A piece of him. Of earth. Of stillness.
It does not ease the ache. It does not quiet the hunger.
But it lets me breathe.
Just long enough to step into the new day.
Outside, the ground shakes.
I feel the tremors before I hear the chaos of discordant voices—a low, rhythmic thud, like massive feet pounding the earth in fury. Then, shouting. Steel clashing. A scream—animal, guttural, primal.
It’s beyond the nearest hill. Breathless, I run toward it. Branches lash against my arms as I push through underbrush, boots slipping in the soft soil. When I crest the hill, I looked at the clearing below, my eyes flying wide at the sight of the Reskala warriors fighting something monstrous.
A boar.
Enormous. At least fourteen feet at the shoulder, tusks like swords, foam spilling from its jaws. Its eyes are bloodshot, glazed with pain and rage. Arrows pierce its flanks. One leg drags—yet it charges, undaunted. Wild. Deadly.
The men hold spears pointed toward the beast. Their faces are tensed in anger and focus, slick with sweat in the rising sun, their feet slipping in the mud. One of the warriors throws his spear with a mighty bellow. It bounces off the animal’s thick hide like a toothpick.
The boar squeals and shrieks so loud that I sink to my knees to cover my ears. It throws its head, rears up on its hind legs, then kicks out with its uninjured back hoof. A soldier flies through the air, tossed like a doll. Another barely rolls aside in time.
These faceless soldiers aren’t mine, but they arehis.They have been kind to me. Silent in the face of my strange ways. I do not wish to see their blood spilled.
My heart seizes. I almost cry out to them—terrified for them all—when a black blur flies into the fray. The figure jumps. Not like a man. Much higher, far above the boar’s head. Magic cracks like thunder, exploding outwards and shaking the grass. The shape crashes down on top of the boar’s head, forcing the beast back onto all four legs.
Steel glints in the sunlight.
Not blades.
Armor.
Black as night.
His.
Kailorien brings his knee down mid-jump, smashing into the boar’s snout. It shrieks and twists. He leaps again, landing on its back, straddling it with his mighty thighs as he rips one of the spears from its hide with one hand. Swinging his leg, he jumps down and lands on the ground. His weight sprays mud everywhere.
The boar whirls around, half blind, and swings its tusks at the Resh’Agar.
I cover my mouth to keep from screaming.
Kailorien doesn’t blink. He thrusts the spear into the creature’s eye, and while the beast squeals and squirms, he grabs its colossal tusk with his bare hands. His shoulders flex, chest heaving as he twists to the left and wrenches the boar’s massive head sideways with a crack that echoes through the clearing.
I watch—horrified, entranced—as his eyes light up with something I’ve never seen before.
Bloodlust.
Madness.
His irises—once blue—flare with a terriblered. Crimson as the beast’s bloodspraying onto his body.
The men behind him begin to chant: “Resh! Resh! Resh! Resh!”
The rhythm of it sounds like pounding war drums. The voices rise to fever pitch. Devoted. Worshipping. Euphoric.
The boar’s neck turns at an unnatural angle. It falls to the ground as Kailorien smiles. But the beast doesn’t stay down. It lurches upwards. Roars, spins, coming at him with a full-body lunge. He doesn’t move back. He stepsin. Raises his leg and kicks, shattering its skull.
“Resh!” Zarrek’s voice, somewhere behind him. “Let it fall!”
