Page 94 of The Last Guardian

Dark thoughts swirled in the back of my mind, processing all the things Kraktos had shared. All the things the High Mages had deprived Perygan of. The corrupt power they wielded to destroy the air around us.

What Kraktos had shown us… The slaughter of an entire civilization—only because they were Humans. Too much blood weeping from the corpses; I would never be able to erase those images from my memory. Hundreds of children.

The Sankyanoia—the Last Guardian—was our only hope before the High Mages could drain out every land on Erath.

Hells. How many people would perish if we didn’t find it?

And the Guardians—these beautiful creatures Kraktos had showed me in his power…

Something flew past me, leaving glitter in its wake as I let out a muffled cry. The thing flew right in front of me again, and I jumped back in surprise, my back hitting someone’s chest.

Large hands grasped my shoulders, and the fingers tightened before I could fall to the ground.

“She’s not going to do anything to you.” Zaidkiel’s voice was still muffled by the mask on his face.

I looked up at him, turning my head slightly to see his gaze already fixed on me, full of amusement.

“What is it?” I asked as the small flying creature continued to circle me—us. The glitter was now falling on us.

“A pixie,” Zaidkiel said, gazing at the glitter falling on my cheeks, “one of the many lesser species on the continent. They roam everywhere in Keraneeth.” A hint of amusement crossed his eyes.

“Do I amuse you?” I inquired with an arched eyebrow.

“A lot,” he answered.

My eyes drifted to the flying pixie, my feet moving to free me from Zaidkiel’s hands touching me. But instead, his hand travelled down my arm, like a brush painting my skin, sliding his hand into mine in the most excruciating torture. The warmth of his skin tickled mine.

I glanced at him with a frown. With a single head movement, he urged me to look forward as he lifted our joined hands in front of us.

Small feet touched my skin, and instinctively, I turned my head to find the breathtakingly beautiful tiny pixie on my palm. Long, shimmering pink hair cascaded over her slender shoulders, and her eyes were a rainbow of colors that shifted with the light. Magnificent, shining wings, like dragonfly wings in shades of blue and violet, sprouted from her back.

The pixie smiled broadly and, from the pocket of her pink dress, she released glitter that splashed onto my skin, while she let out a beautiful laugh, the echo of which resonated faintly in the distance.

A laugh escaped my throat, and I instinctively turned to Zaidkiel, who was watching me intently. His gaze softened, meeting mine again, before settling a second time on my lips, as if he was drinking in my laughter.

“She’s curious about you,” he whispered, his breath brushing my skin. His eyes turned to assess the room, and a few people glanced our way. Zaidkiel added in a deep voice, “It seems you’ve piqued everyone’s curiosity.”

Gazing up, my eyes met his in a mere instant, and the world held its breath.

Other small feet landed on me, and, shrinking away the thoughts of the man behind me, I turned to face another pixie. Her big eyes stared at me, tilting her head as if I was the curiosity around here. She was entirely blue from head to toe: her skin, her eyes, and her hair. But her wings were different, resembling blue rose petals. She reached for her pockets and threw little flowers into my face before she took off.

The rest of the room was full of people of different species: some had pointed ears, some resembled gnomes, while others boasted hues of purple, gold, or even crimson.

“Why are none of these species at the camp?”

A lot of pixies flew around the room, throwing things from their pockets: tiny snowballs, leaves, and feathers.

“They mostly wander near the big cities,” Zaidkiel explained, “but they’re welcome everywhere. In the forest, right near the camp, you can find dryads in the trees.”

“Dryads?”

“Yes, spirits bound to trees,” Zaidkiel gestured his head to the stairs. “Come on, we’ll have dinner upstairs; a room has been prepared for us.”

Passing by me, he went straight to the stone stairs, and I followed him as he walked through a narrow corridor with red and white wallpaper with curling patterns and flowers.

His hand curled around the knob, the door creaking in its wake.

In front of us, the cozy light from the fire lit our room. The moon cast its light from a small window, glimmering on the floor, crafted in gray stones. A fire had already been lit, warming up the room slightly. The smell of smoke mingled with bread, and stew awaited us on the small table.