Page 92 of The Moon's Daughter
With a swift motion, she raised her hands skyward, then sharply brought them down. Miles away, the desert floor heeded her command. Beneath the army, the sands erupted in a vicious dance, swirling into a chaotic whirlwind that veiled the sky.
The ground tore open, revealing a gaping chasm that plunged into darkness. The earth itself split apart, exposing an abyss so terrifying, so dark, it whispered of a passage to the underworld itself.
The Zephyrian forces panicked, confusion turning to terror as the ground crumbled beneath them. Horses neighed in fright, soldiers shouted in shock, all before being consumed by the desert’s gaping maw.
The chasm stretched across the desert, a sight of awe and horror. Its edges were sharp and sudden, plunging everything into its shadowy depths.
For a moment, the world held its breath, the vast emptiness swallowing all life that had existed moments before.
Then, as swiftly as it had opened, the earth closed over the abyss. The sands shifted back with a rumble, sealing away the Zephyrian horde as if it had never existed. The desert became a seamless expanse once more.
As the Daughter lowered her hands, her body trembled with the sheer magnitude of energy she had commanded. Blood streamed anew from her nostrils, thick crimson torrents against her skin, yet there was a new mastery in her bearing.
The Daughter slowly descended back to the terrace, landing gently on the stone floor. She walked toward Zarian, who stood frozen in silent awe, his eyes wide.
As she closed the distance between them, her white eyes flickered—once, twice, thrice—before returning to their normal state.
“Zarian?” Layna whispered, dazed, before her strength gave way, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Zarian sat, a statue of disbelief, in the sunlight, Layna’s fragile form cradled delicately in his arms. The world around him felt surreal, reality woven with strands of the unimaginable. The rise and fall of her chest against him was a comforting rhythm, tethering him to the present.
Yet, his mind was steeped in confusion.
He tried to grasp at his flickering memories, piecing them together like fragments of a dream. His body carried an odd weakness, the lingering echo of a life just returned.
He had died, had he not?
The memory was clear and sharp—the cold bite of the blade in his neck, the triumph in his brother’s eyes, the world fading to nothing as his eyes locked onto Layna’s anguished face.
The memory of his own death, a moment suspended between time and eternity, clashed violently with the reality of his renewed breath.
How could it be?
He remembered the pain, the sense of finality as Azhar delivered the fatal blow. He remembered Layna’s harrowing screams, her body still bound by light, her bruised face streaked with tears.
He remembered his failure.
He remembered the blackness, the absence of anything and everything.
But in the next moment, he drew what felt like his first breath anew. He had opened his eyes and gazed upon Layna—yet it was not the Layna he knew. Hovering above him, she was a vision both magnificent and terrifying, her eyes ablaze with white light, smears of blood painting a frightful contrast on her face.
But then, she had smiled at him.
And in that gentle curve of her lips, Zarian sawhisLayna shimmer through. She was not completely lost to him, not erased by the power that had transformed her. His Layna was still there, somewhere inside the frightening goddess before him. He remembered the cool relief that washed over him, the slight dimming of his fear.
Zarian’s mind replayed the moment she had leaped from the terrace—it had practically stopped his heart once more. But instead of falling, she ascended into the sky, her form etched against the backdrop of the sun in a magnificent display of power.
How long had she remained suspended there? He strained to recall, but the memory eluded him, blurred at the edges like a dream.
What wonders had she wrought in the sky?
He had watched in silent awe as she returned to the terrace. The white fire in her eyes faded, and she was Layna once again—hisLayna.
Clutching her close, he anchored himself in her presence, her face a guiding light in the murky darkness of his thoughts. Her breaths, a soft rhythm against the silence, brought him peace. He was alive and—somehow, against all conceivable odds—he breathed alongside her.
He kept his gaze steady on Layna, trying his best to ignore the charred remains nearby. His mind recoiled from the implications that threatened to overwhelm his already frayed senses.