'Get up, Akshay,' the Salar's voice, coming from somewhere in the fire, from above, or from behind, he couldn't tell.

'Get up,' he said.

He had to move, to get out of here. It was a small fire only. Small enough to jump and make it across to the other side, to the door that would take him inside the Barai, where the Salar was waiting, or dying.

He couldn't feel them––his legs, his arms. He felt the heat on his face, the burn on it that wasn't from this fire, one that had healed for a long time. Or should have.

'Get up.' The voice was still trying to get him up. It grew louder this time, and coming from the fire. Like that time in the warehouse. Like that day when a cloaked figure came through the flames, to carry him out.

After all this time, even now, you're still waiting for him to save you.

It was pathetic, so pathetic that his mind was now manifesting that image again––a dark figure emerging from the fire, coming to save him. I must be dying.

But the figure wasn't right. It didn't match the one in his memory. It was coming toward him though. Or they were. There were two of them, a man and a woman.

The smoke was thick, and it was difficult to see through the dust that still hovered everywhere. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to clear his vision, looked up again.

And saw the Salar.

Tears pooled in his eyes at the impossibility of it, at what it might mean. Am I too late? Are you dead already? Have you come to see me, to take me with you?

"Why are you here?" asked the Salar. He sounded young. He looked young, like that last time in the fire.

Why, indeed, was he here? He should be inside the Barai, doing his job, protecting him. He reached for the hem of the Salar's robe, not surprised that he could move at last. With this man here, anything was possible. "Forgive me, my lord Salar," he said. "I've failed you."

A breath was taken. A hand landed on his shoulder, gripping it firmly––the same hand that had pulled him out the last time. "Get up, Akshay," said the Salar. "Get up and tell me. What happened to my father?"

***

People, Saya decided as she watched the two men stared at each other, were going to mistake the son for the father often from now. There was an air of authority about the prince where there hadn't been before, something that demanded attention, something that made you want to bend around him, like this man had just done. They must have looked somewhat alike, judging from how easily her father had been convinced he was the son of his former apprentice. The prince seemed to have met this soldier called Akshay, and still he had been mistaken for the father. People could change overnight when they broke, more so when the breaking was severe. The prince had lost the love of his life and an eye in less than a day. He might lose even more than that, from what this man Akhay was telling them.

It felt like a miracle, Saya thought as she listened to the captain explained the situation, as the three of them hurried down the passage, toward the door that would bring them into the Barai. A few minutes ago they were about to die, either from the beast, or from being lost or trapped in the tunnel around which they had no map to navigate. Now they'd met an ally, or at least the prince had. There would be healers for them, a safe place to stay for a while, and protection from someone with authority.

If they could reach Salar Muradi in time.

Small chance, she thought. But the chance had been smaller against that beast, and the chance of them having run into this captain here, now, of all places, had been smaller still.

'She is the gods' chosen one, just as you are.' She had said that without thinking. Didn't believe in it. Now, she wasn't sure what to believe.

They went through the door at the end of the hallway. It brought them into another passage, up a flight of stairs, and to another door. The captain opened it slowly, peeking in before pushing it out all the way. They were in someone's study, someone important and with authority, judging from the lavish decorations.

Decorations that were now covered in dust and debris from the quake. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed, forcing them to step over rubbles and broken furniture.

"This is Chief Yaran's quarter," Akshay said as he led them toward the room's main entrance. "The Salar's is three doors down the hallway. We're close."

He didn't seem to like that, judging from the way his expression had changed the moment he'd stepped in to the room and recognized it. She didn't blame him. The damage was severe. A room three doors down would be in a similar state, and the Salar was supposedly in sick, in bed, and unable to move, if not unconscious while this happened.

If he hadn't been poisoned already.

"There's someone here," said the prince, stopping to look at something near his feet. She followed his eyes and saw a ringed hand sticking out from underneath the pile of rubbles. The prince bent down to check. Shook his head when he looked up. "I think he's dead."

"Good." Akshay nodded. "I know those rings. If Yaran is dead, we won't have to deal with his guards."

She didn't think they would have to deal with guards even if the chief had been alive. The building was in worse shape than the tunnel they'd gone through, and the quietness of it told her most of the guards had fled and the rest were lying dead or dying under these rubbles. Either the Red Mamba had done a good job building the tunnel, or the Djamahari was being its usual, indestructible self even against a quake of such magnitude. She had a feeling it was both.

Akshay was moving faster now, running and hopping ahead over the piles of broken furnitures and collapsed ceiling, out of the room and into the corridor, which was just as quiet and heavily destroyed as the chief's quarter. She heard commotions coming from outside, down in the courtyard as she passed by a room with open windows. Those who could must have evacuated there the moment the quake started. Good. They were going to need healers for this. She was beginning to feel dizzy from the loss of blood, and the prince's wounds needed to be looked after. She hoped some resident healers had made it out.

The Salar, she couldn't care less what happened to him. The White Desert would probably celebrate his death, and she was from the White Desert, after all.

***

By the time they reached the Salar's quarter, Akshay's face had turned as pale as a ghost's. Dead or seriously injured guards dotted the hallway as they rushed through. Some were trying to crawl out from under the collapsed roof, others were wobbling their ways out of the building. No one was digging anybody out; no one there had the time or energy to look for survivors. Search and rescues were always for later, and carried out by people who got out intact. It was still too early after the quake. They were still expecting an aftershock.

It was going to take a miracle––another miracle––Lasura thought, for his father to survive this, even if he hadn't taken the poison. Those were the unspoken words he could see written on Akshay's face as they stood in front of the bed chamber. The door looked like it had been broken in by force, just before the roof had come down on the guards. They must have been trying to save the Salar, and hadn't made it in time.

Akshay stepped through the doorway, teeth clenched as tight as his fists. It matched the tightness in his own chest as he followed. He looked up and saw the roof missing, its entire section was gone, the ceiling had collapsed. He looked down and saw the bed, covered entirely under a pile of wood and broken tiles.

Nothing, no one was going to survive coming out of that, even if they had enough men to dig him out immediately, which they didn't. He saw Akshay fall on his knees, slam his fists against the carpet near whatever was left of the bed, shaking silently but violently from anger, from loss, from a reality he hadn't prepared to confront, or one he simply couldn't. He also saw the body of an old man, dressed in a healer's white robe a short distance away from the captain. Something must have fallen to hit him in the head and killed him on the spot. Lasura took a step forward to grab one of the bed posts, suddenly needing something for support. A glass vial he accidentally kicked rolled away from his boot, came to rest a pace away. It was empty, to the last drop.

The poison had been taken. There was to be no miracles, even if they managed to dig him out.

And yet there was a calmness in the atmosphere that surrounded them––a sense of serenity, of peace that settled upon his heart, slowed down his pulse, his breathing. Maybe he was exhausted. Maybe the pain and injuries had overpowered his senses, and numbed all his emotions by the time he arrived. Maybe you could only take so many losses at a time, and there was a limit to how many tears you could cry, how many times you could scream in one day.

Or it was something more than that.

You could call it a hunch, a feeling, or an intuition that made him turn to look at something by the window. It was wide open. The breezes were coming in, cold and sharp against his skin, seeping into his bones. The thick curtains rustled as the wind tossed it back and forth, made a grating sound as it brushed against the marble top of the desk it had been hung over.

And there, under the old, sturdy table that still stood in the middle of the ruins, was his mother curling into a tight ball underneath, holding his father, the Salar of Rasharwi, her mortal enemy, the husband she wanted to see dead, in her arms.

She stirred, as if awoken from a trance, and looked up at him.

There were, Lasura thought, no limits to the tears you could cry, after all.

***

You could go through a life believing in no stories of gods, of ghosts, of Fate, or spirits, Saya thought. You could also wake up one day and be given too many coincidences, and begin to wonder if there really were gods and miracles. She had witnessed too many today, and wondered if there were more to come. If the prince could kill the beast, if they could run into Akshay, if the Salar was alive, saved by a wife who shouldn't have been there, then maybe, just maybe, Rhykal and the Bharavi could be too. Maybe they were simply trapped on the other side, as she had lied to the prince. Maybe they could make it out of the tunnel the other way, and meet them in Samarra, through the old passage that led to the sea. Maybe––

A thunder-like sound, a rumble that was different from what they experienced during the quake came from the window, growing louder and louder by the minute. She turned toward it, saw the prince froze as he stared at something outside, toward the harbor, the ocean.

"The great flood is coming," said Prince Lasura.

***

A/N: My deepest apologies for having gone missing a long time. I really have 8 chapters on hand to post but they needed some editing and life has not allowed me time. As some of you know, I own a small business, and the last 3 months I had to operate with a severe shortage of staff which means I was working to fill 3 people's job with no day off. I was exhausted. The good news is that problem is now fixed, but then I got me a baby Blue & Gold Macaw that needs to be hand-fed every 4 hours until it's 2-3 months old. I'm beginning to get a hang of it though, so here we are. I am going to post a few chapters here that have been edited (by me not yet a pro editor).  And hopefully I can finish this book and release the completed MS soon. Thanks for still reading this story even though I'm unforgivably late.