MONSTROUS THOUGHTS
CEDRIC
Cedric’s eyes fluttered open,and for a moment, all he saw was darkness.
Thick, suffocating blackness that clung to his mind, sticky as syrup. He moved, stretching his fingers, his toes, searching for that full-body ache, waiting for the pain to hit him, to feel as if he’d been trampled by a herd of warhorses.
But there was nothing.
Nothing except a strange, unfamiliar coldness in his chest.
I’m still alive.
He let out a shaky breath, the weight of that realization pressing down on him from all sides. Memories flooded his mind in fragmented bursts—the triple-toned roar of the resurrected fyre wyrm, flamesdancing on the lake, the blast of power lighting him up, the feeling of soaring backward through the air...and then the heat. Surrounding him, consuming him, corroding him. Yet here he was. Whole. Intact. Present.
When he shouldn’t be.
Cedric tried to sit up, his body protesting. A hand pressed firmly against his shoulder, easing him back onto the bed. No, not a bed.
He blinked, the shadows in his vision slowly giving way to dim, familiar light. A stone ceiling loomed overhead, intricate etchings spiraling into the corners. It felt as if it was watching over him where he lay, splayed on a loose pile of pillows in the middle of the room.
In the middle of the Sanctum.
He was back in the Celestial Sanctum.
Glancing over, Cedric found Zephyr kneeling beside him, relief pouring from her, so thick it was nearly tangible.
“Welcome back,” she said softly. “You’ve been out for quite a while.”
“What’s a while?” Cedric’s voice came out rough and strained, his throat burning as if he’d inhaled smoke.
She bit her green-tinged lip. “Almost a whole day,” she admitted.
Surprise zipped through Cedric as he rose to his elbows, then glanced down at himself. He took in the black tunic draped over his torso, the loose pants curving around his waist. The melancholy that had overtaken him at the creeping memory of what happened on that lake of fire momentarily dissipated as he said, “Did you dress me?”
Zephyr’s cheeks turned a darker shade of green. “W-we couldn’t very well leave you as you were,” she stammered.
Cedric heard a low chuckle and turned to see Thraigg ambling over. “Aye, even dead to the world as ye were, I doubt ye would’ve found charred armor makes for comfortable bedclothes, boyo. What’s left of yer armor can be found o’er there.” The dwarf thrust his thumb in the direction of the bedroom doors that lined the back of the antechamber before adding, “Which is where we found these for ye too.”
“You seem rather untroubled to see me like this,” Cedric said.
Thraigg let out a single laugh. “Would you rather I be wringing my hands at your side like this one?” He jerked his thumb at Zephyr.
“Don’t let his dwarven bravado fool you,” she said with a shy grin. “He was just as worried as the rest of us.” She gestured at Kit and Nox,sitting a few paces away and wearing matching expressions of concern.
Cedric barely noticed. There was only one person his vision sought.
Elyria sat on a long bench, wings hidden, her back pressed against the stone wall opposite him. She circled her finger around the rim of a goblet, her expression flat. She wasn’t looking at Cedric. Her eyes were drawn halfway shut, like it was a labor to hold them open. She seemed tired—something more than exhaustion sitting heavy on her shoulders—and the sight of it made Cedric’s stomach squeeze.
He tore his eyes from Elyria to survey the other champions. Kit offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Nox sitting beside her with a thoughtful expression on their face. Thraigg, meanwhile, had wandered over to a small table nearby, immediately digging into the bowl of fruit that lay upon it. Whatever the Crucible still had in store for the remaining champions, Cedric was relieved to see that starving them out didn’t seem like part of the plan. The usual display of pitchers and platters dotted the antechamber, put there by whatever ancient magic still ran through the Sanctum.
And with Zephyr at his side, now offering him a flagon of water and a small yeast roll, that accounted for everyone.
There was nobody else there.
He didn’t really need to ask, but he found the word slipping from his lips anyway. “Gael?”
Zephyr shook her head.
