Page 60 of Godbound
People do not flee, but the hush thickens. The first flickers of wariness sharpen into unease.
The Sibyls do not move either, still just observing.
Zyrel stiffens. His lips press into a thin line as his eyes dart toward the darkened edges of the plaza. His dragon huffs, stomping a leg against the ground.
Within seconds, the once-pristine square begins to splinter apart, cracks widening as the shadows seep through like black veins.
Within moments, it transforms into a landscape of shattered stone, save for the small patches where the Sibyls and the other Champions stand.
The air grows heavier. The ground groans, and all of the shadowy roots converge at a single point, beneath me.
The stone that trapped me crumbles, devoured into nothingness as tendrils of darkness coil around me. Not imprisoning, but freeing.
The weight of the hardened ground vanishes and the pressure lifts.
I gasp, air flooding my lungs, my limbs weak as I brace myself against the shifting ground. The darkness recedes, folding back into itself, twisting upward in a slow retreat.
And when the last of it unwinds, leaving the ground hollowed out beneath me, Kaelzar stands at the top of the steps—the steps his shadows carved for me to rise from the hole Zyrel put me in—his hand outstretched.
His dark monster floating above all our heads in eerie, jerking movements, begins to melt into nothingness.
I hesitate, my breath uneven.
He is offering his hand. The same man who once called me pathetic, unworthy. His words still echo in my mind. I glance up, expecting to see that same mixture of disdain and disinterest in his gray-silver eyes.
But instead, I find something else.
Beneath that fierce exterior, beneath the scowl and the ever-present restraint, there is something startling. Not softness. Not kindness.
Acceptance.
“It’s about all of us,” he repeats the words I said earlier, quietly enough that only I can hear, as if this alone is explanation enough for his dramatic rescue.
I stare at his outstretched hand, still catching my breath, when I notice the uneven skin on his palm, so deeply scarred it looks as though someone slashed it dozens of times with jagged blades, then repeatedly tore off the scabs as it tried to heal.
I shove the rising questions away, as a part of me wants to ignore this hand. To push myself up on my own, to prove that I don’t need him, that I don’t owe him anything.
But another part, a quieter, more exhausted part, knows the truth. I cannot do this alone.
“If you haven’t figured it out yet,” he murmurs, then raises his voice so the crowd can hear, loud enough for the Divinity Gazes to capture every word. “You’re Godbound. Your touch will no longer rot the living. Not unless you will it.”
As if fear of my blackened fingers was the only reason I might’ve refused his hand.
Still, a tight knot loosens in my chest at his words. If I’m to believe him—and I have no reason not to—then my touch isn’t deadly anymore. Not unless I want it to be.
Reluctantly, I lift my hand.
His fingers close around mine, not gentle, but not forceful. His grip is firm, steady, grounding, as if anchoring me rather than rescuing me. He leads me up the stairs and onto the plaza ground.
He does not let go immediately. And neither do I.
“You should be scared,” my Godbeast murmurs to Zyrel, so softly that only Zyrel and his huffing dragon can hear. “You’re only standing here because my Champion chooses to keep her magic leashed... for now.”
Zyrel’s dragon, sensing danger, scrapes its massive paw against the ruined ground, sending gravel that morphs into sparks of fire flickering through the air. The same magic as Zyrel’s, I note and realize that mine and Kaelzar’s magics have nothing in common.
Just another fact to highlight how different our partnership is from other Godbounds and their beasts, how unnatural.
Before the dragon can take a step, thin tendrils of shadow coil around its legs, so subtle they are nearly invisible, yet strong enough to pin the creature in place. The dragon strains against the shadows, but Kaelzar’s grip holds firm.
