The Healer ✔

Chapter Eleven

Riba was abandoned. There was nothing else it could be. In the hours since the sun rose the group had been searching the city, not a single being had shown itself. Every single building they searched was empty of people and of Zlohiel. No matter how much the four of them yelled that they weren't going to be of any harm, no one appeared.

Towards the middle of the morning, they searched the crumbling castle in the middle of Riba, their hope slowly dwindling. They found nothing but bodies, scattered around like discarded toys. The king and his family lay sprawled in a once lavish room, blood staining the walls and floor. Nyal covered them in bedding, an attempt at a respectful burial.

They took a break in one of the empty rooms around the castle, rationing out the small amount of food they had. They could take some from the stores in the castle, but a lot of what they had seen around the kingdom had turned rotten.

She searched the library and every important place in the castle but found nothing that could help them defeat the Zlohiel. It was almost as if the whole of Riba had forgotten that Corpius had existed. There wasn't even a statue of him, let alone any of his important works. The only books she had found held false information on their enemies, written long after the war.

Perhaps they would have to go to Dreeva. That was where Nyal had found Corpius's book in the first place. She should have suggested they go there first, but the warlock had wanted to go home. She couldn't just deny him that. If anyone had been left in the city, she would have screamed at them for disrespecting such as important figure as Corpius.

Elora watched Nyal throughout the morning. He grew more and more frantic with every minute that ticked by, his hair becoming frizzy and his face turning a deep red. Elora didn't know how to help him, despite how much she wanted to. How do you comfort someone who just lost their entire home?

She tried to stick by him, to give him silent comfort by walking close to him. He seemed to be calmer in her presence, but it still wasn't enough to stop him panicking. She watched him breathe shakily every time he called out for survivors, every time he turned a corner, as though he had gotten his hopes up each time.

Her own gnawing feeling never went away, only got worse the more she saw. She tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the two voices screaming at her in her head: her own and her father's. He'd been talking to her all morning, telling her he'd seen the city while they had been sleeping. He told her there was no one left, but never told her where they had all gone. She didn't want to believe him, but the longer they looked, the more inclined she was to listen to him.

They were wandering out of the castle when Nyal finally said something that wasn't a yell. "How can a kingdom this big be completely empty?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else. "It doesn't make any sense."

"I'm not sure, Nyal," Elora replied quietly. Her father still wouldn't tell her, no matter how much she asked him. She didn't know why, but part of her suspected he just didn't care enough to answer.

"They can't all be dead," he muttered next to her, looking over at the nearby body of a woman.

"Maybe those who survived left," Mikhail suggested, still full of optimism. "They could have gone to Voda, or somewhere else they thought was safe."

"Maybe," Nyal replied. He seemed doubtful, and Elora couldn't blame him. If Riba was in such a state of destruction, who could say that Voda was still standing? There was a high chance it was gone too, that every kingdom was gone.

"There's nothing more we can do here," Ragen said.

"You're wrong," Nyal replied.

"Am I?" Ragen questioned, gesturing around them. "There's nothing here! Just dead people and toppled buildings! Why stay here any longer than we need to?"