VISION ✔️ || The Keepers of Astraela #1

34.0 || Of Guilt and Blame

EMRYS

MYSTIA'S SCREAM HAUNTED THE AIR long after the blast silenced. Its penetrating cry rang in Emrys' ears. Drawing in a shaky breath, he felt the two bodies shift beneath his safe canopy. He pulled his wings closer to his back and opened his eyes.

In the shadowed dell, the only visibility came from iridescent light peeking between cracks in the Guardian's trunk. Power seeped from the ancient tree as the unsealed Barrier cast an eerie glow across the two women knelt on the moss-laden ground.

Bobbi tended to Mystia in an attempt to investigate wounds that the woman concealed with an arm tucked against her stomach. A dark substance oozed from her forearm, drenching her clothes and making Emrys' gnawing appetite vanish. Her other hand covered her left eye, with blood leaking between her fingers and trailing down her wrist. Though Mystia's cries had ceased, her body remained rigid with pain as she wriggled, trying to force herself out of the curled-up position she had fallen to.

"Oh my gods..." Emrys dropped to his knees. Huddling beside Bobbi, he reached a hand toward their friend. It was rare for Mystia to show the slightest weakness, let alone pain in any form.

She pushed him away with an agonized hiss. "I'm fine, love."

Ignoring her protests, Emrys curled his fingers around her wrist. He peeled it away from her face gently, but what rested beneath her grasp left a pain in his chest like the stabbing of a million knives.

Flesh melted from bone, leaving nothing but singed, tattered edges. A gaping socket stared back, void of the eye that should have rested within. Instead, fried ligaments clung to the empty cavity, and vitreous fluid seeped freely from where her cornea had liquified. Steam rose from the blood that bubbled within her blackened wounds, boiling charred remnants of skin that clung to her exposed cheekbone—and he could only imagine that her left arm, still held tight to her stomach, had met a similar fate.

The odor of burning flesh was overwhelming at such a close proximity. His fingers slipped from her wrist, and he stumbled backward, away from the painful reminder of hellfire's strength. Of his strength.

It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Before he could get to his feet, a bloody hand grasped his forearm—one with surprising strength in its shaky hold. "This... isn't... your fault..."

Mystia tugged on his arm to pull herself to her knees. The veins on the other side of her face protruded as she strained against the agony Emrys knew she must have been in. He tried to pry her hand away to keep her from standing.

"Emrys... please."

Though her words were breathless, her strength was resilient. Gripping his arm until her nails dug into his ashen flesh, her fingers left streaks of searing hot blood across its gray surface. Mystia's gaze was unrelenting into the depths of his soul, but Emrys couldn't pull his focus from the crater where her left eye had once been.

Guilt writhed in his chest, mixing with the bile that rose up his throat. It was as though his lungs had collapsed, his breathing shallow enough for his head to spin.

"Emrys, stop it!" Mystia dug her nails further into his skin. "Stop blaming yourself for every damn thing that goes wrong!"

Emrys opened his mouth but couldn't speak, and he knew he didn't need to. His racing thoughts, crashing against the shores of his mind in angry waves, softened Mystia's pointed glare. Her grip fell from Emrys' arm, and she stumbled away from his reach—but Bobbi was already at her side, wrapping an arm around the half-goblin to keep her steady.