𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑵 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 went in varying waves. Through her eyes Emis caught glimpses of a red-tinged sky, of fire and smoke, of spinning stars and thick, inky darkness, all blurring into colours as dizziness and nausea overcame her.
As if from a distance she felt herself move, and a flare of razor-sharp pain shot up her spine. The pain was cold and left behind it a thousand buzzing nerves, and with a gasp, Emis felt everything spin into silence.
For a moment she wondered if this was it; if she had died trying to save her friends, which was better than most ways to go, before a surging energy shattered through her veins. The waves of pain slowed until they became only ripples along the line of her bloodstream. The energy was warm and somehow comforting, lighting the insides of her eyelids into a bright, hot-pink.
She felt air trickle into her lungs, as if someone was pressing heavy weights against her chest. But suddenly, the pressure was relieved, and she could breathe again. With a spluttering gasp, she opened her eyes.
Blue sky.
She blinked. Was this her mind playing tricks on her? Or was she dead? Was this heaven? Could heaven actually look like this? She imagined the clouds parting, and angels streaming through them wielding harps and trumpets and sporting little wings like an old rococo motif, and the thought seemed to shake her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again.
Nope. The sky was blue, bright, and hot and streaming with sunlight, dotted with a few clouds. She was lying on her back, the shadow of something shielding her from the sun━the underside of a wall that had come loose in the night. This was real. She was alive. This was real.
She hauled herself into a seated position as the memory of last night came over her in a cold wave. Her body felt heavy and weak, and every part of her ached, especially the back of her head. The memories danced like fire behind her eyes; a broken Alby waking up, the doors to the Maze remaining open and cold, the thunderstorm of chaos that had raged itself over the Glade.
She remembered battling the Griever, pulling the infrastructure of its skull apart like tissue-paper; the mess of its corpse lay in a heap several metres away, spears and knives buried into it as if it were some mutilated, terrifying pin cushion. She remembered its long, metal plated tail swishing towards her and slamming into the back of her head. Pain seemed to rise up from the memory, too, and her eyes watered as she ran her hand through her hair and found it matted with dry blood.
