Epilogue 3.22

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---Jewel---


     I was so certain I was going to die during the kraken attack that when I wash up on the shore of the volcanic island I don't know what to do with myself. The will to persevere, to subject myself any further to the ceaseless torment of my existence, has abandoned me. I cling to life by a sliver of a stubborn thread that just won't seem to snap no matter how hard I tug.

     I lie afloat, soaking in the shallow waters and occasionally feeling my back flatten against the jagged bed of rock that symbolizes the haphazard cruelty of this world and so many others like it. Cold and soaked to the bone, I shiver—my body protests all of the evil and wickedness, but its movements go unnoticed by the vast emptiness of this apathetic universe.

     Water splashes nearby my head as somebody wades through the shallows. All I want is to be left alone, to wallow in my own soul as it bleeds out of me. Why can't they see that all of this is futile? The Master of Light abandoned us all long before we even came to inhabit this wretched flesh. Our suffering is nothing but a cruel joke to him, nothing more than disposable entertainment. He will lead us to the doorstep of paradise only to strike us down at the gates.

     I force myself to sit up when the older boy speaks to me. I cannot bring myself to look him in the eyes—his potent aura smothers me, and I suck in the sweet scent of corruption.

     "Hey," he says, offering his hand to me. "Need a little help?"

     A burning graces my cheeks when he takes my hand in his and helps me to my feet. The moonlight shines on his endearingly boyish features, and the ocean breeze ruffles his dark hair.

     "I'm Colby," he says. "You're Jewel, right?"

     I nod mechanically. The rest of the group is gradually coming to, all of us having been carried here by the tide. From where we are, the others can't hear us, at least I don't think. And even if they could, half of them are unconscious anyway.

     "Look," he says, wringing the water out of his jacket, "I've always been good at reading people. You and the Asian boy... you were close, weren't you?"

     Jun—my heart aches at the remembrance of his. "In a way," I mutter, staring out to sea. How peaceful it would've been to drown, to vanish into that silent world beneath the waves.

     "I'm sorry for your loss."

     "You can't be," I tell him, crossing my arms. "By now, everyone's all out of sorrys." My lips tremble. Suddenly, something comes over me, and I start pouring it all out. "He was like family, you know? Not blood or anything like that, but you become family when you've been through a lot. That's just how it is now, I guess. But it's like somebody out there, whoever's pulling all the strings, isn't satisfied unless we're suffering. We scoop up the tiny fragments and try and piece them together, and then somebody goes and shatters them all over again."

     "I know what you mean," he says in a way that lets me know he's just humouring me.

     "You think I'm hysterical."

     He shakes his head. "Not at all." He brushes my cheek, and I can feel a warmth radiate off his skin and seep in through my pores. "I think you're complex. But you don't want to be."

     I raise an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

     He sighs, placing a toothpick in his mouth. "Nobody wants to be complex. A gift is just a curse in fancy clothes." His arm brushes against mine, and I warm from the contact. "So what's your deal? You've got an aura, but I just can't seem to pin it down."

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