Collin spun, dizzy, stomach heaving—Dragonfly. Nic and Uriah. Each corpse worse than the last, each expression frozen in some final moment of disbelief or pain.
He couldn’t breathe.
And then—on the fence rail—Niall perched.
“Niall!” Collin cried, stumbling. “What happened? What—?”
Niall hopped down. He didn’t speak at first. His gaze swept over the carnage with quiet despair. Then he looked at Collin, blue eyes swimming with grief.
“I couldn’t save them,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you save me?”
Collin crumpled. “I tried—I was too late—” He pressed his hands to his face, trembling. “I went to Nic. I should have gone to you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Niall knelt beside him, his touch gentle on Collin’s shoulder.
“Nesaea was a test,” he said. “Montigo and Sol wanted to see who would rebel. But we failed. Every one of us. We followed orders—blindly.”
Collin looked up. “But not you. You refused to kill Logan. You were the only one who—who did the right thing.”
Niall’s smile was small, mournful. “And I died for it. I chose to. I’d rather die than kill a friend.” He paused. “Would you?”
“Nic said you wanted to be our martyr,” Collin whispered. “That you hoped to inspire us.”
Niall laughed softly, and the sound chilled Collin more than a scream.
“No. I’m no martyr. Just a boy with fire in his heart. But fire spreads, Collin. If you let it.”
Niall leaned in, eyes glinting with a strange, knowing light.
“Don’t let my death mean nothing. Don’t forget.”
And then the yard shimmered and faded.
“Collin, get up! You’re dreaming!”
A voice—a shape above him. Blinding light at the edge of his vision. His body jolted.
Collin’s eyes flew open. For a moment, the sunlight pouring through the window was too bright, too wrong. It slashed across the ceiling like a blade.
Aries hovered above him, his brow furrowed, his hand clamped tightly to Collin’s shoulder.
Collin sat up fast—too fast—and swayed. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat. The sheets were tangled around his legs like restraints. He pressed both palms to the mattress to steady his breathing.
“You’re alright now,” Aries said gently, voice trying for calm. “Just a nightmare. You’re here. It’s over.”
But it wasn’t over. Not really. The yard—the bodies—Niall’s voice—it still echoed behind his eyes. His stomach churned.
He swallowed the taste of bile. His jaw tensed.
“We have to do it,” he rasped, voice too loud in the quiet room. “We have to finish what our fathers started. We can’t let it be for nothing. We can’t forget Niall. He gave his life... we have to make it matter.”
“We will,” Aries said, placing a steadying hand on his back. “But not now. Let’s eat. Hadria made breakfast. Food first. War later.”
Collin didn’t answer.
He got out of bed. The wooden floor felt oddly foreign beneath his feet—too smooth, too real. He wandered out of the house, shirt rumpled, sleeves uneven, sweat-dampen hair clinging to his temples.
Outside, the sun was climbing—but all he saw was the yard from his dream. He turned his gaze to the windows, each pane clouded with a fine layer of dust.
