Sentinel

Chapter 2 - Marked

Dedicated to Prisim for the cover <3

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Chapter 2 - Marked

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Skye pushed herself on to her elbows, resting her forehead on the ground. 

Corruption. The image of the black boots seared her mind. He’s corrupted. It touched me. Does that mean my soul...that my soul is...

She didn't let herself finish the thought and forced herself to breathe. Her limbs shook beneath her, the three weeks of captivity and near drowning having taken their toll. She ignored them, digging deeper into her thoughts, away from the boots and what they’d summoned. She grasped on to the first thing that crossed her mind. 

The light. 

Had the light been a mere hallucination? She didn’t know. She didn’t feel like it was, but the alternative was believing in a light living at the bottom of the lake that didn’t want her to die.

The image of the golden ribbons and strange hope that it would save her again kept her calm as the boots waited in front of her. It'd said help was coming, but people had told her that before. The only person she could trust was herself--and that included any mystical golden lights she came across. 

The boots remained still, somehow demanding her attention with their banished movement. The black tendril snaked forward through the grass, seeping into her vision, trying to dominate her thoughts. 

No. No, it can’t. I won’t let it. Nothing gets inside my head but me. 

It was mesmerising as it slithered, its sideways dance promising to soothe her fear. If only she’d trust it, let go. Skye’s fingers were twitching to reach out and touch it when she realised what it was doing. 

Trust no one. Trust nothing.

She tore her eyes away, casting them adrift. 

Among the grass, it was a tiny yellow flower that drew her focus. Colour spread from its core, starting at a pale yellow before blooming into full, gloriously bright amber at the edges that stretched towards her.

She felt an odd need to protect it. The delicate flower was a stark contrast to the scum of the rebel camp. Even if they weren’t demons, they’d sided with them. They were practically the same thing as far as she was concerned, only less dangerous.

The boots shifted and Skye flinched. 

They retreated a half-step in amusement as she screamed at her muscles to hold her up, furious with herself. Prey flinched. Prey was weak. The prey that fought was the prey that wasn’t worth the effort to hold, especially if it did some damage in the process.

Once more, the boots moved, and this time she held her ground. The left one came to rest against her wrist, pressing the cold metal of the shackle to her skin. The subtle movement sent her a clear message. She couldn’t continue ignoring them now without being labelled a coward. 

Skye was ready. She’d found a point to centre herself around, something to cling onto as dark liquid claimed her. Keeping the flower in her thoughts, she raised her head. 

Her eyes met his. Instead of the large frame the Commander was fond of, another man stood over her. No trademark velvet cape hung from his shoulders, nor did the face match her expectations. The man’s face was perfectly sculpted yet marred with shadows and scars. He commanded an aura of power, one of quiet certainty. He could handle anything, or anyone, which dared to cross him.