Page 3 of Wrath of the Fae

He dies.

‘Pup…' I hear a distant voice call. ‘Pup?' Louder he calls until he yells in my ear. ‘PUP!‘

I throw open my eyes and let out a gasp. Lucca’s hand is wrapped around my wrist, pulling me away from the child’s head. I curl my fingers into a ball, regretting touching him and struggling to distance myself from the horror of his final moments.

Lucca’s fingers still hold onto me. I stare at them intently, focusing hard on his touch. His presence.

He slides them into my palm, gripping my hands firmly and letting me feel them.

Real. They’re real. He’s real, and so am I.

Solid and whole.

‘You okay?’ he asks, letting me trace my fingertips along the creases in his palm.

‘No.’ I shake my head and look at the village ahead. ‘But I will be when I’ve put the heads of the men who did this on these spikes.’

I see our people searching through what remains of the village. Their heads are low. Their weapons drawn. A painful silence is broken only by the sound of debris beneath their feet. Each of them has wings, all tucked in tight to their bodies. Every single one is a fighter. A soldier trained to be weapons of destruction, spies, saboteurs and protectors.

Trained warriors. Trained from birth in the flying islands of the Third Kingdom.

A kingdom now destroyed and sent crashing to earth with weapons made in the human realm. Weapons of fire and explosives.

These winged warriors fight for us now. They protect us and those who travel with us as we fight against the ruling monster of this realm.

‘We came too late,’ I whisper sadly, still watching his hand and mine. ‘Too late, Lucca. Too late!’

The tip we got about the raids on these villages reached us yesterday, and we travelled fast and far to get here in time.

Not fast enough.

The winged warriors, whom they call Valker, approach the spikes with their heads bowed, muttering a prayer to the Goddess and calling on her to watch over them in the afterlife.

‘I should help,’ I offer, seeing them gather the heads respectfully, ready for burial. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘No. Don’t touch anything,’ Lucca warns. ‘Not a thing. And especially dead children, Pup. Come on, think clearly. Your powers are too unstable. It’s not safe.’

I hate that he’s right. I had no plans to see and feel what I did. It was beyond my control. All of this is so far beyond my control, and I hate it. I fucking hate it.

There’s a squelch as the boy’s head is removed. My power surges, and the ground trembles as I relive his ending.

Lucca turns me away from seeing it all and lays my hand flat on his cheek, resting my palm over the harsh reminder of what happened to him. He encourages me to feel the deep grooves and rough skin of the scars left there from the night he almost died by that arch. The scars left there by Rhea.

He trails my fingertips over them all.

Real. Solid. Whole. In control.

I say it again and again in my mind. He says it, too, using his power to whisper in my thoughts with me. Promising me that this is real. I’m no longer in that machine. I am solid. I am whole. I am in control.

I’ve been looking at those scars for weeks as I slowly face my new reality. I’ve grounded myself in the rough gouges and deep marks of his features. I’ve memorised them. Followed them from start to finish over and over again. It’s the only truth I can hold onto. His injuries. His pain. It’s all I trust in. He’s all I trust. His left eye was so severely damaged in Rhea’s attack that a black patch now covers it. He’s blind in that eye. But that hasn’t slowed him down in the slightest.

‘Breathe, Pup,’ he whispers. ‘Keep control.’

It amazes me how he still looks like himself, though. Those deep grooves enhance his cheeky smile and draws attention to the sparkle he still holds in his remaining eye.

The ground stops trembling as I centre myself.

‘Thatta girl,’ he smiles softly. ‘Any chance you’ll stay here whilst we check for survivors?’

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