The sunset hurts to witness. It lights the sky aflame, a dazzling display of oranges and ambers and furious reds, all cracked through with glaring yellow, violent in its vibrant, piercing nature. The clouds are streaks of smoke and ash. The sight is hot and it's choking, a cackling beast crouched over the horizon. Mockery crackles in the stinging air.

It's too loud. In the glow of the retreating day, I crumple to my knees.

Edita's voice swims in at the edge of my awareness, blurred and watery, muffled beyond understanding. There isn't enough air in my lungs. I gasp, hand pressed to my chest, and struggle to draw it in, yet all I taste is dry emptiness. I'm suffocating. I can't escape. The pain is strangling me, winding around every muscle, every nerve, in thick cords of rope, scraping deep as it yanks tighter.

A hand clasps mine, dragging it upward. Her hand, numbly cold but something to cling to. Gathering all the drops of energy I have left, I shove to my feet, legs trembling and skin split a thousand times over, bleeding out a thousand scars. Perhaps it tallies up the number of stars waiting beyond the sky. Perhaps it's their ethereal claws I feel digging into me now, scratching and gouging, drinking my life as if it pools helplessly at my feet.

Another step, and it's like vaulting a mountain. Another. My hand is stiff and shaking, bones creaking as I lift it to shield my eyes from the flames. The sunset. They're melded as one, the longing and reality, the fire and the light.

Another. Make it to tomorrow. Do not give in. I have not made it this far to break apart now.

Another.

My feet are wet.

Water ripples outward from this step, seeping through my makeshift wrappings and lacing a chill with the agony. I shiver, battling to lunge for the misty sliver of hope.

The lake stretches out ahead. It reflects the colours, though in a far calmer, muted manner, dousing the flames and draining their vicious heat. The waters sever the surrounding hills and spread so far that my fading vision loses sight of all else. I stare at the still surface, some part of me waiting for a huge silhouette to stain it, for a gigantic shiny beast to break free and howl to the heavens.

A tug on my hand. I have to keep moving, but I can't.

My step flows into two more, each far too short and disjointed and stumbling, before my legs give way and I collapse to all fours. Cool water washes over my gloves and soaks through to the skin beneath. In the approaching twilight, I can only just make out my shimmering reflection. My skin is white. The scar on my cheek snarls.

"This is the lake." There's no need to state it, and I wish I hadn't; my voice sounds hoarse, and it steals a fraction of energy I should've kept close. "Why..." I pause to heave in a slow, shuddering breath, nails curling into the sandy mud, eyes squeezing shut against the endless ache. "Why isn't it working?"

"We have to go deeper." Edita's voice grazes my ear. Her form sharpens as she steps into view, kneeling down in front of me. With her back to the sunset, she's a shadow, all grey and black and entirely inhuman. Her clawed fingernail traces the underside of my chin. If any sting accompanies the action, I can't feel it.

"Deeper," I whisper. My gaze slides beyond her to the lake's depths, growing darker with every second in mirror to the sky, and senseless, prickling fear snakes its way inward. How deep? Will I need to swim? Does Edita know I can't swim?

A strand of humour cuts off the thought. I'm dying. What else is there to fear?

"How do you feel?" she asks, a comforting murmur. Her cold demeanour has come and gone in a flash. Itching suspicion wriggles at the back of my mind, bundled with questions and muttering of something dark, but I can't hear it. There isn't time. There isn't space amongst my crumbling thoughts.

My heart's beat is louder than all else. Only the void answers, gaping wide enough for me to slip into if I let go of the world for only a moment, primed to render me lost in its nothingness forever and broken at every edge where I cling. I suck in another sharp, empty breath.

"Like I'm starving," I answer, the words a rasp. I mean it in every possible way. Even my stomach has remembered to complain, ridiculous as it seems to wince at its whimper given what I truly hunger for.

"You will be full soon," Edita says. "Can you get up?"

I muster a nod. The sun sinks a fraction deeper, the flames burning low, the shadows stretching long and murky. They stripe my skin with light and shade as I rock my weight back into the soles of my feet and slowly, with all the grace of a rickety tree creaking in a storm, force myself to stand. Her arm wraps my shoulders and helps me to stagger forward.

My steps drag through the water. The fanned-out edge of my trousers grows damp, and then it rises up my ankles, my calves, painfully cold and unsettling to wade through. I cringe at the water's touch, its splash as it laps at my legs. It fights me with every movement. I struggle onward, thinking of Edita's steady hope beside me, of the promise of her lips on mine.

No. No, I think of Cody, hurt and angry and in need of repair. I think of Fiesi, the brother I left behind. I reach for Sarielle, painting tomorrow in the gold of her hair and the bright blue of her eyes. Whether it's right or not to pin so much of myself on them, I need them right now. Whatever Edita says, I need them.

Something in me twitches at every thought that carries her name, but then the water is to my waist and the pain is too great. An acidic panic crawls across it. I truly cannot breathe now.

"Go under," Edita murmurs.

My chest heaves, though every shallow wheeze is useless. The dying fire atop the horizon paints her face as ashes and coal. Steady, fierce, focused.

"What?" I ask.

She says nothing more. Her sharp fingers curl into my hair, scraping my scalp. Before I can process it, she's forcing my head down, and I topple beneath the surface.

The shock of it hits my face as if I've been slapped. The cold is a slither, an unpleasant creature pressed against me at all sides, chewing my skin and licking at my bones. My toes lose purchase on the wet sand and slip, and I lose all sense of balance. I've no hope of regaining it; at that moment, a great wave sweeps through the very fibres of the lake, and I don't have the strength to fight it.

The current drags me in circles, toying with my limbs. The world is nothing but dark water. A scream squirms its way up my throat, desperate and wrought with terror, though I battle it down. I have to fight it. The ache in my lungs has become fire.

Maybe the void in my chest has spilled outwards and finally swallowed me whole. I am the lake's plaything, a limp puppet crafted for its entertainment. Even as the waters still, its icy fingers keep hold of my strings.

Faded orange light brushes my vision, and I lunge for it.

My fingertips graze the air and slide away again. Panic surging through me, I throw a few wild kicks, feeling my legs drag sluggishly through the lake's depths, and claw for that flicker of the surface. Something solid is there. I grab it and pull.

I'm barely conscious of breaking the surface until the wind hits my face, an icy burn that is barely refreshing but whispers at least of freedom. My eyes sting. My head is heavy, my hair sodden and dripping, pressing at the back of my neck. I snap at the air, grappling for life, still feeling as if I drown. The lake is everywhere. My legs still writhe aimlessly beneath me.

Only the raft I cling to keeps me afloat. I glance down and somehow muster a gasp.

Edita lays flat on her back atop the water, her expression slack and serene, empty eyes staring blankly up at the dissolving sky. Ragged brown hair fans out around her head. The folds of her navy tunic stray in listless motions, stirred by the lake's ripples. She's limp. She has no response as I throw an arm over her torso to steady myself, my other hand shaking her, her name like dust on my lips that refuses to clump together.

Wake up, I beg, heart stinging, gut roiling with the fear of being left alone.

She remains a corpse. No flame nor surprise magic is here to revive her now.

Dead. Perhaps she's a warning, a taunt, mockery giggling in the languid flow of the lake around me. She's dead, and soon I will join her.

Please. I close my eyes and curl my fingers into her threadbare tunic, burning tears welling up. I don't want to die.

I can't even apologise. I can't even tell my friends that I'm sorry.

I wish I'd stayed with them, if only to be dying in Sarielle's arms rather than cold and tired and lonely, though even that thought is sticky with guilt. I should be glad that she will never have to see me die. Why do I cry as if this was ever going to end any other way?

I deserve this. There's comfort in reminding myself of that. I steady the erratic beat of my heart, bow my head, fall into silence and wait. I deserve this, and it's right.

The water rocks. Tentatively, I peel open my eyes, squinting until the view comes into focus. The sun is a bloody slit on the horizon, a weeping ember steadily crushed beneath the indigo of twilight. The lake is calm. A dark shape swims beneath it.

There's barely time to register it. Calm shatters within the instant, and a beast emerges.

Black and violet and mauve and a hundred other shimmering strips of midnight converge to form the rounded diamond shape of scales, each interlocked together, glinting light and dark, the two sides of shadow separated only by a blink. Its body is thick and long, glistening with water and ice that lines those darkly iridescent scales. Its head is an arrow. Its eyes are inky slits, and they lock onto me immediately, narrowing as it swims closer.

It looks magnificent.

It is a serpent, I realise, a massive serpent. A forked black tongue flicks out from its scaled mouth, roaming the air, tasting my scent. Its movement rocks the water, my stomach clenching as the surface bobs up and down. I clutch Edita with both hands.

Fear rises and falls in tandem with the disturbance, then drops away without explanation, leaving me caught in a strange kind of wonder. A name catches between my teeth. The serpent holds my gaze, and I sense it waiting, the thrum of its emotion almost close enough to take hold of, distorted as if I view it through one of Harlow or Ligari's magical barriers.

Shaula?

The emptiness pulses in response. A dagger twists within it. I flinch, hissing through my gritted teeth, just about succeeding in collecting a shallow inhale.

Shaula, I think again, clawing through the pain, eyes only the serpent. She must be. She is the stars' final gift, a reunion with my murdered Synté before we both fade into death's embrace.

She truly is beautiful. Despite it all, my lips curl. My hand trembles as I lift it, the muscles in my arm squeezing in protest, but she's close enough that I manage. Carefully, softly, my fingers graze Shaula's snout.

I deserve this. I trace her flawless scales, their silky smooth texture, the tiny silver-slashed wrinkles within that tingle at my touch. Take me.

Her jaw cracks open, revealing narrow, hooked fangs. They look like Edita's fangs.

My eyes widen, but I'm far too late.

She snatches my hand in her teeth and yanks. A breathless scream cuts through me; a fang slices into my wrist, icy, venomous agony flooding into my veins. I tumble into the lake and gulp in a mouthful of water. Desperate, I squirm and kick, but every movement only heightens the pain, and Shaula's grip doesn't loosen. The surface flies away, and I'm lost within the lifeless depths, trapped at her mercy.

I try to cough, to exhale, anything, but all I do is take in more water. It tastes of slime and of nothing at all, and my lungs shriek their hatred of it, begging for air. My vision flickers and breaks apart. Now this is drowning, real drowning, an ironically natural death, and still I feel my body struggle. Despite all I tell myself, I'm still fighting to survive.

But I won't survive this. Shaula's gaze stays on me, unwavering. Waiting, still.

Even her form blurs, and I drift.

Her bite gains a bone-shuddering force. A crack resonates through me, a noiseless sound, a snapping that rebounds upon my soul. Perhaps I should embrace it. It's a tether to consciousness, a clawed hand that wrenches me back into life, cages me here, keeps my lungs screaming and my heart thrashing.

I don't want to embrace it. I want to be free.

Is this what death is? A cage in the final moment, a pain like no other stretched out for eternity? A battle I will never win? Do the people I've killed suffer the same fate?

I just want to be free.

Crack. Something is broken.

Breathe, Noli.

The thought isn't mine. It drifts into my mind, snaking a path to the forefront until it's all I can hear, but its tone is different. It's smooth, lacking the faltering tears and cracks that pounce upon all I think. A syrup-like texture drips from its every syllable. It's sweet and sour all at once, a bitter spice, filling my dry mouth with its taste. Recognition sparks. It aches in my temples, close and yet far away, much too far.

Some musing whisper wonders if this is the voice of a star.

Open your eyes, it commands. Breathe.

I obey without hesitation. The void-like water greets me. Weak, silvery streams of light descend from the surface above, sticking like dew-speckled cobwebs to Shaula's scales, shimmering with perfect light.

Another glint catches my eye. The dull glint of metal, split into two pieces, sinking slowly away.

Harlow's chain. My bind.

My lips part, seeking out that promised breath, and, startlingly, wonderfully, it comes. It's a trickle, but it comes. I can breathe. My lungs inflate.

Both binds are gone. The gloves sail lazily away in opposite directions, chewed and torn apart beyond function. My hands are bare. Hardly daring to believe it, I lift my right to my face, turning it over, marvelling at the very sight of my own moon-pale skin.

A black scar cuts my palm. Dark grey nicks litter my knuckles, scratches crawling over the sides of my fingers like a hoard of insects. A ringed burn circles my wrist, dyed the colour of slate, faintly blue in reminiscence of Fiesi's power. It's almost amusing. My hands are more scarred than any other part of me, and yet I barely have the chance to examine them all. They're already sealing.

I'm sure I must be hallucinating. Yet there is no doubting the precise, easy coolness in my veins, the frosty warmth of my skin, the abyssal darkness of the flame.

I laugh at the sight of it. It bursts from my healing palm, twines with my fingers, flickering cheerily away as if it was never caged at all. It listens to me as it always did. It is mine, and I cradle it close, unable to take my eyes off it.

More flame crawls from my arms, my chest, my feet, and flares outward, painting the lake in creeping tendrils of ink. I hardly even care to recall it, lost in the pleasure of seeing it again as I am. Even the water can't douse the joy of breathing, of finally feeling whole after so much restless longing. Nothing can.

"I've missed you." A trail of bubbles flee my jaw, though my flame is primed to wrap me in its comfort, ease away any pain in my lungs. I laugh again, grinning. "So much."

Welcome back, Noli.

My head snaps up. Beyond the drifting dark veil of my flame, the serpent still lurks. Shaula. She is really, truly here. That is her voice. I watch her warily, frozen, distinctly aware of her presence delving deep into my mind and coiling in the same sweetened space my flame now occupies. She's like a length of rope, a string, a thread. I touch the thread and edge it tentatively in my direction, testing it.

The taste of blood scrapes my jaw. I let go in a hurry, flinching as the thread winds around my mental grasp anyway, a soft but firm squeeze.

Do not fear, she whispers. You know me. I practically hear the fanged smile in her voice. Ask me to take you again.

I do know her, but I dive backward, feet paddling as I crane my neck to search for the surface. Faint panic simmers in the core of my flame. What?

Her touch brushes through my mind. If my eyes were not open, I would be sure that an icy finger had grazed my cheek, cupped my chin. You are confused. Her squeeze gains a strength. Allow me to help.

All at once, there is too much air in my lungs, and it is as thick as fog. I choke. Strangled again, but now something holds me, something gentle.

Shaula's sigh is deep and content, raw with a yearning I find all too familiar. And then everything goes black.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Chomp :D

- Pup