My lungs constrict and pure terror grips me. Dragging myself close to her body, I cradle her to my chest, unable to believe my eyes.
No. This cannot be true. She cannot be gone.
There are no tears, no words. There is only a gaping hole in my chest as I stare at the lifeless body of my faithful companion.
“I should have known you would never be able to do this, Hanth,” a sniggering voice adds.
My mother.
I slowly raise my gaze up. Residual energy clings to her hands—the source of the blast. That is when I experience another first. I look upon my mother with contempt and pure hatred.
“You killed her!” I yell.
She rolls her eyes.
“The dog was not the target.” She shrugs.
My father is as shocked as I am, but as he shakes off the initial dismay, his features harden with resolve.
“Inaria, stop. Now,” he says in a low, ominous voice.
“You are weak, Hanth. Weak and pathetic,” she mutters with disgust.
“Let the boy go, Inaria. You will never hear of him again and he will pose no danger to our family or the realm,” my father tells her.
“Oh, how touching. I did not realize you were foolish too, Hanth.” She narrows her eyes at him. “As long as he exists, the curse will exist too. I cannot let that happen.”
Before she finishes her words, she is already gathering her energy, ready to strike again.
I am rooted to the spot, helpless. The only thing I can do is to hold onto my Upsila closer as I await the pain to come, and eventually, death.
“Inaria!” My father’s roar echoes through the forest.
Birds flap their wings as they fly high into the sky to escape the growing conflict. Even terrestrial animals run away, their thudding steps making the ground shake.
My father teleports himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. He absorbs most of the shock from the blast, and his wounds start to mend immediately.
My mother’s features contort with rage as she channels more energy to hit us.
I am still rooted to the spot, holding onto Upsila’s still warm body.
Despite being ready to die today, I hadn’t envisioned that things would degenerate so badly.
My father and mother are engaged in a fierce battle that seemingly will not stop. While father keeps his attacks on the defensive, my mother’s blows become more and more vicious.
“Stop this, Inaria, or it will end badly.” My father comes to a stop to recover his breath.
“You either let me kill him, or I will kill you with him,” she grinds out.
“When did you become so radical? I do not understand why you are so obsessed with Nykander. What’s gotten into you?” He asks, exasperated.
My mother breathes harshly, her ribcage expanding with the effort.
“You have always been against him, and I never understood why,” my father continues.
Her eyes flash, and a hint of pain appears in her features.
“Right as he was being born, I had a vision. I was visited by one of the Old,” she mentions.
