Fireborn

20 ¦ Aftermath

Back on campus, teachers and students clustered outside the arena on patches of icy snow in tight-knit huddles waiting for news about their loved ones. They comforted each other with reassuring pats on the back while some of the survivors stared into the distance, dazed and unseeing.

The images swirled before me in a kaleidoscope of chaos, meshing into one massive, indistinct blur. My psyche strained to filter the images, but only three ideas cut through my addled thoughts.

Peter. Bragda. Halden.

Gone.

Over and over, my mind replayed that horrible scene with the Shadow Riders: Lord Hesse's cruelty, Lord Darius' lightning attack, and Peter shaking as blood spluttered from his lips before his final breath. His last words tore through my mind like a tornado, and I stumbled to the ground.

"Leave!"

"Not without you!"

"Go!"

I vomited on the grass.

Empty and hollow, I found the strength to pick myself up. In a dazed fugue, I thought of Bragda. Her pain. Her bravery.

My worst fiscas had come true.

Our last words had been hostile, and I hadn't been able to apologize or say goodbye. She'd met her death without me. I'd refused to stand by her when she needed me most because of my stupid Healer oath.

I'm a fool.

While I was staggering along the gravel track to the dorms, Alicia raced towards me. She almost crashed into me and clutched me like I was a life preserver in the middle of a vast ocean.

"Oh, gods, Liselle! You're alive!"

I stood there, unable to speak at first, my arms held stiffly by my sides.

"Am I?"

She pulled away from me with a confused look on her face. "Where are the others?"

"There are no others."

"Of course there are. They must be in the injured unit. Come on, we have to help them!"

Injured unit?

Bragda.

As Alicia tugged me behind her in a frantic run, my soul dared to hope. Electric energy rushed through my veins as we raced up to the makeshift medical tents sprawled out across the amphitheater.

A giant crowd had gathered before the gates of the arena, pushing and shoving each other in a vain attempt to get closer. Warriors stood guard, heavily armed with full plate armor. As we tried to push past, two of them crossed their pikes to block our way.

"Sorry, only Healers have access to the tents," the taller one said in a terse voice. "Please wait here for news."

"Sir, we are Healers," Alicia said, pointing at her green ribbon.

"Of course, my mistake."

In the inner courtyard, armed soldiers swung open the metal gate to grant us access while more guards brandished swords at anyone who tried to push through with us. The place that had once hosted joyful celebrations had been turned into a makeshift army hospital. Three giant tents flapped in the breeze: one with a skull and crossbones, one with a red cross, and one with a green cross.

"We'll start with the minor injuries first," Alicia said, her voice brimming with hope.

Very few casualties had the fortune of being minor injuries. Even those patients looked ghastly. I choked on the foul air and cringed at all the people groaning, screaming, and crying. A third-year fighter begged for pain relief as he clutched his charred flesh, scorched to the sinew and bone by dragon fire. I rushed over to him, Alicia following close behind.