How the Game is Played

II

Alina wasn't sure whether she was relieved or not to have been awoken the next morning as opposed to being placed back into a coma by the Heartrenders. Ivan was certainly sulking somewhere because of it, too. What she did find comfort in, however, was the lack of Aleksander she woke up to. In fact, it looked as though he hadn't even been in his quarters that night. The side of the bed she hadn't slept on looked untouched, just the same as it'd been when she'd crawled in the night before.

Perhaps it was a one-off. She knew he was busy in the War Room. For Saint's sake, she'd seen herself quite how much work he had with her own eyes, working overnight wouldn't be surprising for him. However, the thought of him having slept in his bed any other night whilst she'd been there was far more disturbing than the alternative, so for her own peace of mind elected to believe it was in fact, not a one-off.

She could see sunlight peeking through beneath the curtains, lending her small comfort. Extending her hand, she called the light forwards, feeling the rush through her body as the beams of light shot towards her, circling her outstretched hand before encasing her whole body momentarily. But suddenly the comfort was gone, and she was thrown straight back into the day at the fold.

Still encased n the capsule of light, she was no longer in Aleksander's room, in the Little Palace or even in Os Alta. She was kneeling on the desolate sands of the Unsea, a whirlwind of Volcra and nichevo'ya above her as she leant over Mal's body. Blood seeped through his torn shirt, pooling around him as she screamed her throat raw. His eyes were open, but completely vacant, staring straight up into the darkness above. She knew he was gone, but couldn't bring herself to let go of him.

The world as she knew it was collapsing around her, and she felt powerless to stop it. The only boy she'd ever been certain of her love for was dead at her feet, the knife she'd used to kill him still clutched tightly in her fist, coated in his blood. She knew it wasn't real, that it was her mind playing a cruel trick on her, but she couldn't look away from Mal's blank face.

Alina.

Aleksander's voice floated through her mind, she screamed even more, certain that she'd start coughing up blood should she place any more strain on her vocal cords. She didn't care, let her choke on her own blood. She deserved it, after all.

Alina.

Again, it was more desperate now, filling every sense she had, coming from every direction and yet none at the same time, she doubled over, burying her head into Mal's chest as a large hand grasped onto her shoulder.

"Alina, come back."

Her eyes shot open. She was curled into a ball on top of the bed, her skin coated in a fine layer of sweat as she panted, unsure of where to look until her eyes landed on him. Aleksander stood over her, a hand on either shoulder, staring down at her with something she could have mistaken with concern.

"I-I was there, in the fold-" she began, but he shook his head.

"No, Alina. You're here. You were here the whole time," he said firmly, although it wasn't cruel in the way he so often spoke to her. If anything, the solidity of his words was reassuring.

Pulling her knees towards her body, she dropped her face into her hands, trying to steady her breathing. Aleksander's hand still rested on her shoulder, grounding her to where she sat.

"What happened?" He asked.

"I woke up and saw the light by the window," she began quietly, "I wanted to make sure I could still summon. It worked, but I think I overdid it. The light trapped me, just like it had in the fold. And then, I was right back there, watching him die."