RISEN || The Keepers of Astraela #2

2.1 || EMRYS

|| CHAPTER 2.1 ||
|| EMRYS ||

TAP, TAP, TAP...

The rhythmic thrum echoed off the washroom walls. Emrys drummed his knuckles against the marble wall behind his tub, arm extended over his head as he stared at the silver ceiling. Floating, golden crystals illuminated the polished space with an elegant glow. Beams of light caught the steam from his bath, radiating outward in glimmering rays and covering his chest in miniature spotlights.

Most days, he regretted being brought back to life, and that evening was no different, but one thing was certain: in the depths of purgatory, there were no hot soaks.

Nor were there herbal rolls. He savored the one between his lips, taking delight in the smoke's sweetness as it curled down into his chest. Lavender smoke billowed from his lips with a sharp exhale, flouncing lightheartedly amongst the steam and soft light. Pleasure crept into his brain and smothered his racing thoughts under a blanket of bliss. It wouldn't last forever, but it would take the edge off whatever awaited him that evening.

Emrys turned to tap the cigarette against a porcelain tray beside the glass tub. When his arm brushed the surface of his bath, he couldn't help but notice the slight chill to the water.

He closed his eyes. As he pulled the cigarette back to his lips, he focused on the energy that spiraled inside him—the blazing core that forever engulfed his soul. It writhed within, buried deep enough that he could ignore its persistence when it wasn't needed, but close enough to keep his reins on its power. Hellfire was too easy of a beast to lose control of, and the risk was far too great.

But, underneath the malevolence, it was a blessing. One that brought him warmth whenever it was needed—whether to provide comfort in the nippy breeze, a roaring fire in his bedroom's hearth, or to heat his bath when it grew tepid.

Emrys took one final drag from his roll before snuffing it out in the ashtray. When he closed his eyes, he could've nearly imagined himself in the hot spring he had been so fond of in his past lives instead of the castle he'd been taken to after his rebirth.

Time had passed like centuries since he woke in the Celestial realm, except for moments of training with Amaya—those passed like eons. They'd spent countless hours refining his power, building control over the hellfire, being buried in long-forgotten memories that he wished to push back into whatever void Amaya had ripped them from.

They came to the surface in flashes of screams, fury, and pain. Amaya insisted that their presence would give him greater strength over his emotions and would remind him why he was brought back to a life he wished not to live. Her words haunted his consciousness, echoing with the bubbling water as he submerged himself deeper into the tub.

You've been ripped apart—

Searing pain struck his insides. Flames encapsulated his body as he struggled against restraints that he refused to open his eyes to see. He gritted his teeth against the memory of flesh melting from bone.

Emrys' transformation into the Phoenix had not been without sacrifice. He had once been mortal—an Other who would have been damned to Earth for not wielding magic—until Thana "saved" him by granting powers greater than the demigods'. While he had agreed with the promise of staying with his love for eternity, he had not known what truly awaited him: being torn limb from limb, burning to death, and being put back together with a shredded soul that hung on by threads... only to live a life of running from scorned gods and power-hungry militants.

—used—

The memories warped, increasing the far-off screams of innocents that Thana had forced him to bend to her will. A cracking whip echoed sharply as the vision shifted to the suffocating pits of hell, where he had been coerced into beating his Demonic brethren into submission. Every past life, he had been sworn to her. Bled for her. Killed for her. All for the empty promises of a woman who had done nothing but use him for her own selfish desires.