Page 147 of Ashes of Aether

When the explosion is spent, I collapse. The cobblestones strike my knees, but I feel no pain.

Only ash and rubble remain. There is no living left, nor any dead. Just me.

Weariness seeps through my mind in blurry black spots. The explosion wasn’t restrained by spell-words and almost burned through every drop of magic in my blood. I’m lucky to be alive. If it consumed all my aether, I would be dead.

The staff tumbles from my grasp. A hollow clatter sounds as it hits the ground. Exhaustion claims me. Like the staff, I fall.

No.

Eliya.

I fling out my arms and stop the ground from smashing into my skull.

I must find her. I must save her.

My fingers curl around the staff. I use it to haul myself upright. Once back onto my feet, I sway.

I don’t hesitate for long. If I do, I will fall again.

Onward I force myself. My wobbly legs threaten to give way, and my feet are clumsy as they pound against the cobblestones. Once or twice I almost trip on the uneven edges. Determination steadies me. It keeps me from falling.

Two skeletons turn the corner. There’s little aether left flowing through my veins, and there won’t be more until I rest, but I must fight.

I use the smallest amount of magic possible to control the aether in the air, and I ensure the spell does not take more than I can give.

“Ignira,” I rasp.

The resulting fireball is far from my fiercest, especially compared to the inferno which raged through the street, but it is enough. One skeleton is destroyed by the blast, while the other is crippled by it. Half its bones crumble to ash. It continues toward me, but I sprint hard and fast, and it fails to outrun me.

On the next street, a wraith turns to me and raises its spectral hands. Shadows rise.

I strike with fire before it can attack. Then I keep running.

My strength is swiftly depleting. I don’t know how many more spells I can conjure—or whether my next will falter.

Three corners later, I find Eliya.

She lies slumped at a dead end, her crimson waves cascading over her face. Two ghouls stalk toward her.

“Eliya!” I shout.

The ghouls stop and turn. They race for me, ravenous hands outstretched.

Though my magic is almost spent, fury musters a fierce burst of strength.

“Ignir’alas!”

Blazing wings swoop into the night and dive at the undead. Flames consume their decayed flesh.

I don’t watch. I continue straight through the embers. My own flames singe my tattered dress.

I lunge for Eliya and skid across the cobblestones.

“Eliya,” I call, crouching beside her.

There’s no reply. Her chest is so very still. Her fingers do not twitch.

With a trembling hand, I brush aside her crimson locks to reveal her heart-shaped face. Her eyes are closed. A heartbeat passes. They don’t open.