Arising Fate

XX

Valen awoke from the dream with a start. His eyes were wide and unseeing, glazed thick with sleep.

Fear.

He felt it in every pulsing beat of his heart, every jerk of his muscles. His eyes watered as fragments from the nightmare sifted over his vision, his eyes still burning from the ash, wrists stinging beneath the cool metal, throat clogged with terror. The lose rags that covered him were suffocating and tight. He threw them off.

Fear. Paralyzing, consuming, pungent fear.

He saw nothing but the Vale as it yanked him closer and closer.

A fall, a jolt, a violent collision with the ground, painful bruising across his ribs.

Valen groaned, his side and back throbbing. He needed to steady his mind, control his body. It was just a nightmare.

But could it even be called a nightmare if it still haunted him when he awoke?

Inhaling a shaky breath, Valen pushed himself into a sitting position. He was reaching forward to rub the sleep from his eyes when he froze. His skin was cool with sweat. It matted his hair, making the thick strands stick to his neck.

Good news.

The stickiness meant that his fever had finally broken. He was no longer in harm's way. But that wasn't why he stopped.

As if seeing the world around him for the first time, Valen noticed that his claws, sharp and gleaming, extended past his fingertips, shredding the clothe that lay beneath him.

They were stained black.

Confused, he tilted his head. Lifting a claw, he watched as blood dripped from the end of a talon. Leaning forward, stiffness making his muscles feel tight and unused, he wiped his claws against the already filthy fabric, painting them black.

Movement shifted out of the corner of his vision.

Without a moment's thought, Valen rose to one knee in one swift and silent motion, a chilling snarl rumbling from his chest. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room and thoughtlessly he realized he wasn't alone.

Of course he wasn't alone.

Razor stood against the wall, eyes wide with fear and a hatred almost as sharp and jagged as his wings. His body trembled in a spastic way. The grimy soot grey top he was wearing was slashed open from shoulder to wrist, blood darkening the edges of the fabric.

Caim stood halfway between them, arms crossed firmly over his chest, lips set in a grim way as he analyzed Valen with a calm intensity. His gaze was obscure and bottomless. Empty. That was normal. It was the sudden shift in personality, the confidence, or rather, the arrogance, that suddenly radiated from this piss-pore excuse of a full-blood that made Valen freeze.

"I always wondered what it would be like to dream," Caim finally said, his tone steady but casual, as if he was speaking to an old acquaintance. "Would it be dark? Would I remember it all? Would it be so drawing, so real, that when I finally awoke I'd believe I was dreaming instead? What do you think Valen?"

The air in the room had turned as still and cold as death.

"No?" Caim said, raising an eyebrow at Valen. "Nothing? No advice? A shame really..." His voice had risen, the defiance becoming more evident. "Razor, what about you? Ever thought of it?" This time he redirected his question to the twitchy coward of a demon huddled tight against the wall, and with it his body, giving Valen full view of his back.