Fallen One (Book three of Alfireán age)

- Telepathy? -

Consciousness flooded Zaphaniea like a light shining through newly polished glass, and she silently gasped of wonder. It felt like someone had come in and cleaned the cobwebs that had been cluttering her mind. The pain and headache that had plagued her since their encounter with Vackzilian were gone. And her energy, which had felt frantic and unsettled like a storm shut up in a bottle, now felt calm and relaxed. But there was something different, something she'd never sensed before. She could see the room around her even though her eyes were closed: she could feel the bed underneath her, the earthen dresser along the wall, the small nightstand, the full-length mirror embedded in the door, and the person sitting on a stool beside her bed, his anxiety for her well-being pressing against her mind almost as if it were her own.

It was an odd sensation.

Zeroing in on the strange feeling, she felt a sharp stabbing pain in her chest. Like a dagger being pressed into her heart, she felt the immeasurable sorrow over a loss of someone she hadn't known.

Zaphaniea opened her eyes to see Drake sitting beside her. His tired eyes watched over her, one piercing blue and the other gold and slit like a Dragon's.

"You're awake, at last," the prince said, and she could feel relief wash over him as the worried frown etched in his expression faded away. "How do you feel? They thought the surgery was a success, but there is no real way of knowing and... I was starting to worry you may never wake up."

To her surprise, she felt a genuine concern coming from the boy. It was the oddest thing. He'd always been so cold and calculating towards her before, even in her visions of the future. Which was one of the many reasons she liked to constantly tease him. With some effort, she pushed her thoughts away and sat up. "I think I'm okay," she told him and looked around. "Where's everyone else?"

"Asleep," Drake answered, his eyes lighting up with Ra'avah and scanning her. "You were out for more than fourteen hours. It's the middle of the night now."

"And you stayed up to watch over me? How very prince-like," she teased, tilting her head up and giving him an obviously fake smile, not at all comfortable with him staring at her like this.

The prince's eyes dimmed, and she felt him recoil and attempt to shut down his emotions. Nonetheless, pain, agitation, and frustration slapped her almost as if he had reached out and struck her in the face.

Zaphaniea drew back and stared at him, her eyes widening. Was this what Silver had meant when she'd telepathically told her she would no longer find joy in teasing people?

"What is it?" Drake asked, his expression perfectly schooled despite the bubbling emotions she felt from him.

"Oh, nothing," she muttered, desperately trying to shut this new ability of hers off, and for a few moments, the two of them sat there in awkward silence.

At last, her mind calmed itself enough to think, and she realized it wasn't the time for jokes.

"Thank you," she said whispering. "You... saved my life. I don't know how much longer I would have survived the pain from the Basanizos."

At her words, a plethora of emotions washed over her from the young boy sitting on the stool: joy at being able to save her, fear that he would lead her into war where she would get hurt again, bitterness—tinged with great hate—against Vackzilian for forcing him to do so, and then, at last, an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss for his father and his friends that had died at the usurper's hands.

Despite the wild range of emotions flowing through him, however, Drake simply stated, "Think nothing of it. The truth is, I wouldn't be much of a leader if I let a tool that I brought into camp kill one of my warriors, now would I."