RED HORIZON (Heliocite Saga #1)

𝕋𝕎𝔼𝕃𝕍𝔼

Seri rasped in an agonizing battle to regain her breath, her hand going to her throat. The black dots dancing before her eyes had finally dissipated, the harsh sting of the desert sun piercing her gaze instead. Forcing her eyes shut, she turned to her side with a moan of pain. Someone jumped down to the sand beside her.

"Seri! Are you alright?"

Lifting a hand to shield her eyes, she squinted up at the owner of the voice. Azariah was hovering over her in concern, crimson dripping down the side of his face and neck.

"You're bleeding," she coughed. His hand went to his ear as if he hadn't noticed.

"Just a nick. It's fine. Are you okay?"

Ignoring the question and the ache in her ribs, she pushed herself up into a seated position. The rebels had gone, but their destruction had not. Everywhere she looked, bodies littered the ground. The south wall and the back of the sanctuaries were in pieces, chunks scattered out into the desert far past the wreckage of the duneriders. Fire still smoldered from within the courtyard, and Seri could hear the echoing commands to put it out. The smell of ash and blood settled in the air like a heavy blanket. Her home had been turned to a battlefield in a matter of minutes.

"Seri, did you hit your head?" Azariah's hand went to her forehead and she swatted it away, pushing herself off of the hood.

"I'm okay, Azariah," she insisted. But as soon as she slid off and tried to put weight on her legs, she crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. Her hands flew to her knee, gritting her teeth in agony and frustration. She didn't want to be hurt. She was still breathing, wasn't she? That was more than could be said for half the bodies strewn about in the chaos around her. What right did she have to need help?

"No. You're not."

Azariah leaned down, scooping one hand beneath her legs and the other bracing her back. He hoisted her up into his arms so that she settled against his chest, his hold firm and leaving no room for debate. She wanted to argue. To scream and yell and cry for the tragedy that just rocked their world. To tear out her hair and spill her own blood if it meant she could erase the stench of death in the air. But she was too exhausted to do any of that. So she gave in and rested her cheek over his heart. It was still beating wildly from the heat of combat.

"Thank you." Her voice was barely a whisper, but she knew he heard her when his grip tightened.

As he walked her to the infirmary, they had to retrace the path of destruction. Azariah's sandals crunched on broken glass, and the heat from the scattered fires was oppressive. Seri felt tears coming at the sight of so many Helis sprawled out on the marble floors of the courtyard, tossed at odd angles with blood staining their tunics. Most of them were familiar faces. Unable to stomach the sight and fearing she might vomit, she turned her face into Azariah's tunic and shuttered. They can't all be dead, she told herself. Just because they are injured or unconscious doesn't mean they're dead.

The infirmary was already being flooded when they arrived. The few beds were already full of wounded, and more were being brought in to be laid out on the floor. It had never before been so crowded. Healers were running around, flitting from patient to patient like worker bees, never resting in one place for too long. If one patient looked well enough to live, they jumped to the next. 

No one paid much attention to them when Azariah brought her inside. The noise was deafening between orders being given out, moans of pain, and crying families. Seri spotted a small child- not possibly a day over three years old- wailing on a chair as a healer tried to tend her side. It looked like a bullet had lodged itself in her ribs.