down his chest. His breathing is shallow, each exhale weaker than the last.
Pyrin whimpers, his form diminishing further as the fire mark on Raith's hand grows fainter.
I can't let him die. Not like this. Not when he came to save me.
"How?" I ask Typhon. "What do I do?"
"An oath," Typhon replies. "Tether yourself to him as you tethered yourself to me. It will only be a one-way tether, so not nearly as strong or complete. But it could be enough.”
I take Raith's hand, the one marked with the fire symbol, and press it against my chest over my heart. His skin is cold, the warmth that always seemed to radiate from him nearly gone.
"Raith," I say, my voice surprisingly steady. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I swear this oath to you now. I swear I'll do everything I can to help you. To protect you like you've protected me." The words come from somewhere deep inside me, pulled forth by instinct and desperation. "Your life is my life. Your fight is my fight."
For a moment, nothing happens. Then I feel it—a faint vibration between us, like a thread being pulled taut.
The thread grows stronger, more defined, like a slender cord linking us together. It's nowhere near as solid as the tether between Typhon and me—more like a single thread compared to a woven rope—but it's there, pulsing with potential.
I place my hands on either side of his neck where the siphon touched him, calling forth my healing power. It's harder than healing myself, like trying to pour water uphill, but I push through the resistance.
The black veins resist, clinging to Raith's flesh like parasites. I can feel them fighting me, trying to burrow deeper. But something has changed with our connection. I can sense his life force now, feel how it's intertwined with Pyrin's, see how the void magic is eating away at them both.
I don't just push at the corruption. I reach through our new thread-thin connection, anchoring myself to the core of who Raith is, and then I pull. I pull it from him the same way I draw in his fire when we touch.
The void magic is reluctant at first, clinging stubbornly. Then it begins to flow, sluggishly at first, then in an ever-increasing stream. It pours from Raith into my hands—a thick, oily substance that burns wherever it touches.
I gasp at the pain, but I don't let go. I can't.
"Don't let it linger inside you," Typhon warns. "Direct it away. Quickly."
I do as he says, channeling the corruption away from both of us and into the stone floor where it hisses and evaporates like dark sludge. But there's so much of it, far more than I expected, and each passing moment drains more of my strength.
The thread between us quivers but holds, growing slightly stronger as more of the corruption flows out of him. I can feel Raith now, sense his essence—all fire and determination and hidden depths.
"Stay with me," I whisper, as much to him as to myself.
Finally, the last of the corruption leaves him. The veins fade from his skin, and color returns to his face. His breathing deepens, steadies.
To my shock, the scars that have always twisted half of his face grow bright white and begin to dissolve, not completely gone, but far more subtle than the twisted valley of flesh they were before.