Page 256 of May: Bloom & Bane

My breath hitches. He remembered her. The little soul sleeping in the dark, the daughter that he wraps his shadows around every night to keep the world away. The curse wanted a reaper—a being that would follow the pull and obey the mission. A reaper has nothing to lose—but a father does—a father would break his bones and tear down a mountain to get to his child.

Yes. Vaelína, I cry. Our daughter needs you. Keep fighting.

His head lowers, and his claws slide back to his chest, holding the place where the mark burns across his sternum.

“Daughter,” he whispers. The word sounds foreign in his mouth. “Ním?”

The question nearly destroys me.

Yes, I choke out. Neeth.

His skull tilts slightly.

“Then why… why does remembering hurt so much?”

Because you love her.

“Love?” He mulls over the word. “That is the weakness?”

No, Ash… I wrap my gold magic around his shadows. That is why you’re still here.

The blue flames in his sockets flare black.

Fight it! I roar, binding my golden light tighter around his writhing shadows. Don’t you let it take her away from you!

Our chest heaves, a raspy breath rattling through his lungs.

“It is… too loud,” he gasps, his posture contorting. The shadows around his broken legs fracture and reform. “The pain…” His voice cracks. “Sage, the pain⁠—”

Is the only thing keeping you alive! I scream back, refusing to let the curse drag him back into that empty place. I force him to feel every bit of agony, because that agony is the only proof left that he loves her.

Let it hurt, Ashán! Let it burn you alive, but do not forget her name!

With an animalistic snarl, his skull snaps upward. The black fire in his sockets burns away, replaced by a blinding, incandescent blue.

The full weight of what he did crashes through the bond. Every splinter of his shattered legs, the torn muscle of his shoulder, the cracks running through his skelva—it all floods into us at once.

A whimper breaks from his lips as he pushes himself up from the ground. But his body gives out, and he falls back to the stone.

“Eden, I’m coming,” he whispers, planting his palms against the rock and forcing himself up again. His arms tremble, his broken legs dragging uselessly behind us. “I can’t—” he groans. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Ashán… you don’t have to get up right now.

“We’re running out of time.” Blue tears fall and sizzle against the stone.

There he is. Not the reaper. My reaper—my Ashán.

Ash.

His head lifts weakly.

“If only I had my wings…”

You broke the curse, I rasp. You’re back now. But you cannot walk on shattered bones.

“I have to,” he rasps, his fingers clawing fruitlessly at the rubble, trying to drag his torso forward. “I’ll crawl if I have to.”

You don’t have to crawl, I whisper. You have me.