Thousands of years ago a war broke out on a distant island, splitting its occupants into factions. Alifero, Cornucopia, Querencia and Aranea. The tension between them that has been unyielding for centuries only grows when their precious water starts...
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When I wake, I expect to feel the warm atmosphere of the training room, the texture of my wooden sword and the weight of my brace. I expect to see Phil kneeling in front of me, and the dark-winged instructor leaving with his things in a long skinny bag.
Instead, my eyes are glued shut and my body tingles with numbness. The room smells unlike anything I'd ever smelt before. It reminded me of the office in the springs where my doctor works or a healer's office, only, it reeked of something else. Something so artificial there was no way to describe it. The sensation of linen sheets tucked tightly around my body and too-cold air brushing my face greet me too.
The only thing that feels slightly familiar is the warmth in my hand. Wherever I am, this warmth is the only thing I know. A feeling niggles in my chest as I focus on the warmth, letting it pull me out of my groggy state.
I want more, I think and my body responds accordingly. I twitch my stiff fingers and the warmth reacts to my touch. Outside of my bubble, there's a muffled voice, too quiet to make out. I twitch again, still set on the feeling, and eventually grip onto it.
"Holy fuck," the voice says much clearer now.
Wait a second...
My eyes peel open and I'm immediately blinded by bright white light. I flinch and turn my head to the side taking a long, slow breath as the world comes to me. The wall I was looking at was cream-coloured with one window that only showed me the sky. The bed I'm in isn't mine or Tommy's or Beau's...
What did I do? I think as my brain starts to revive and bring back memories of the caves. The warmth that had been so steady around my hand had faded a little whilst I was coming back. I frown and roll my head to my other side looking for the source of the warmth in my hand.
Tommy sits on a chair at my bedside, clutching my hand in both of his. His bomber has been discarded and the green kerchief he wore around his neck was missing too, along with his goggles. As he watched me with a dumbfounded expression, I lock onto his blue eyes; red and puffy from either lack of sleep or tears.
Neither of us says anything, but my heart still does stupid things in my chest. Tommy looked terrible and completely dishevelled on the outside, but behind his eyes, I saw the true extent of his exhaustion. His eyes were lit up, but the sort of lit up that only comes after the light had been gone for a while.
The image of Tommy flickering into existence, holding a dagger with Typhon knelt in front of him comes to my mind. A shock cuts through me. Holy pissing shit... how long was I out?
