Page 108 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

Had he . . . done this before?

The thought drifted away, as most thoughts did. Vivian’s pale hand guided him through the endless bodies, around tents, campfires, and human waste. The sour stench watered his eyes and the tears fell freely.

“Reginald!” Barron snapped.

Samuel blinked, and an unknown figure appeared, bowing his head. He was built thick, with glasses perched on a pointy nose, surrounded by a wide moustache. A grey apron stretched across his muscles, stained with soot. The bald head was a stark contrast, and unlike the others . . . he wasn’t suffocating in the darkness.

“It took me three weeks, but I have recreated the witch’s weapon,” Reginald spoke, his voice warbled, Samuel’s hearing lacking in perception. “It’s a . . . we can make enough to . . .”

Samuel’s attention wandered off, like it often did. His eyes drifted to the muted sky, grey and somewhat familiar. He breathed deep enough until the armour squeezed his ribcage, forcing him to release a shallow breath.

The craft maker scurried away, his name already forgotten. Panic surged at Samuel’s fragmented mind, but was quickly doused as Vivian stroked his chin.

“We should trim your beard soon. I don’t like prickly lips.”

He grunted in response. He wasn’t even sure if he could talk anymore. The Dark One was joined by another with matching hair, but eyes of emeralds. The sight of him was menacing, something coiling within, causing Samuel’s armour to constrict, forcing his anger down until all he felt was numbness.

“When do we attack?” the young male asked, his eyes darting towards Samuel’s blank expression. He stared back, unsure of whether he was supposed to know this male. Had they been friends? Enemies? Was this their first encounter?

“The next hawk should be arriving soon. Their Mist is weakening, their protective boundary falling apart. Soon, we will get everything we’ve worked for, my son.”

“And her?”

“Yes, her too.”

Vivian scoffed at the males, flicking the ends of her green dress as she ranted about power, her voice falling on deaf ears.

“She’s not everything, you fools. We can do this without her. The power of the ocean won’t matter once the rifts are open.”

“No,” they answered in unison.

“Are we not equals, darling?” Barron ran his hand across Vivian’s neck, and she shivered, the motion all too familiar to Samuel. She shivered under his touch like that every night. “Do I not deserve a pet of my own? Should we not acquire Calypso’s only heir? We need all four for the ritual.”

Vivian nodded, her heavy stare sliding to Samuel. “Anything you desire.”

Time passed. Warping in and out. A flurry of acrid stenches, darkness, and Vivian’s gut-wrenching moans as he tended to her pleasure night after night until she fell asleep in his arms. Her hair fanned out across the cot, the strands akin to the dying roots of a tree. The master never visited her at night, always pacing, always working. His darkness spread further with each rising moon, its glow increasing as it filled out week after week.

Samuel closed his eyelids, picturing fiery eyes, one of the few things he wanted to remember. Flaming hair that shone brightly in the darkness, keeping the encroaching shadows at bay. His mind quietened when those eyes graced him, and he dreamt of them every night until the darkness came to claim him in the morning.

“Get up. Time to go,” Vivian ordered, patting his face ungracefully. Morning once again. Cold and dark. The magic of the suit forced him upright, obeying his mistress’ command.

He rolled to the side, standing in one swift motion like a mindless ghost. A single dark speck on the tent caught his attention. A singular point of darkness, and briefly, he willed for all that haunted him to funnel into it. To leave his body, his soul.

Vivian sighed as she took his hand, guiding him back out of the tent towards the largest in the centre of their camp.

The colour black was everywhere.

Everywhere except . . . Vivian. A glowing wraith, skin that shone in the dark, swathed in sultry, silken green robes that matched her fox-like eyes.

“Darling, I think you need to loosen your magic on this one. He’s becoming useless.” Vivian pushed Samuel into a chair, guiding each individual limb. He vacantly stared at the shadow lounging before him. But there. Knelt by his side. A chain around her neck.

Wildfire.

Flaming red and orange. The colour so beautiful his heart sang. His mind sparked, seeing her once again breathing sense into his body. She stared back, the divine halo around her eyes a dark contrast. She was thin, her cheeks sunken, but the defiance in her gaze was clear and electrifying.

“Not to worry,” the Dark One’s voice tore Samuel’s attention from his little flame. “It’s almost time for Rommier’s purpose in this war.”

The tent flaps wafted, followed by a sickly breeze. Two stools appeared either side of him, and he glanced at the male placed to his left. Tall and thin, with long black hair and dark eyes. The armour clung to his frame, drowning him in darkness.