The Girl From Above [Ground: Zero, Book 1]

Epilogue

The cavern spread like the jaws of a beast. Stalactites and stalagmites teeth that threatened to rip apart any creature that came close. Sconces lit the air, capturing every imperfection of rock in a hungry glow, licking with tongues of heat.

Aemulus ran his claws against the stone walls, sending sparks raining towards the ground.

He examined his claws.

Everything had been so perfect, so close, if it hadn't been for that spell...

John. He kept popping up like a bug that refused to die. Even after five-hundred years stuck in that spell, he still managed to keep the same incessant buzzing.

He clamped his hand around a rock in the wall and ripped it off. He examined the stone in the firelight. Nothing extraordinary, just as he expected.

John. He was nothing. Nothing but a stone in a pile of pebbles. He thought he was somehow better, a hero, a paragon who could do no wrong. A legend in the eyes of magickind.

What was it they called him? The Knight?

Aemulus couldn't help but laugh. A knight who slayed a dragon, how quaint.

Only one problem, the dragon was far from dead. The dragon was here, growing in power by the second, ready to melt the knight in his armor.

The Knight. The title was starting to grow on Aemulus. A knight who couldn't slay a single dragon, a knight whose armor was stunted and all for show.

John was nothing more than a weak little scholar, a useless ornament at his feet.

No legend ever begged mouth agape for mercy or floated aimlessly in the water like burnt driftwood.

A legend? No, a legendary fool.

A stone in a pile of pebbles, preaching of its hardened body and rough edges. A stone that compared to all its weak little peers, was invincible, unbreakable.

Aemulus clenched his fist around the rock. It crumbled in his hand, turning to rubble. He tightened his grip, and soon the rubble turned to magma in his hand.

He watched as the magma through his fingers, dripping down to the ground.

Aemulus wiped his hand of the magma and ran his hand through his hair.

"Are you going to continue to sulk in the shadows like a rat?" He said.

"You're one to talk." Trophonius muttered. "Oh! Big scary cave, look at me I'm brooding! Don't disturb me, I have issues!"

Aemulus flicked his hand, and Trophonius began to cough. Smoke trailed up from his throat.

"You always were an overdramatic hot mess." He choked, "and here I thought some time in The Empty would cool you off."

"You're lucky you aren't ash where you stand." Aemulus spat.

"That spell was only for your own good, Aemulus. I thought it would serve you well, that's why I gave it to John. After all, you are family, and I only want the best for my family."

Aemulus. Latin for "rival." That was the name they chose to give him after his ordeal with John. He had heard the name the people gave him before, overheard it whilst wrapped in chains, and surprisingly, he accepted the name.

He was no rival to John. The gall of others even insinuating they were equals made his blood boil.

No, the reason he accepted the name the people chose for him, the name that stuck to a celestial after a deed, was for the other meanings the word carried.