And the vision shatters.
In the next instant, a blade moves across my chest—bringing with it agony the likes of which I have never known.
My arms and legs are bound, stretched to their limits as I lie spread-eagled across the floor. I am a man once more, but trapped within my own body. When I lift my head and peer at my attacker, I see my own face staring back at me—twisted with anger—just as the blade drives deeper into my flesh.
I choke on the cloth stuffed into my mouth and thrash my head back and forth, my scream muffled by it.
God… the pain. Blinding. Endless. It steals the air from my lungs and leaves nothing but broken sound in its wake. I writhe and fight against my bindings, straining until my muscles burn, but they hold fast.
My uncle’s scent surrounds me. That—and the unmistakable stench of dark magic being wielded.
“Your brother will never wield the power he holds to do what must be done.”
Understanding dawns as he speaks. His voice changed from that of my uncle’s to mine.
He has taken my face. My voice.
“He is too soft-hearted. And you—who once bore the heart of a warrior—showed no sign of it until now. It seems it was divided cleanly between you.”
The blade presses deeper. I choke on the gag. Sound leaves my chest and throat.
“I could not risk our family’s magic dying out,” he continues. “It must endure through me. With your deaths, I will claim enough power to reunite the clans—by any means necessary. And it will pass through my bloodline.”
The ritual continues. Each cut brings a wealth of pain.
At one point, he glances at my father and then at my mother and frowns. “You have to understand, they gave me no choice.”
My head turns with effort, the motion slow, heavy, as I search for her.
I find her lying motionless nearby.
“Mah…” It hurts to talk, and it’s garbled, but a word that resonates with my own mind, a companion to the grief consuming me.
I reach for her, though I cannot touch her—my hand falling short, fingers trembling against empty space.
“This was not meant to be her end.”
Regret laces his tone.
“I tried to spare her. But she would not listen when she found your father.”
“Mah…”
“Shh, child. It will be over soon.”
He turns back to his work.
I force the word through numb lips and attempt to make it coherent. “O...rán.”
He pauses for only a moment. “He lives.” The answer is immediate. But the truth lingers in his eyes, for now. Guilt rests there—but so does resolve.
“I hope… he…” My breath stutters. “Kills you.”
It is the last thing I give voice to, and most likely, he heard none of it.
The blade resumes its path through flesh, deepening the symbols. My cries have grown hoarse, my sight swallowed by the weight of the pain, until my head lolls and darkness begins to creep in at the edges of my vision.
Following me into the dark is hope that Orán will see through this deception and somehow end my uncle’s life.
