Heir of Cinders [FADING EMBERS #1] - ON HOLD

12.2 - Falling Star

--WARNING: Potentially graphic descriptions--

"Wake up," it echoed again, breaking the tranquil stillness of the void.

Sagan peeled his eyelids open forcefully, glimpsing bright, blurry splotches of red lights around him. The moment he did, pain rushed through him like a river breaking loose from a beaver-built dam in the streams of Roditerre. He convulsed into himself, clutching his abdomen tightly. There was an empty feeling in his left arm in contrast to the rest of his body, almost as if it had been paralyzed. Sagan wasn't sure which one was more concerning- the fact that he felt as if he was imploding or the hollowness in his arm.

He grimaced and shut his eyes once more, desperate to return to that peaceful emptiness. The smell of smoke was suffocating him, causing a cough to break out of his throat. Consequently, more pain coursed through his body by the sudden jolt.

If that silent void was death, then by the gods, let him die. Anything had to be better than having to bear this suffering.

"Get up, you pathetic spineless chicken!" shouted the same voice that had pulled him out of the calm reprieve, this time in a tone much harsher than the last.

It was a reflex that caused Sagan's eyelids to fly wide open, the lemon yellows of his eyes quickly darting around to find the source of the voice. He saw nobody in close enough proximity, yet he was positive that the voice came from a woman. Even though his mind was addled by the throbbing sensation, he still had enough cognitive function to recognize the femininity within the odd voice. Sagan's first thought was that it was Marie's, but there were no indicators to her presence around him. As far as he could see, there was only debris and smoke around him.

Had he, in his state of torment, imagined that voice? Was it just the little nagging voice in the back of his head that would usually cry out to him in times of duress?

Then, why do I sound like a woman? he thought, dully. The pain was taking away most of his ability to think clearly.

"No, you idiot creature. I am not your conscience."

This time, Sagan had to take notice. Intrigue served as anesthesia for a split second, causing him to forget about the pain. How did whoever was talking to him read his mind? The orkhus was fairly sure that he had not articulated his thoughts, judging by the scratchiness that tingled his throat. With some effort, he lifted the back of his head off the ground to get a better view of his surroundings.

"W...who goes there?" he asked, hoarsely.

"Get off your sorry butt and I'll tell you."

Knowing that his hopes of rest had been dashed to pieces, he took his functional arm off his torso and propped it against the watery dirt. It seemed that they had landed into a swamp. The orkhus gave a forceful shove onto the ground to lift himself, shaking off the debris that had clung to him. His face contorted at the effort, the points of his tusks digging painfully into his skin.

Sagan finally dragged himself to his feet, his hands quickly finding a nearby piece of airship wreckage to support his weight. He stumbled slowly towards the large piece of metal and leaned against it.

"Alright!" he announced, through gritted teeth. "I'm on my feet. Now, show yourself!"

The woman chuckled. Sagan wrinkled his nose in offense, disliking the callous and conceited manner in which she was treating him. He might not have been particularly exemplary in the way of etiquette, but even he knew that if one saw a heavily-injured person, one should go and assist them. Now that some senses had returned to him, he could make an educated guess on the amount of wounds that he had probably sustained.