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Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Like a shooting black star burning with embers and dripping with flames, he tore through the velvet sky.

His wings beat in a tireless rhythm as he traversed the planet under the watchful eye of the firmament’s astral jewels.

The sweeping rachís carried him through the velvety darkness of the heavens, the distant cosmic entities like glimmering jewels in the ebony realm.

He flew over mountains, valleys, forests, and deserts. His giant, full-transmuted Sābər hawk silhouette cast a silent shadow on the planet’s surface underneath.

The twinkling lights of cities and towns extended below him like a glowing patchwork quilt along Katánē’s curvature.

Above, the vast expanse of infinity stretched, speckled with stars and celestial bodies, a never-ending ocean of dark hues and shimmering radiance.

His hawkstone throbbed as its flare trailed over the flexure of planets and the sharp edges of asteroids, all floating in the void of space.

Whipping through the air, his emotions tossed and turned within him like a violent storm.

Wanting to forget, he channelled all of his energy into his wings. He pushed himself faster and higher until the pain in his muscles was almost unbearable.

But still, he pressed on, needing, desperate for release, for the blinding physical exertion to help clear his mind.

But as the minutes passed and the adrenaline began to fade, the weight of his present reality crashed down on him once again.

The memory of his parting with Sana’a replayed in his cognition like a broken record, bringing fresh waves of sadness and frustration.

His heart churned, consumed by her laughter, smile, and touch—but also by the anger burning inside him for their ill-timed, ill-fated, and fokkin’ unexpected separation.

He clenched his jaw as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He refused to let them fall, not allowing himself even a moment of weakness.

After what felt like an eternity of flying, he returned to the kíota, striding into the bedchamber as dawn’s light inched over the horizon.

To find her gone.

It was as if a heavy door had just slammed shut, sealing off any chance for happiness or closure.

The emptiness in the room where they’d made love not so long ago was suffocating.

A gaping void that swallowed up any sense of purpose or hope.

It was a gut-wrenching realisation that she was no longer by his side, and the weight of that loss was crushing.

Tracking outside, he crashed into an expansive leather lounge on the skyward terrace and brooded.

Seeing yet unseeing as dawn crept higher, chasing nýkhta’s shadows.

Casting a mellow orange glow over the clouds and mountain peaks stretching as far as the eye could see.

His hawkstone flashed.

He ignored it.

As well as the flutter of wings and the faint tread of feet on approach.

‘Kíríga.’

Killen’s head remained bowed.

‘Kíríga.’

Killen didn’t stir at the soft voice that echoed across the deserted and windswept patio.

‘May I join you, Killen?’

He lifted his head, eyes red and dry, face pale, beard matted. ‘Why?’

‘We need to speak.’

Killen’s eyes tracked to the mountains and lingered. ‘Fine,’ he rasped after a beat. ‘Come closer too, for fokk’s sake.’

His short temper, a frequent occurrence in recent days, flared.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you,’ he muttered, scrabbling a glass of water to quench the burn in his soul. To no avail.

‘De nada.’ The shrouded figure stepped forward from the shadows of the kíota’s overhang. ‘You have much on your mind.’

Killen leaned back, pushed a hand through his silver hair, and breathed out. ‘Do you have more news?’

Kamilla spoke from the gloom in a whisper, still waiting to be invited into Kíríga’s presence. ‘Naam. Of Kultur. He dispatched Kalila a kwɪl, which I intercepted.’

‘What did it say?

‘It told of his disappointment in Kalila’s encounter with you over Kos. He blamed her for fumbling the attack on you and Sana’a. What’s more important is how she reacted.’

The Kíríga shifted and sat up. ‘Pray to tell?’

‘With fury. She’s livid. She’s sent word for Kassian to march his army to Kos. She also instructed Kultur to head to Mount Karth to start transmuting the captive she holds.’

‘The fokkin’ what?’

‘The hostage she intends to use to resurrect a King.’

‘Khiron, from what Kesia shared.’

‘That might well be, Kíríga. For Mount Karth is his graveyard.’

Silence fell between them until Kamilla spoke once more.

‘Koreau needs you to know one more thing. It turns out Kultur has a slightly different agenda to Kalila. He wants to use kízakan to control Katánē and bring back the age of the Ilki, the first eagles to rule the skies of Katánē.’

Killen sucked in an inhale and breathed out slowly, exhaustion seeping through his whole being. ‘This mantle is almost too heavy for me to carry. Kamilla, cousin, any ideas how I will fokkin’ undo this clusterfokk and make it all make sense?’

‘I have no idea, Killen. But you’re not alone. I’m right here with you, as is that entire camp of trained and skilled warriors and thousands of eyries of Katánians who’ve been awaiting your coming for months. Best, you were chosen by the Hawkstone. If anything, trust its guidance and take each day as it comes, cousin.’

‘Seems I have no choice,’ he growled.

The pair paused their conversation for a long beat.

‘Where is Sana’a?’ Kamilla ventured, her voice hushed with concern.

Killen chose silence. It grew between them like a yawning chasm.

‘I see,’ Kamilla said with a sigh. ‘One more matter: Kalila has less than one wing. Did you have anything to do with that?’

Killen surged to his feet and turned to face his kin. ‘It’s the only fokkin’ win I’m proud of in recent days. Make of that what you will.’

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