(Book 3 in the #dawnseries)
*COMPLETED*
The time for the ascension is near...
After months of tireless training, a handful of harrowing experiences and quite a number of unexpected surprises, Aurora Venerelli is finally reaching the end of her time...
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'Death and Dawn...'
White Frost and Fire
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My eyes were closed; the sun's glare shining against my face, keeping me lucid.
I felt the energy leave my body in waves; tumbling down faster than I could rebuild it with my craft. The quick lack of power left my mind hazy and I felt myself slip further down the rabbit hole; a layer of deep, stalking unconsciousness creeping up on me. But I held on...
This was my third week in Blood magic and my umpteenth time trying to bend Thanatos with my sheer will.
He wouldn't budge- not even in the slightest, but today felt different. Today I could feel his veins and the dark red ichor running through his godly body. It was nearly impossible to bend, and the side-effects of the mere sensation of running my mind through his limbs left me haggard.
But I couldn't stop now.
Thanatos was watching me, I could feel it. We sat on the plush carpet in the tower, the beige cushions a familiar comfort after all the long hours we've spent mediating and training on them. Half of the room was filled with the sun's glare, my white dress shimmering in the light. Thanatos sat opposite me, in the dark, his eyes too sensitive for the deadly rays. His black attire blended well with the shadows as his eyes were lit like two torches; guiding me.
The rush of fatigue sprang forward, this time with zeal. I pushed it back to the darkest pit of my mind and focused on the pressure building in his veins- I was close. I was so close I could nearly taste the iron on my tongue.
Thanatos was more than impressed by my progress. Frankly, he was a bit... worried.
No god- especially a mortal- should be able to master blood magic as fast as I am currently. I was nearly at the top of the mountain and the side-effects of the craft hadn't even surfaced yet.
Thanatos was anxious, to put it mildly. Every morning, afternoon and evening he would ask me the same thing; 'how are you feeling?' or 'are you alright?'. I was patient with him; I knew he was concerned, I was too. Every time I stood up too fast or felt a slight pain, my mind would race to a dark place. Was it a panic attack ready to strike? A migraine that would make me crumble to the floor? A fit of energy blasting from my hands?
