ILLYRIS | xviii. "THE FIRE IS MINE." FIRE INTO FLESH
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DARKNESS. THAT WAS the first thing Thea saw. All around, her shadows and pitch black, enveloping her vision. For a second, she thought she died but was somehow conscious. The ceiling had crushed her— literally fell on top of her.
But it didn't.
Thea's lungs burned, breaths shallow and fleeting. Jolts of hot pain fired down her back as her muscles were near collapse. Her hands shook like leaves in the wind but she kept mustering her strength to hold them up. If she let go, the chunk of debris would fall on her head and kill her in an instant. Thea felt the flames around her quicken and grow, forcing the concrete away. The tip of her nose scraped a jagged corner. Her face heated from strain, sweat prickling her neck and lips. Her trembling lips formed a shape but the burning in her chest silenced her call to Peter— wherever he was. The inferno of the fire made heat run up her scalp, contrasting with the cold in her muscles. She couldn't move. And that terrified her.
She tried blinking once, twice, to regain anything but darkness. All around her, dust pooled from fallen concrete and metal rods in a blinding fog. Something echoed but fought with the thuds of her heart pumping in her ears.
Thea inhaled a rattling breath that stabbed her throat. Her chest was heaving and a wretched sob nearly slipped her lips, constricting her of air. The corners of her eyes pricked and tears leaked out. It took her a moment to realize she was having an anxiety attack. Her head began to feel cloudy as oxygen seeped out but she forced herself upright. Life and death, pick between life and death. Life or death. Was it time for your gore or glory?
The roar of the flames startled Thea. The dragon is not afraid, she thought as every vein in her body screamed.
"Teddy?!"
Her heart wrenched at the sudden but weak voice. More tears rose to her eyes and every bone in her body wanted to run to Peter and hold him. She could only be satiated by the comfort that he was alive.
Her lips opened and she could only let out a piercing cry that reverberated enough so he could hopefully hear her.
"Teddy, I'm—I'm right here! I'm right... I'm right here!" Peter's voice was shrill, trembling in fear. His screams were raw and he forced out, "HELLO?! PLEASE WE'RE DOWN HERE! WE'RE STUCK— WE CAN'T MOVE!"
His voice fell and helpless, shallow pleas reached her ears, making her tears rush down faster. "Teddy! We're gonna be okay! We're gonna—We're gonna get out!"
Her eyes stung but Thea tried her best to blink them away. She had to focus not just on her body, but on her mind. You are a dragon, she reminded herself. You are the Scion of Old Sovranys, the Maegya of the Great Westlands, the Mother of Magic. You will not die today.
