Page 205 of Children of Fallen Gods

He explains to her, later, what it is. He himself seems as if he doesn’t understand it. But the Arch Commandant works closely with him, as does Vardir. She watches as they train him. Still, she does not truly grasp the power of what he holds until one day, some thread of control snaps within him, and he levels the entire training ring without so much as hesitating. It is sheer luck that Nura, Vardir, and the Arch Commandant manage to escape unscathed. Despite the destruction, Vardir is gleefully delighted, and the Arch Commandant is grimly satisfied. Nura isn’t sure whether she is more awed or afraid. Perhaps both.

Time passes. The war grows bloodier. Reshaye grows more comfortable in Max’s skin, even though, for Max, it is the opposite. The first time he uses Reshaye in battle, their victory is so swift and indisputable that it leaves Nura speechless. Everyone is thrilled. But afterward, Max withdraws, leaving the celebration early. She goes to his apartment after, and finds him sitting in the dark, staring at the wall.

“Max? Are you alright?”

He peers over his shoulder at her. For a split second, it is not him. Then the familiarity flickers to life like a candle.

“Just tired,” he says, giving her a weak smile, but Ascended, he was always such an awful liar.

* * *

Nura is twenty-two years old,and nothing could ever have prepared her for this. People that she fought beside for a decade were screaming in agony in the streets and she was simply running by. She turned a corner and watched her commander die a brutal death, a rebel spear impaling his chest. And like all the rest, she turned and left him. What could she do?

This should have been a routine mission. The city of Sarlazai was not even supposed to be their final destination. But the rebels had been waiting, and they ambushed them — ambushed them here, practically destroying their own city. The sheer callousness of it overwhelms her.

By the time she makes it back to the rendezvous point, it is clear that this is a slaughter, with no path to victory. An awful realization has fallen over her when she finally recognizes a familiar face in the smoke. She grabs her friend and yanks him back into an alleyway, sheltered, albeit poorly, from the fighting.

Max is a good fighter. His knife is at her throat immediately.

“Don’t you dare kill me,” she says. “There are a hundred rebels who would rather do that instead.”

His knife drops. The look of sheer relief on his face when he recognizes her is gutting. Then she sees how badly he is bleeding, and her stomach drops.

“How much of that is yours?” he asks, taking in the blood on her own jacket, and she shakes her head.

“How much ofthatis yours?”

“That bad?”

“Very bad. You don’t feel that?”

His eyes are wide open, but she can tell that he is weaving in and out of consciousness. Dread clenches in her chest. He will not remain standing, not like this, not without a healer. Not without…

“We need to retreat,” he tells her.

But Nura is tired of retreating. They will retreat today, and leave behind a slew of corpses that gave their lives for nothing. Tomorrow or next week or next month, she will be cradling another dying child or weeping mother. She will be tossing the ashes of another comrade out to sea, where they will be swept up and lost, like a million others before them.

It will never stop.

And she has nothing more to give.

Her hands are at his cheeks. “We have you,” she whispers. “We haveyou.”

Revulsion careens across his face. “Hell no.”

“If they want to shit in their own beds, they can lie in it.”

The words are so harsh that they sting her lips. But she isangry. These are innocents, suffering here. And the rebelsdidstart this here, setting fire to their own home.

Yet, the hurt that flickers across her friend’s face clenches her heart. It is so raw. Even when everyone else grew cold out of sheer exhaustion, he held onto that wonderful — dangerous — naiveté.

“I can’t,” he tells her, and she understands it is the truth.

He had been given a gift. But he is too gentle to use it. Even if doing this one terrible thing saves the lives of thousands.

She loves him. She had never let herself think of it in those terms, not even alone to herself. It is a dangerous word. Only now, at the end of the world, does she let herself feel it.

Her fingers move to his temple. She can feel his mind beneath her magic. She already knows the shape of it. She has never known anyone so well.

---