Death is immortality.
Death is your second chance.
Velian Terrashine belongs to a classless society of equality, art and democracy; a land full of creativity and mindfulness. It is in that perfect political system that one wrong movement, one carele...
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I WAS AWAKENED by the sensation of cold hands touching my forehead, my cheeks, then my nose. Cold hands and something soft, wet and cooling. I didn't know how many hours I'd been asleep, but my muscles felt stiff, not relaxed; my head heavy, not clear.
I didn't waste time trying to fight the tiredness. In Hell there was no room for breakdowns and debates over whether I should keep moving or sleep forever. So I opened my eyes and despite the blurry vision, I willed myself to rise on my feet, my hands already curled in fists.
Yet as I stood up, I found Ian on his knees, a towel in his right hand and my coat in his left, looking at me with a small grin on his face. There were screaming voices coming from somewhere near, not like the ones that had lulled me to sleep last night, the ones that had been coming from a place of rage and wrath. Now their shouting sounded like screaming for help, pleading even, and I took a step back, looking around me for any possible threat. There was only us and the crunch of rushing feet on the corridor.
"Take your coat," Ian said, standing on his feet in an instant and handing it to me. I took it immediately and almost felt guilty for even daring to think last night that he might keep it for himself forever.
Putting it on, a wave of relief thronged my body at the thought that I wouldn't have to endure the cold weather anymore. Its hood, already over my head, covered my hair and a small part of my face as well. I liked that; the warmth, the anonymity, the mystery. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I felt Ian's stare on me, and I instantly knew that he was aware of the magical disappearance of his dagger.
Clearing his throat, he threw the wet towel he'd been holding the moment I'd woken up to the floor and with rushed movements he walked to the closed door. I stayed silent, as he tried to understand what was going on in the rooms next to the one we were into. It only took him a few seconds before he dashed to me again, as if he didn't need another moment to figure out the reason behind the screaming, as if he knew exactly what would follow.
"I tried to wash the blood off your face for you to look fiercer, but now we don't have enough time for that. I can hear them coming," he said, his alarmed eyes surveying the room.
I didn't want to know how I looked like right now. I remembered exactly what Denfer had told me my first day in the Gap World: the way you looked the moment you died was the way you would look like in whatever kingdom you ended up staying forever. I wondered how I'd gotten out of this mess that my death had been with only stained blood on my face and a few scratches. I would think of that later. Now it didn't even matter.
Rolling my eyes in an effort to make him realize that I was new here, I said, "Explain."
His crystal blue eyes, almost silver in the light of the torches, sparkled with irritation at my demand. "Right," he murmured. "It's your first Red Day here."
I fought my own frown now. "What the fuck is a Red day?"
He studied me for a long moment, as if to test if I was ready to hear whatever horrible truth was about to come out of his mouth. I was ready for everything. I was in Hell, there was no way I would get out of here unharmed. Judging from the look on Ian's face, I was almost sure that he wasn't about to reply any time soon.
