Fire on Fire: A Koralie Story

Chapter Seventeen: Kenric

3427 words. Guys, look, a weekly update! I was so excited to post this, and then I almost forgot to lmao. Unedited, but I hope it satisfies some Koralie needs <3 (TW for mild descriptions of torture/nightmares)

Kenric

When he awoke, he couldn't breathe.

    It was all a dream. Going home, finding Ora, it was all a dream. Or perhaps it wasn't. All he knew was that he was here, he was here, he was here, and knives cut too easily through his skin, laced with salt just to make it sting.

    The longer you drag this out, the more fun I have, canvas. She traced swirls across his whole body with her blades, and all he could do was beg, knowing she relished in the sound, knowing she'd never listen.

    His blood was thick. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it, trickling down his wrists, his lips, and his chest. He could sense someone next to him. Fear shot through his veins because he knew, he knew what they would do to him.

    Give me — Calloused, dirty fingers wrapped around his hair, yanking his head back, and he screamed when the blades touched his skin — the name.

    But most of all, it was the fire he couldn't stand, bright behind his eyelids — please, don't do this — because he could still feel it singe the thin hairs on his arms, burning off charred flesh, still feel the dizzying terror that rose with they're going to kill me and the even worse realization that no. They won't.

    The words slipped out, the way they always did. Another life, another secret he condemned to a fate worse than death. Acierno.

    Someone was saying his name.

    He didn't have a name. The world flashed around him, too saturated for his sensitive eyes.

Air. I need air.

    "Kenric, breathe."

    But how could he? He was the reason for the Neverseen's destruction. He was the reason they would emerge victorious. Perhaps they'd place him on the throne of their new world and he'd be their loathed puppet.

    He flinched at someone's warm touch — too warm — scrambling back against the cold stone wall behind him. Hot and cold, hot and cold.

    "Okay. I won't touch you, I promise. Just listen to me, Kenric. Listen to my voice. Take a deep breath, and tell me where you are."

    His fingers curled around something on the ground. Fabric? Thick and unbearably soft against his skin. He flinched away. Softness didn't belong here.

    "You're home, Kenric. You're in bed."

    Bed? The word felt so foreign, it shuddered through him. He was in bed. He couldn't breathe. Had they found new ways to torture him?

    "Take a deep breath."

    He was trying, but the air was too thin, and it clawed his lungs. Where was he?

In bed.

    A hand appeared in his sight — too bright, too dark, too many colors, but he couldn't name any of them — and he reached out and seized it. Real. It was real. He squeezed until his knuckles turned white, but he barely felt it.

    "That's it. We'll do it together. Deep breath in, and hold it there."

    He felt his lungs expand, but he didn't know if there was anything in them. His head felt freezing. His skin boiled. He felt sick, and the comforters beneath him were far too warm.