Late into that night, the smallest of outposts greeted them, situated at a cross of two roads leading in directions they weren’t headed. It was a blessed sight to them both. Despite the oasis nature of the Desert of Life, the vast expanse proved nearly as hostile as a normal desert when traveling by foot. They were relieved for the opportunity to sleep in beds rather than on grass.

  The station featured a tiny inn, a trader, and a mail carrier. Micah obtained a room for himself and Cal while Charlotte insisted on taking care of her own accommodations, which proved to be the room next to his. But while Micah and Cal went to bed after a quick dinner from the inn’s kitchen, she stayed at her table. She struck up a conversation with a young man in a dusty warman’s coat, who said he was traveling to Tanaerum to join the army.

  As in Steamtown, Charlotte’s personality drew him like moths to flame, and in no time at all, they were chatting like old friends. Micah judged him to be harmless and left her to her own devices. But that night he had trouble sleeping, twice stirring to check and see if she was safe. Each time he found them still at the same table, with Charlotte sitting just a bit closer to him than before. The way the man garnered her attentions with such little effort unsettled him, as he realized with sudden and confusing clarity that he did not approve. But why? Why should he be concerned who Charlotte talked to? As long as the man meant no harm, it shouldn’t have any effect on him.

  Yet it did. In fact, several times during the night, disturbing images woke him. It took him a while to realize he was having dreams, something he had never experienced before. In the visions, he was inflicting violent pain on the man for no reason whatsoever, yet delighting in it. Micah didn’t like the dreams at all.

  The next morning, he awoke at sunrise as usual. However, his eyes hurt, and he felt sluggish. I’m still tired from lack of sleep. What a terrible feeling. No wonder Charlotte complains every time I rouse her in the mornings. I never knew.

  He decided not to wake her yet, instead beginning his daily physical training with two hundred pull-ups using the rafter beam. Five hundred push-ups and seven hundred sit-ups later, he left his room to go for a run. On the way out, he rapped on Charlotte’s door. He heard a dreadful moan, but instead of coaxing her out of bed as usual, he decided to let her get up when she was ready.

  After a seven-mile run, he took a quick shower and then dressed and gathered his things. Cal flew out the window to retrieve the bureau from the place he had hidden it the night before. Micah, meanwhile, made for the kitchen in search of breakfast. In the sequestered space, he found a few other travelers eating or drinking coffee. Micah ordered food from the cook, a thin, grizzled old man with a permanent sneer that didn’t seem intentional. Finding an open table in the corner, he waited. Minutes later, a bowl of honey porridge and a large plate of sizzling bacon, toast, and scrambled eggs were placed before him. He had never tasted bacon before, and the smell made his mouth water.

  Before he could dive in, Charlotte slumped into the chair across from him, clutching a mug of coffee. Her eyes drooped very low, and despite being showered and dressed, she appeared haggard. She scanned the small room once before turning back to him.

  “Thank you for letting me sleep in,” she said.

  He made to take a bite of his food by pulling down his mask, but stopped himself, looking up at Charlotte, whose eyebrows rose sky high. He thought for a moment, before smiling and lifting up his scarf to wrap around the lower part of his head. He brought a bite of eggs to his mouth under the scarf. She sighed.

  “What time did you go to bed?” he asked, taking a bite of bacon. The delicious salty flavor exploded in his mouth. He gasped, looking down at the crispy strip of meat in delight before devouring it whole.

  “Late,” she replied, glancing at the entrance to the kitchen. She was searching for something.

  “He left already.”

  She snapped to attention, sleepiness abandoning her. “Who? What do you mean?”

  “The man you were talking to last night. He left this morning.”

  She slumped in her chair. “Oh.” Recovering quickly, she issued a small laugh. “Well, I don’t care about that. We were just chatting. I mean why should I care, right? Crickets, that smells really good. I’m gonna order the same thing.” Quickly getting up, she made a beeline to the cook.

  Micah frowned. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to cover up the vast disappointment that flickered across her face. More than ever, Charlotte puzzled him, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt something significant was happening, a deeper root to her strange behavior than it appeared at first glance. He wanted to know what she was after, but he didn’t want to upset her again by asking. His only option was to remain patient.

  .

  They resumed travel by foot after breakfast. No road southeast yet presented itself, and water canals still filled the vast flowery pastures. However, the innkeeper informed Micah there was a road half a day’s walk south of the outpost that made a straight course to the Vega Mountain Pass. It would lead them into Avalon.

  They kept a steady pace, and by the time the sun was directly overhead, Micah figured the road to be close. They could resume travel by chariot, and get to the Twin Cities in a week if they hurried. He was about to tell Charlotte this, thinking it might make her happy, when he noticed her looking at him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Well, I was just thinking…” She inhaled deeply. “I know you still take your Black Son thing seriously. It makes sense, since it’s all you’ve known. I understand that now.” She hesitated again. “But… I was wondering… would you ever consider taking your mask off? Just once?”

  He stopped to look at her. She immediately became flustered, looking away.

  “I know it’s asking a lot,” she said. “But I just want to know what you look like. We’re friends, right? Don’t you want your friend to know your own face?”

  He didn’t know how to reply. Absolute rule number one of the Black Sons was to never reveal the face to anyone, except in the presence of God or the king. It was the first thing Coral said to him when they met and he became his master.

  “This is your mask. From today onward, you will never show your face to any breathing creature. Not me, not the governor. No one. Today… you are a Black Son.”

  Even so, Micah had considered it. Since his encounter with Charlotte and his defiance of the governor’s order, everything had changed. Was he still a Black Son? What were the requisites? Coral never told him. He simply became what he has always known and never questioned the validity of the title. Now he found himself questioning just that. The truth was he did want Charlotte to know his face. More and more each day, he was certain of this.

  “I will think about it,” he replied.

  She gasped, smiling brighter than she ever had before. Laughing in delight, she whirled in a fanciful spin. Micah suspected his actual response, rather than a “yes”, had been what she was hoping for all along.

  As he watched her, a cold, black feeling suddenly assaulted him, and he whirled. Three specks appeared against the blue sky, growing in size. Murderous intentions filled him to the brim.

  We’ve been found.

  Turning, he grabbed Charlotte’s arm and pulled her to him.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  Without warning, he picked her up into his arms, then shot into a breakneck sprint away from the flying objects rapidly closing in on them.

  “Micah, what’s happening?”

  “They found us. We have to get to the road. Now.”

  “What?” She shook her flying hair out of her face, looking back. “Who? Who found us? I don’t see anyone.”

  “In the sky. Three assassins. Hold on tight.” He kicked up his legs, charging so fast, his body began to slowly bend to the ground. He churned along river banks, jumping lithely over streams and slicing up grass in his wake.

  I see the road. Almost there.

  Charlotte squeezed his neck, trying without success to shake her hair away from her face. “Good Lord, Micah! How are you running so fast? Are you human?” She suddenly shrieked. “Oh my gosh, I see them! Run faster! RUN FASTER!”

  He could feel them. The bloodlust crawled up his spine. Their wings whistled as they shot through the sky. The last of the Seraphs finally found him, and he knew exactly what they wanted.

  Revenge.

  In a final burst, Micah shot onto the dirt path. With a grunt, he jumped high and tossed Charlotte into the air. Pulling the disk from his pocket, he flicked it. The flat circle expanded in moments. No chariot, instead forming a great white carriage. Tugging on his earring, his horses exploded into existence, blue licks of fire shrieking. Micah landed on the top of the carriage, catching Charlotte as she came down. The horses neighed and charged, and the white carriage blasted down the road.

  Micah slipped Charlotte down over the side, easing her through the window. She landed in one of the seats with an audible oomph. Immediately, she hunched into a ball, holding her legs and rocking back and forth. Micah bent over the edge of the roof and saw this. Suddenly distraught, or perhaps no longer able to hide it, she began to sing to herself. The words came quickly in warbled notes, and Micah couldn’t understand them.

  He looked back. The three bird-like warriors trailed only a few hundred yards behind them now, still gaining despite the speed of his floating wagon. Perhaps five minutes remained until they caught up. He made a quick decision and slipped down through the window.

  He grabbed her arms. “Charlotte, Charlotte! Calm down!”

  Tears streamed down her face. “I’m sorry, Micah. I didn’t want any of this to happen. I don’t want them to take me. I don’t want you to die.”

  He took her face with both hands. Her teary eyes widened in surprise, and she stopped rocking.

  “I’m not going to die, and I won’t let them take you. I promised you, remember?”

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then nodded. “Okay.”

  He reached to another pocket and pulled out a glass sphere, like a large marble. “Here, keep this with you. Press the center when you’re in danger, and I’ll come for you.”

  She looked at it, noting two small circles carved into the clear glass, one within another. “What is it?” she asked.

  “My eye.”

  “Ew!” She dropped it.

  “Careful!” he shouted, picking it up and brushing it off. “Good grief, it’s not a real eye. This Eye of Mahaado will protect you when I’m not close.”

  Handing it back to her, she clutched it with both hands. Micah climbed out the window, flipping back up on to the roof of the carriage. They were close now, so close he could see the hatred on their feathery faces. He faced the three foes, folding his arms. The tails of his scarf whipped before him in a frenzy.

  Let us finish this, Sintobi Strike.

  “CHAMPLAIN!” Strike roared, pointing his sword.

  Micah reached to his side, slowly drawing his own weapon. Sharp steel rang as the blade sliced against the sheath.

  “Hey! What happened to the glass?”

  Micah looked to the side to see Charlotte leaning out of the window, her courage returned as quickly as it had faded. And her eye was lit up in purple brilliance.

  “Get back inside! It’s dangerous.”

  “I can help keep watch. What happened to your glass sword?”

  “That was Glad…” He switched the sword into his opposite hand. A second handle appeared from within his sheath, crossguard extending out with a loud click, and Micah drew it, revealing a twin sword. “…this is Gladius.”

  “Wow! You have different swords in the same sheath?”

  “Get back inside!”

  Sintobi Scar reached them first and attacked. Micah fended the strong blow away, and the Seraph flew past. Strike and Lance attacked next from each side. Micah fought them off with a fury of successive blows. He flipped his sword into the air and tugged a second black earring before re-catching the blade. The horses neighed again, exploding in deep red fire. The inferno expanded, and flaming riders appeared on each of the horses. With a collective crack of their reins, the carriage groaned and snapped forward with intense new speed.

  “You can’t escape me!” Strike shouted.

  The three Seraphs followed after them, wings beating with powerful force. They attacked from all angles, but Micah held them at bay. However, their fury grew and so did the power and desperation behind their attacks. They would never stop, and in such wide open space, there was nowhere to hide. Micah had only one option remaining.

  I have to kill them.

  A sudden scream alerted him, and he looked back. Scar launched himself through the carriage window, ripping Charlotte out the other end. Grasping her arm by his talon, he hurtled back into the sky.

  She screamed. “Micah, help!”

  Strike landed on the carriage and attacked Micah, who narrowly dodged. “Worry about me instead of her, boy!” His massive sword came in a torrent, guided by great skill. Micah needed both swords just to fight him off. In such a tight space, he could only concentrate on his foe.

  .

  Charlotte tried to fight Scar off as he flew higher and higher. Soon, they were so far up, the still hurtling wagon appeared as a mere insect far below.

  “Quit your struggling,” Scar yelled, squeezing his talon and making her cry out. “I have to bring you back alive, not whole!”

  Angrily, she hit his toes and ripped feathers from his leg. “I am sick… and tired… of being taken off the ground!”

  The Seraph squawked, struggling to keep a hold of her. “Stop that! I said stop!” He sliced his sword, cutting a deep gash into her leg.

  Charlotte screamed from the immense pain. She squeezed the glass eye still tightly clutched in her hand, waiting for something to happen. Micah, where are you? Then she remembered his exact instructions and turned the eye over in her hand. Locating the iris, she pressed hard.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Then, he was there.

  She gasped. Suddenly, miraculously, impossibly. Micah appeared out of thin air, right next to her hand, the glass eye she held level with his own eye. He snatched her leg to keep from falling.

  “Good,” he said.

  Grabbing Scar’s leg, Micah climbed with lithe ease. Scar struggled, crying out from the sudden new weight and trying to keep airborne. Flipping his sword, Micah lunged. Before the Seraph realized what was happening, Micah plunged the blade into his chest. Charlotte gasped in terror as Scar’s blood flecked across her face. He was dead instantly.

  They began to fall. Micah ripped Charlotte free of Scar’s grip. Black shadows magically exploded from Micah’s body and consumed them both, tucking them into the stomach of a great black bird. It couldn’t fly, but it would bring them safely back down. Through the translucent shadows, Micah spotted Strike and Lance flying in the distance. They caught Scar’s body before it hit the ground.

  One down.

  Micah guided his shadow bird down over the still-charging carriage, landing on top. He helped Charlotte back inside through the window, making sure not to put weight on her injured leg, and then turned to wait for the next assault. They came like livid demons. Never had Micah seen such pure rage.

  He tugged his last earring. A black light blazed from the three dangling crystals. The inferno horses neighed with a loud boom that flattened the grassy plains in a wide arc. Red fire churned to purple, and wings sprouted from the horse-like bodies. The carriage lifted off the ground, roiling with its greatest speed.

  “Charlotte, hold on to something!” he shouted over the rushing wind.

  The white surface of the carriage melted over Micah’s feet, securing them in place. The team of Pegasus launched up into the sky, whistling ear-piercing shrieks as they whisked to the clouds, just loud enough to drown out Charlotte’s wails. The Seraph still followed, attacking Micah again and again, but the carriage turned, pitched, and rolled, refusing any chance for them to land. The heavenly coach rocketed through blue skies. Covering miles in moments, the air battle covered whole breadths of landscape, thrashing to and fro and accompanied by a cacophony of colliding swords.

  Still, they gained no ground. The Seraphs possessed simply too much speed. The light in Micah’s earrings began to fade, and he knew his last option to avoid fighting had faded. The carriage dove back to the earth, zooming out across the road again. The crystal light died, and the flames of his horses were snuffed out. Micah jumped high, extending his arm. The carriage melted within itself, reforming the white disk and shooting into his hand. He landed in a crouch and caught Charlotte as she came down. His two swords impaled the ground beside him.

  Strike and Lance settled down on the road, as well, hovering a moment before landing. Vicious glares combined with red-rage faces. Micah set Charlotte down carefully. She limped behind him, shuddering and clutching to his jacket. The silence was palpable, full of expectation and malice. There would be no walking away – death or revenge remained the only options for the last of the bird warriors.

  “Charlotte, back away,” Micah said. He replaced his swords in their sheath, one after another. He then redrew it and just the handle came away. A long glass shard grew out of the crossguard with a crackling hiss, a red-hot blade four feet long.

  She obeyed, limping off the road while Micah approached the two Seraphs. He stopped about twenty feet away, regarding them with a cool gaze. His scarf fluttered with the strong breeze, but otherwise he remained steady and motionless, a stark contrast to the two remaining foes whose bodies shook with anger and anticipation. Their chests heaved, and muscular bodies tensed.

  “Justice will be dealt this day,” Strike said.

  “Indisputably,” Micah replied.

  Lance pointed her sword at him. “You murdered our entire clan, and now you’ve taken Scar from us. You depraved, wicked scum!” A tear fell down her face. “As the last of the Seraphs, we seek the just vengeance of not one, but hundreds.”

  Micah plunged his sword into the dirt road, and the Seraphs jolted, expecting an attack. But he snapped off the glass blade so it remained sticking out of the ground. Glad restored itself, and he did it a second time, breaking off another long slice.

  “Come,” he replied. “Seek your revenge, and let us be done with this.”

  He raised a Life Stone. “Plate of the Dark One,” he said with authority. His yellow crystal flashed, and the two glass blades melted, swirling up and around his body like water. The clear liquid then crystallized, forming hardened shapes over his torso, forearms, and thighs. A black shadow moved about like wandering fog inside the glass covering his chest.

  “It’s armor,” Charlotte whispered.

  “Very special armor,” a voice said behind her.

  She gasped and whirled to find Cal silently hovering beside her. “Charlotte, you’re much too close. We must retreat from this place.”

  She followed him as best she could, a good distance away from the standoff. The three still stood facing each other. “Is Micah going to be alright?” she asked, squeezing her hands together.

  “As long as we don’t get in his way.”

  Lance attacked first. Screeching as she glided over the ground, her wings beat fast. Micah cast the attack aside with little effort. Her sword shattered Glad’s blade, but the glass restored itself instantly. He burst away, lunging at Strike.

  The much larger warrior blocked, but Micah put him to the immediate defensive. Slicing, slashing, attacking with furious speed. Glass shattered into thousands of pieces, but Glad grew back over and over, spearing through the air and threatening to skewer the Seraph with each regeneration.

  His speed was incredible. Charlotte had never seen anything like it before. Often had she seen soldiers training or her father practicing with the sword, but Micah turned those memories into actions of folly. Every movement was precise, every attack perfect. Even when Lance joined in the fight, doubling their attacks against him, still he seemed little affected. The glass of his sword cast thousands of sparkling jewels across the battlefield, but it seemed the sword bore the sharp strength of fine steel. His enemies fought with furious power, but he countered each and every attack they could muster.

  Charlotte focused her gaze, opening her Sealed Eye. With her Foresight, she looked upon Micah’s masked face. Cool as the sea, his visible eye saw all that even her eyes couldn’t – he saw victory. Chills ran through her body. It was like… he wasn’t even trying.

  Micah rushed into battle with a surprise burst of new speed, knocking Strike aside and whirling to slam his foot into Lance’s chest. She careened back, barely catching herself from tumbling. Her claws dug deep into the ground, stopping her slide. But he streaked toward her, attacking furiously, hand and sword a mere blur. Screeching in desperation, she could barely keep him at bay. She lunged with a frantic attack, hoping to stop him, but Micah ducked. He then lashed out with his free hand, punching her violently in the stomach before glancing aside and crushing another boot into her chest. She screamed and hurled through the air.

  Micah quickly pointed his sword. The glass blade grew at a tremendous rate, shooting twenty feet through the air and driving straight through her chest before she even hit the ground.

  She landed upright. Her eyes went wide, then slowly drooped. “Strike…”

  “NO!” Strike roared in horror, rushing toward him.

  Micah leaped to the side as the Seraph leader slammed his sword into the long slab of glass, shattering it. Micah retreated while Strike stumbled to Lance’s side, but there was nothing he could do. Micah made sure to stab her through the heart.

  Strike shook her several times before coming to the realization of her death. He slowly pulled the glass from her body and drew her close, rocking her gently and caressing her face while whispering fervent words. After a few moments, however, he laid her down and slowly got up. His head was bowed, and he no longer shook as before. Instead he was still, sword clenched tight.

  “Do you feel nothing?” he asked. His quiet voice labored under the ragged chaos of both panic and resolve. “Do you Black Sons truly have no heart as they say? You can take my beloved little sister’s life, but can I not do the same to you?”

  “Whether I have a heart or not does not matter; you are not strong enough to take it,” Micah replied. His glass sword restored itself again. He pointed the jagged blade. “Walk away now, and I will let you live. I have no reason to kill you.”

  “What do I have left? Where would I go?” Strike lifted his head. Teary eyes were bloodshot. Veins bulged in his neck. “There is but one place. AND I WILL TAKE YOU THERE WITH ME!”

  He careened toward him, attacking in a wild, sweeping onslaught. Micah retreated, taking to the defensive. Strike found new and profound strength, and Glad’s blade couldn’t grow back fast enough to defend. Grunting and bellowing, Strike’s grief leant him power. Micah leaped to the side after a particularly strong attack, rolling and recovering with Gladius now in his hands. He sliced the two new swords through the air and jumped back into the fray.

  But Strike wasn’t cowed, meeting Micah head-on. His tremendous strength still kept Micah’s lightning-fast blitz at bay, and he began to push back again, forcing the Black Son back on his heels. Finally, in one finishing lunge, Strike thrust his giant sword abreast. The broad edge just grazed Micah’s chest armor, cutting a deep fracture into the plate.

  Micah jumped back. The black substance within leaked a wisp-like smoke.

  Strike smiled victoriously, heaving. “Armor made of glass? Foolish. Next time, I’ll make sure to shatter it. I won’t stop until I spill every ounce of your blood.”

  Micah regarded him with little more than a calm gaze. “Then come take it.”

  He roared and flew in again, wings beating furious gusts around them. Swords swirled about, a litany of melded attacks. Bestial grunts and snarls issued from deep inside the Seraph’s gut as he assailed with all of himself, putting his entire clan on his shoulders. He ignored pain, disregarding Micah’s landed blows and throwing his whole weight into finally killing the man who took everything from him.

  Finally, in a single moment of opportunity, Strike reached out his hand, capturing Micah by his jacket. Micah plunged one of his swords into his arm, but Strike ignored the pain, knocking Micah’s other sword aside. And with a wrathful howl, he plunged his own weapon straight into Micah’s chest.

  Charlotte screamed. “MICAH!” She tried to rush to him, but Cal dropped to the ground and stopped her.

  Micah slumped.

  Gasping, wheezing, Strike smiled in exultation, raising his head to the clouds.

  “It’s done,” he whispered.

  Relief washed over him, but only briefly. It quickly faded when he saw Micah’s bowed head rise. The remains of his armor fell to the grass, but the shadows within remained, spread over his chest and swirling around the tip of Strike’s sword. Strike grunted, trying to pull it away, but to his shock, he couldn’t move it. The shadows somehow held on to it with a vice grip.

  Micah’s eye narrowed. “Indeed. It is done.” He pulled the blade still embedded in Strike’s arm and drove both his weapons into the Seraph’s body.

  Strike choked, shuddering.

  One by one, his fingers slipped from his sword, and he stumbled back. Micah let him go, taking back his swords. Blood poured from the two wounds in a torrent. The shadows holding Strike’s sword dispersed, and it dropped feebly to the ground. His chest emerged uninjured. Micah wiped the blood from his weapons while his beaten foe struggled to remain standing, gasping and coughing up blood.

  “You…” Strike whispered, clutching to his abdomen. “You wanted me to attack your chest. You… made me think it was a weakness… when it was your strength.”

  “Indeed,” Micah replied.

  He nodded, legs shaking. “It was… a good strategy.”

  Sintobi Strike fell. His wings twitched, body writhed, and blood pooled from his mouth.

  Micah slowly approached, shaking his head. “What did you accomplish by this?”

  “We die… with honor,” he answered through gurgling breaths. “How will you die, Micah Champlain?”

  Cal and Charlotte approached as Micah locked his swords into their sheath. “I think about that every day,” he said.

  Strike’s eyes closed, and the last of the Seraphs breathed no more.

  “We have to keep moving,” Micah said after a moment of silence. “It’s possible they were working with Kalem. If that’s the case, he might know not only our current location, but our destination as well.”

  He turned, but Charlotte limped to Strike’s body, shoulders slumped, cheeks stained with tears. Her face registered disbelief, as if she couldn’t comprehend his death. Falling to her knees, she clasped her hands to her chest and began to whisper fervently. New tears streamed in a steady flow.

  Micah was completely puzzled by her actions. “What are you doing?” he asked, coming alongside her.

  Charlotte stopped and looked up at him. “I’m praying,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “I don’t understand. They were our enemies.”

  “That may be…” She looked back down at Strike. A weary look came over her. “But that doesn’t mean they deserved to die. They were in pain.”

  “Pain?”

  “Yes. It must have been excruciating. I guess I couldn’t expect you to understand.”

  He looked from her to Strike several times, trying to decipher what she meant but unable to do so. “Then please… help me understand.”

  She smoothed back errant feathers on Strike’s face, caressing them against his head. “They said you killed their entire clan.”

  “Yes. A few years ago, Governor Riser gave me that mission. They were planning a coup against Carnel. I was ordered to eliminate them, but the Sintobis were unexpectedly away the day it happened. They were supposed to die with the rest of the Seraphs.”

  “You say such a thing so casually,” she choked.

  It took her a few moments to calm herself. The endless flowery fields offered her no comfort now, and the unceasing breeze bit cold against her wet cheeks. Such a long way from home, from civilization, from people – despite the beauty of the desert, to die here seemed the worst thing she could imagine.

  “Micah, when you told me about your master, you spoke fondly of him. You said you had loved Coral. And when he abandoned you, it left a void in your life. A painful emptiness you couldn’t understand. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if you can, try to imagine that pain multiplied a hundred times over. Imagine the same thing happening to you… every single day. Because that’s what was happening. Strike, Lance, and Scar… you took everything from them. All their loved ones. Try to imagine what that must have felt like. What it did to them when they came home to find everyone they loved dead. You left them utterly alone, stripped of all they held dear. Couldn’t you see it in their faces? How much they were hurting?”

  “I… I guess I could. I just didn’t… know why.”

  “And when I freed you from the seal tied to your heart, and we escaped the castle, I asked why you disobeyed the Governor’s orders and ran away with me. Do you remember what you said?”

  Micah blinked several times. His heart began to beat very fast for some reason, painfully so. “I… said I wanted to live.”

  She looked up at him. “You wanted to live! You weren’t ready to die yet, because for the first time, you realized the value of your own life. Can you understand now just why Strike hated you? And Lance and Scar? You stripped them of the joy of living and must have filled them with absolute sorrow. They had nothing left but to hate you. If you can understand that, then perhaps you’ll come to understand what I mean when I say they were in pain. I know you couldn’t help it at the time, but that’s why I was praying. They needed mercy. They needed someone to save them, but no one did.”

  Micah felt dizzy. Never in his life had he considered such things. But imagining, as she asked, the repercussions of his actions made his chest throb even more. His own pain of losing Coral… multiplied a hundred times? He truly couldn’t comprehend it, and he knew he never wanted to.

  He could see it now. The pain in their faces. Never knowing what he was doing, he had cut them to deeper, crueler places than his swords could ever reach.

  “I don’t… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

  She began to cry again, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t blame you,” she sobbed. “If anything, I’m to blame for this. It’s because of me that they keep coming after us. Me and these stupid eyes! All they do is bring death! Do you know how many people I’ve seen die because of me? How many times I’ve seen people get hurt because someone wanted these powers I never asked for? And how much more death will I have to see before it ends? I’m so sick of it!”

  She cried for a long while, a result of far more emotion than for the deaths of the Sintobis. When finally her sobs were reduced to sniffling, he knelt down, putting an arm around her shoulder. She turned and flung her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. He found the contact comforting, and his heart stopped pounding so painfully. Wishing to provide her the same relief, he thought of something.

  “Kalem will still be on our trail,” he said softly. “We need to keep moving. But we can bury Strike, Lance, and Scar properly before we leave. Would that… would that be good?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it would be very good.”

  Micah immediately retrieved the bodies of Scar and Lance, bringing them back and gently laying them beside their brother. Using an Element Stone, he magically guided earth out of the ground to create a deep enough burial place. He laid them inside and then covered them over again. Raising his crystal again, a wide slab of smooth rock rose out of the ground over the grave.

  “What should the epithet read?” he asked her.

  Charlotte thought for a moment. She raised a green crystal of her own, sweeping it through the air. Words etched themselves into the tombstone, reading:

  Sintobi Strike - Sintobi Lance - Sintobi Scar

  Valiant Warriors

  They Defended Home and Family in this Place

  And Died with Honor

  After another prayer, Charlotte nodded, and a peaceful look came over her. Seeing it, Micah felt some measure of peace himself. It wasn’t the first time Charlotte’s temperament automatically became his own, and he doubted it would be the last. But despite that, bewildering questions still assaulted him. Questions about life he had never thought to ask, never even understood in the first place. Watching her, he realized with increasing clarity that while his heart had been freed from one cage, he was now bound to a new one. A prison of ignorance about the very world in which he lived. In both cases, he had not even realized how enslaved he was.

  But for some reason, he wasn’t upset by such a thought, because Charlotte was with him. She had shown him how sightless he was both times. And because she had freed him from the first cage, a small, but profound part of himself wished she could one day free him from the second.

  A desire he knew to be called “hope.”

  Charlotte stood up, but immediately collapsed.

  “Stay still,” he ordered. Because of her fluffy dress, he had completely forgotten about her wound. Producing a roll of gauze and bottle of alcohol from the bureau, he attended to it. It was deep but clean, and would heal with little more than a fine scar. “Once we find the next town, I’ll get this sewn up. It should heal fairly quickly as long as it doesn’t get infected.”

  He picked her up into his arms. “Cal, let’s get going. There’s not much daylight left. The runes in my earrings need to be replenished, so for now we’ll have to travel by foot. Tomorrow, we can resume travel by chariot, and we have a lot of ground to cover with little time to waste.”

  Cal nodded, wrapping his tail around the latch of the bureau again. “I’ll scout ahead and see if there’s any station nearby.” Beating his wings, the Murr took to the skies.

  Micah turned on to the road, walking at a brisk pace.

  “Aren’t I heavy?” Charlotte asked in a small voice.

  “I should be able to carry you a significant distance. Forcing you to walk would only hinder our progress.”

  She ran her hand over his arm and shoulder. “You’re so strong. Even after a battle, you don’t seem affected by my weight at all. One would never know by just looking at you. It’s really impressive, Micah. A girl could get used to this.”

  He felt suddenly hot and looked away. “Indeed,” was all he could muster.

  She opened her other hand. The glass eye he had given her lay in her palm. “Here’s your thing back.”

  He looked at it for a moment. “The Eye of Mahaado utilizes rare black magic that allows me to transport wherever the eye is when the iris is pressed, within a certain distance anyway.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “It’s one of my most precious treasures, but it has no real use in my own possession. It was meant to protect others.” He stopped. “So I want you to hold onto it. If you’re ever in danger and I’m not there, you can know that I will be.”

  She smiled brightly, clutching the eye like a rare jewel.

  He thought for a moment, before looking closely at her, his lone visible eye wide open. “I will… watch… over you.”

  She giggled. He breathed deep and broke out into a sprint down the empty dirt road.