VISION ✔️ || The Keepers of Astraela #1

25.2 || Of Roommates and Reincarnation

EMRYS

A BITTER CHILL WROUGHT Emrys' spine as he pushed through the back door of the tavern. Maybe it had been the warmth of Nectar sliding down his throat or the smoke from his roll that kept the bitter air from being too much, but he wished he could stop it from piercing him with icy tendrils. Ever since Darkness silenced the sun, the temperature had plummeted from the sticky humidity of that afternoon.

He cursed under his breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. There would be no warming himself with magic, not in the weakened state he had succumbed to.

One by one, his powers slipped through his fingers, taunting him with what used to be.

Even descending the Sanctum stairs made his legs tremble. As he leaned upon the stone walls, he considered sending a thought up to Mystia to help stabilize him before he tumbled down the remaining steps, but the thought of her watering eyes kept him from doing so.

Emrys tried to put it out of his mind as he finally made his way through the common room and into the hall. A thin stream of light reflected on the wall, drawing his attention to the cracked-open door at the end of the corridor.

At least Eva was still awake.

He stifled a yawn while he approached the door to his room. Maybe Mystia was right. Sleep would do more good than he cared to admit, and his eyelids were getting awfully heavy. But, before he could turn the knob, the soft sound of sniffling stopped him. He craned his neck to glance back at Eva's door, where the noise slipped through the air so quietly he wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for midnight's stillness.

Emrys padded quietly down the hall and peeked through the crack in her door.

Concern gripped his chest. Eva was the picture of misery, huddled against the headboard with her knees drawn tightly to her chest. The novel she had been reading lay discarded at the foot of her bed, pages crumpled from being thrown hastily to its resting spot.

The moment Emrys pushed open the door, she peeled her face away from her pants and stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. Stray tears snaked down her cheeks, trailing in paths made by their counterparts.

Slowly, her gaze traveled his arm, where it landed on the graying skin.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "I... did I do that?"

Emrys flinched. "You didn't do anything."

If it was hard for him to believe his own words, he couldn't imagine how Eva felt. When her lower lip quivered, he snatched the flannel button-down he'd tied around his waist and slipped it on to cover his arm. Nothing could conceal the gray flesh on his hand, but at least the worst of his injury would be hidden.

"But, my vision—"

"Whatever that vision was, whatever is going on... it isn't your fault. Don't beat yourself up."

The way her eyes fell to the floor told him she wouldn't listen. Emrys wanted nothing more than to sit down and wrap his arms around her—anything to bring her peace. Deep inside, he knew what it was like to feel such a level of guilt. The thought of it eating away at her made him sick.

Still, as his mind flashed back to Faeran's house and the black pools her eyes had become, he couldn't bring himself to move. Fear was never an emotion he expected to feel toward her, especially in such a moment of weakness.

Eva was cracking. Just her hollow gaze revealed how much more broken she was than she let on.

"I can stay awake with you, if you'd like," he said.