My head rings like a struck bell, a high, sharp note slicing through the silence. I'm collapsed on the ground, the world hazy and distorted. I don't know if I'm blind from the explosion or if my eyes are simply clamped shut. All I feel is something heavy and soft pressing me down.
Am I standing? Falling? Or just Frozen in place?
I'm unaware until Jeremy tears apart the darkness in front of my eyes. I cough inhaling as my lungs burn with smoke. Around me, the world is still, but not the kind of stillness that brings peace. It's the hollow silence that follows devastation when everyone is too shocked to scream and the air itself holds its breath.
I blink, my vision blurred, and Jeremy's violent shaking brings me back. Slowly, the scene sharpens.
Shattered glass is everywhere, glittering across the floor like a field of ice, except for the blood smeared among the shards. I don't know if it's mine. I don't feel pain just the dull throb in my ears, that piercing ring that drowns out everything else.
And the demon has gone to hell, vanished with my dagger, leaving a trail of dark blood that Jeremy has just noticed. He frowns, His gaze follows it, which snakes off into the shadows.
"... I'm fine," I manage, nodding but I hear my voice as if an echo from far away. At my word, he springs to find the mysterious figure. I watch him vanish and glance down at my hands, trying to shake off the ringing and the heat coiling inside me. My darkened fingers tremble, slick with blood, staining the long white sleeve of my shirt in black just as a year ago.
I take a shaky breath and the smell hits me. A cocktail of scotched fabrics, burnt wood, and the bitter metallic tang of blood. It's thick in the air, so strong I can almost taste it and I fight the urge to gag.
Somewhere close by I hear a low moan, half strangled like someone is struggling to breathe. Then another, and another.
I stumble on my feet leaning on the splinter frame of the Firefall, which is now has become an utter jest.
Above me, chandeliers or what's left of them hang from the ceiling, twisted metal arms dangling like broken limbs. Some of them are completely gone, ripped away from their chains, and have left gaping black scars where they once glittered brightly.
I just wish Jeremy's legs were blessed to catch the bastard.
Shapes move in the shadows, bodies dragging themselves across the ground or lying still, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. There are fleshes of torn gowns, scorched suits, and gloved hands clutching at wounds. The sound of a soft, choking sob filters through the ringing in my ears, but it feels far away.
I'm forgetting something.
A low trembling scream of a woman starts and it develops into a terrifying loud scream. She stumbles back seeing something, slapping her palms on her ears. Some men try to calm her down but when they see what she sees, they draw back in horror.
Oh my god!
"Xavi..." I mumble. A cold shiver drains all of my blood.
I'm fucked.
"Xavier!" I shout at the top of my lungs and run through the people gathering around part reluctantly, their faces pale, and I shove past them, my heart pounding out a frantic rhythm in my chest, towards the masked woman.
Please. please. please
Not him too.
My mind is a whirlpool of noise and fear as I push through the crowd, and then I see him. Xavier, sprawled on the reddening marble floor, facing the ceiling, almost motionless. His chest barely rises and falls.
I run to him in a blink and sink to my knees beside him. Taking off my blazer, I press it on the growing red stain on his stomach.
"You're okay," I whisper, mostly to myself. "You're fine, Xavier,"
My gaze flickers to the metallic soldier's sword standing next to him, its point glistening with his blood, a cruel smudge of red. Whoever the fucker stabbed Xavier has aimed to draw out his suffering- slow, painful, missing anything vital, which means I still have the rarest thing, time.
"R-Rosé..." He rasps, his voice weak, his eyes struggling to focus.
"Yeah, I'm here, I'm here," I chant sucking my breaths. His eyes are tear-filled blinking a thousand times as I press the wound. "You... okay?" He whispers, swallowing.
"Yeah," I nod and nod and nod, looking around cursing at his shadow guards. "You gonna bleed to death," I say to him, the edges of it fraying as panic gnaws at me. And he is going to laugh but instead, he coughs blood, his chest heaving.
"Fuck..." I mutter. From the smoke-filled haze, Digbith's hulking frame emerges, his face grim. Xavier clutches my hand, trying to speak, when I am about to call the general.
"Shut the fuck up!" I snap at Xavier, more out of desperation than anything. Waving my free arm, I scream for Digbith, though my voice is barely a rasp. The general pierces through the crowd for the spectacles.
"Here! Xavi is here!" I yell when he looks around on the floor with a horrified look which is a very rare sight. "Come here!" He notices me and Xavier's blood pool. Then bellows at the golden cloaks scattered around the hall, already searching for Xavi.
Within seconds, they converge, and I step back releasing Xavier's hand reluctantly as they take over.
When they come, I have done the first aid bandaging and I quickly step back letting go of his hand.
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, only to smear his blood across my face. I'm gasping, panting like a fish out of water in the middle of this spinning, shattered world. I lean forward, bracing my hands on my knees, trying to force my breaths to steady. The adrenaline pumping through my veins only fuels the panic clawing at the edges of my mind.
Then I see it.
I straighten, taking in a shaky breath, and freeze.
The floor of the gallery has become their grotesque canvas. Xavier's blood pools in deliberate lines, tracing a crude, ominous shape, the symbol I saw earlier on flesh, jagged and unmistakable, painted with his life. The metallic sword stands in the middle as a chilling final brush stroke, dripping red.
I am standing in the middle of a war declaration.
"Rosentine Emberthorn?" A voice booms across the gallery, sharp and authoritative.
I whirl to see a group of knights at the edge of the rebel mark, their golden helmets gleaming, expressions cold and unyielding. The tallest one steps forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
For a split second, the ringing in my ears stops. I stare at him, the world spinning back into sharp, brutal focus. My hand twitches, still stained with Xavier's blood. I glance back at him, lying among the shards and bloodstains, surrounded by guards who eye me with suspicion.
"You're under arrest," he declares, his voice echoing through the ruined gallery. "For the crime of attempting murder of a member of the Imperium."