Lyria's voice echoed in the desolate forest, raw with desperation. "Someone, anybody, please help!" Her trembling hands pressed against the stab wound in Giselle's chest, her sister's blood warm against her fingers. The sight was unbearable, and the helplessness clawed at her, forcing more sobs from her throat.
The poison coursing through Lyria's veins rendered her magic useless. Her body felt weak, her hands shaking as tears streamed down her face. She looked down at Giselle, whose breaths were shallow, her lips tinged with blue.
"Don't you dare leave me," Lyria whispered, her voice breaking.
Giselle's eyes fluttered open briefly. With a pained, shaky hand, she touched Lyria's tear-streaked cheek. "I'm….... sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. A faint smile touched her lips before her hand fell limp, and her head lolled to the side.
"No! Fucking no!" Lyria screamed, shaking her sister's unresponsive body. Her vision blurred with tears, and she let out a guttural cry of despair.
"Lyria!"
She turned at the sound of Mike's voice, her heart clenching as she saw him descending from the sky, a faint blue glow surrounding him. His boots touched the ground without a sound, and the glow dissipated. His eyes darted to Giselle, his expression darkening.
"She's dying, Mike," Lyria choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "And I can't….... I can't save her."
Mike's jaw tightened. "We don't have time for this." He extended his hands, and an invisible force lifted Giselle gently into the air. Lyria gasped, stumbling backward.
"What the—"
"Magic," Mike said simply, his voice curt. "I'll explain later. Let's go."
He moved quickly, Giselle floating beside him as though carried on invisible strings. Lyria stumbled after him, clutching her chest as the poison continued to sap her strength.
They reached a hidden cave tucked behind a curtain of thick vines. Inside, the air was cool and damp, and Mike gestured toward a corner where a bed of soft moss materialized with a flick of his fingers. He lowered Giselle onto the makeshift bed, his movements precise.
"Stay here and take care of her," he said, conjuring a small vial of shimmering liquid and handing it to Lyria.
"What's this?" Lyria asked, her voice trembling.
"Magic water. It'll help stabilize her for now."
"And where the hell are you going?" she demanded, her anger rising.
"To get something that can save her," Mike said, his voice steady. "Stay here and keep her alive."
He turned to leave, but Lyria grabbed his arm. "If you don't come back...."
"I'll come back," Mike interrupted, his gaze softening for a brief moment before he turned and flew out of the cave, disappearing into the night sky.
Left alone, Lyria turned her attention to Giselle. Her sister's face was pale, her breaths shallow. Lyria uncorked the vial and poured a few drops of the shimmering liquid onto Giselle's wound. The liquid hissed and bubbled as it touched the gash, and Lyria watched in awe as the edges of the wound began to close.
She hesitated for a moment before tilting the vial to Giselle's lips, allowing a small amount to trickle into her mouth. Giselle's breathing grew steadier, and her complexion improved slightly.
Relief washed over Lyria, but it was short-lived. She looked down at the vial and realized it was empty.
"Fuck," she muttered, her hands shaking. She dropped the vial to the ground, her panic rising. "Mike, you better hurry the hell up."
She knelt beside Giselle, resting her head on her sister's leg. "I'm sorry, Giselle," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I should've protected you. I should've....…"
Her voice trailed off, and the cave fell silent except for the sound of her quiet sobs.
Meanwhile, Mike soared through the forest, the cool night air whipping past him. His mind raced as he focused on his destination: the volcanic plains where the ancient tree of life stood, guarded by a dragon of immense power.
The trees thinned as the ground turned to cracked stone, the air growing hotter with each passing moment. Rivers of molten lava snaked across the landscape, their glow casting eerie shadows. Mike landed on a rocky outcrop, his boots crunching against the brittle ground.
Before him stood the ancient tree, its bark glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. At its base lay the dragon, its massive form coiled around the tree like a sentinel.
The dragon's eyes snapped open, blazing like molten gold. It uncoiled its massive body, its obsidian scales shimmering as it spread its wings. The beast let out a deafening roar, the sound reverberating across the volcanic plains.
Mike didn't flinch. He extended his hand, and flames erupted from his palm, coalescing into a long, gleaming sword. The weapon burned brightly, casting an orange glow across his determined face.
"Alright, you big bastard," Mike muttered, his voice low. "Let's get this over with."
The dragon lunged at him, its jaws snapping shut inches from his face. Mike leapt into the air, his body glowing faintly as he hovered above the beast. The dragon roared again, spewing a torrent of fire in his direction.
Author's Note:
Hey guys, I recently read a book called Craving Scarecrow, and I feel like the author might be copying my writing style. I'm not sure if I'm being delusional or if it's actually true. What do you think I should do?