Lucidity

Chapter Fifteen: A Tragic Sacrifice

TRIGGER WARNING - This chapter contains potentially upsetting content

Dale screamed out in pain, collapsing to the floor. It was only as Anwyn frantically peered around, searching for him, did she realise she'd been stabbed.

Hjalmar, having already knocked out his own attacker, took the opportunity to cut through the killer, who was rather surprised to see Anwyn's lack of reaction,'s leg. The third, realising he now was alone, merely fled and the group could focus on Dale.

He was gasping for air, clutching his stomach, the equivalent area to where Anwyn had been stabbed. Caitlyn was the first to understand what had happened, then Oburon. Hjalmar hadn't properly picked up on the sword in Anwyn's stomach yet, so he just assumed this was a normal injury, whereas Anwyn couldn't piece together what she had just witnessed.

She crouched down by his side, about to remove the sword because it was fairly uncomfortable, but Caitlyn stopped her. "Your wounds are his wounds now. If you take it out, he has less time left."

Tears trickling down her cheeks, Anwyn inspected Dale, who was just struggling to breathe and scarily pale. He was in pain, so much pain, and it was all her fault. She still couldn't quite comprehend what had happened, how the pain had been transferred, but they couldn't save him. Her heart broke as she gathered all her courage, gripped the sword in her two hands, having to reach behind her to do so, and pulled out. The blade clattered to the ground and Dale let out a gasp, clutching his chest more tightly as blood stained his clothes. Anwyn's flesh knitted itself back together, whereas her heart fractured into millions of tiny pieces. But she'd done all she could. It had only been fair to end his suffering.

They just knelt there, all too grief-stricken to move. Even Caitlyn, who hadn't let herself get attached to anyone, found silent tears sliding down her cheeks. Oburon's eyes just closed, as he focused on his breathing. Anwyn and Kosa were obviously both upset, but what proved more surprising was the intensity of Hjalmar's reaction. The young man started to shake profusely. Kosa wearily looked up at him. "Is this this or are you having some kind of medical emergency...?"

Hjalmar shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. Never before had he actually witnessed somebody dying. It was true that he wouldn't have described Dale as a friend, in all honesty he hadn't even particularly like the boy, but his death hurt. He couldn't have been older than sixteen and had been too young to die. It was just registering with Hjalmar properly that this would be his life once he returned home. Eventually he would be assigned a legion and be sent to the front. Then the death of a young person would be commonplace, just part of his daily routine. Thinking about it now, Hjalmar didn't want that. But enlistment was obligatory from age eighteen onwards, so leaving wouldn't work out and even if he could leave, the reinforced knowledge that this was what those fighting were confronted with on a regular basis would hang heavy on his chest. Once upon a time he would've thought this quest he was on would end the war for good and win Surtren the fertile land it so desperately needed, but at this point he was convinced this threat was bigger than that. It had developed into a full-blown conspiracy.

Still they just waited there. It was inevitable that eventually somebody would walk in on them. It was a mage, a tall man with limestone coloured skin, grey dreadlocks and pale grey eyes.

"What in magic's name happened here!?"

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The linguistic brew had worn off, so Junior and Yaz were reduced to miming for their dinner. Begrudgingly, Yaz found herself not minding the eye soup as much anymore. Nevertheless, she hoped that Hazhil recovered soon, enabling them to travel on.