15. Chapter 15

We found the exit behind a locked hatch in the ward, hidden beneath one of the beds.

The corridor connecting Denial's chamber to the next was identical to the first. A ladder. Gray stone. An upward sloping path enveloped in deafening silence. Absolutely nothing to see or hear, only the outlines of my brothers' forms illuminated by Eli's magical lights and the sound of our boots meeting the ground.

"One down, two to go!" Cyn said, enthusiasm and confidence ringing in his tone as he unlocked the exit. The door swung open while he stashed the key in his pocket again. "We're a damn amazing team. Nothing can stop us."

A wall of opaque, black fog greeted us, obscuring whatever lay hidden within. Sulfur assaulted my nose as coils of phantasmal mist whirled around us, and breathing became difficult, as if drawing water into my lungs.

"Hey, wait for me!" Cyn shouted. "What are you doing? Oi, Myna! Elias! I said wait!"

"What—" I blinked. "We're right here, Cyn."

He didn't spare us a single glance. With a jump forward, he disappeared into the fog.

"We have to stick together." I moved closer to the entrance, my fingers dipping into the mist, and my vision went blurry. "Cynthian, where are you? Come back! Follow my voice!"

Pain surged behind my eyes, and I rubbed my knuckles against them.

"Elias, stay with me, we need to find—"

I opened my eyes again and was … alone.

My heart hammered, agony pounding in my skull. I extended my arms, feeling around in the fog, searching for a wall or the door, but my hands swatted at nothing.

The splitting headache was making it hard to think. I brought my palms to my temples, my ears ringing as I stumbled forward.

How the Hells had I gotten here? And where was here?

All I could see was swirling, inky black.

Black. Black. Everywhere.

An ocean of endless darkness swallowing me, pulling me under, drowning me.

My lungs burned; each shallow breath labored. My ribs felt too tight, my hands flying to my chest, rubbing in futile hope of relief.

What had I been doing before? I could have sworn I wasn't alone … But who had I been talking to?

Like a brief spark of flame in the deepest night, two faces flashed in my mind's eye.

A pale, bald man with dirty bandages covering his eyes, his expression somber and stern.

A man with tawny skin and silver-gray hair falling into his face, lips upturned into a fanged grin.

My brothers.

That's right. I'd been with my brothers.

"Cynthian! Elias! Where did you go? Where are you?"

I shouted until my voice was hoarse.

Sudden, inexplicable loss encased my heart in thorns, threatening to crush it like fine glass. I sobbed, tears rolling over my cheeks. My legs wobbled, an almost physical pressure atop my shoulders bringing me to my knees.

Creators, why was I so sad?

I put my head in my hands, shielding my face from the torrent of black drowning out my senses. Something about this wasn't right. Something about me was wrong. Something about—

A door slammed, and I jerked upright.

"What the Hells …" I mumbled as my eyes refocused.

I stared down at my icy, shaking hands, gripping a wooden brush with suds along its coarse bristles. My fingers were shorter and my palms smaller. The skin was red and cracked, trickles of blood welling from tiny, burning wounds. I sat next to a gigantic bucket of water on cold, dark tiles, and my throat constricted as I recognized the abstract, white pattern running through them.

There was only one place I'd gotten this intimately familiarized with the floor.

Brightwood Orphanage.

The name alone made me shudder. Nothing about this Hells forsaken place had ever been bright. Nothing but them, Cyn and Elias.

How could this be? Why was I back here?

"Useless girl!"

Before I could turn my head to follow the voice, pain surged through my ribs, and I toppled over. Matron Blackthorn stood above me as I curled into myself, her foot on my bruised side, heel digging in. I clutched the brush to my chest, sobbing.

"Look at this filth! Can't you do anything right, Mynarin?" A frown deepened the wrinkles on her forehead as she pulled a rain-wet hood from her head. Curly white hair fell into her face as she grimaced.

"What am I to do with a stupid child like you?" she scolded. "I try my best to help you, assign you chores even the lowliest of servants could manage. I give you a home, a roof over your head and food in your belly. And how do you repay me?"

She gestured aggressively toward the entrance, a trail of mud and fallen leaves leading from the door to where she stood.

"Ma'am, I swear I spent all day cleaning the lobby as you ordered," I squealed. "There was not a speck of dirt before you came back, ma'am! I promise!"

The voice was mine—a younger version of mine—but it wasn't my choice to speak the words. I wasn't the one directing my body. Every twitch seemed predestined, decided upon by a higher force, as if I was a puppet of fate.

"Ma'am, you must have tracked in—"

Another kick to the ribs silenced me, the brush slipping from my fingers as I whimpered.

"You unlovable little wretch!" Matron Blackthorn hissed. She grabbed me by the collar and dragged me along toward the door, smearing my mottled dress with filth. "Are you saying I'm wrong? How dare you accuse me of lying!"

"N-no, ma'am, I'm sorry!"

She pushed me face first into the mud, and I gritted my teeth. I wanted to fight back, but I knew she could do so much worse—had already done so much worse. I couldn't take another week locked away in the basement. Alone in the gloom.

I stared out of the open window by the entrance, imagining myself somewhere else. With Cyn and Eli, playing in the garden. With Cyn and Eli in the attic, reading the Sanguine Sermon together. Or maybe leafing through that alchemy tome I found behind a loose plank in the pantry during kitchen duty.

"You know what this means, Mynarin," Matron Blackthorn said, hoisting me up just to shove me back down. "If you can't pull your weight, you don't get dinner. You are only alive by the goodness of my kind heart. Out on the streets, no one would care about a worthless girl like you."

"But ma'am, I've not had dinner all week, please …"

I was ashamed of begging for scraps from a woman who hated me.

In truth, she hated all of us. No child in the orphanage escaped her sadistic wrath, though in recent months, she'd taken a special interest in tormenting me.

But I was so damn hungry. The paltry bread crusts and stale water I was given once per day were not nearly enough to satisfy my persistently growling stomach, especially when the matron forced me to watch the other kids eat warm meals in the mess hall. I had considered stealing from the kitchen—Cyn and Eli even offered to do it for me—but my fear of worse punishment was bigger than the hole in my belly.

"No arguing, you ungrateful child!" Matron Blackthorn pointed a bony finger to the ground. "I will freshen up and when I come back downstairs, you better have cleaned this mess or there will be Hells to pay!"

"Y-yes ma'am."

Her skirt wafted around her spindly ankles as she spun and stomped to the stairs, leaving another trail of brown footprints behind. I wiped a grimy sleeve across my face, trying to calm myself, when I heard a strange noise.

Ca-caw.

A beady-eyed raven perched on the windowsill, head tilting hither and thither, watching me. I swallowed hard as I scrambled to my feet. Now that I could finally control my body, something drew me to the animal.

I stretched out a hand.

It hopped closer. Once. Twice.

My digits quivered as I brought them to the bird's head. Just as I was about to touch the silky, dark feathers—

My feet hit the ground running, muddy rainwater spritzing onto my legs and my skirts. Actually, I couldn't stop running. Every step felt like a dream already dreamed. A scene already played, but still, I couldn't stop moving.

Panic and bewilderment wormed through my thoughts.

How did I get here?

My red dress bore fresh dirt stains, and a touch of regret brushed along my mind. It was my favorite, a gift from Elias and Cynthian to commemorate our first successful theft in Hedonfel two years ago. Robbing a small jewelry store owned by an elderly man wasn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

Yet to us, it had been everything.

And our spoils afforded us comforts we'd long been denied.

For the first time in years, we ate until we were full, until we were nauseous from tender meats and delightful sweets. For the first time in years, we slept in a large, soft bed, cuddling beneath warm, heavy blankets.

This dress was a reminder of our freedom. A reminder that we could make it. We would make it, together.

And I had ruined it.

But a garment could be replaced. My brothers, however, were irreplaceable—and they should have been back at our hideout hours ago.

Neither Cyn nor Eli had ever stood me up. They never came home late without sending a messenger to let me know. And earlier today they'd promised we'd celebrate my sixteenth birthday with a special surprise when they returned.

I could only come to a single, devastating conclusion:

Something terrible must have happened to them.

The lantern in my hand swung as I dashed along the dreary streets by the harbor, my breath steaming in the crisp fall air, my shadow nipping at my heels. I stopped at the warehouse we'd scouted the day before, the one with the light, flat roof, round windows, and no dedicated guards, only the routine dock patrol stopping by in twenty-minute intervals.

There must have been a clue. A hidden message. Anything.

I circled the building, testing the doors and looking for tracks or signs of a struggle. My stomach clenched with nausea when I considered I might find blood. Bodies. Their bodies.

Instead, my heart sunk when I found … nothing.

The doors were locked and the windows undamaged. No footprints. Not a single drop of blood.

It was as if Cyn and Elias had never been here, or the ground had opened up and swallowed them whole.

What if they had come home during my frantic search?

I ran back as fast as my feet would carry me. A tangle of windswept hair and wet cloth, I burst through the front entrance of our house, stumbling into the simple communal room. The older kids who were still awake this late sat gathered around the table, playing cards and drinking ale. They gawked at me with slack mouths as if they'd seen a ghost.

"Did—" I gasped, bracing myself against the wall. "Did Cyn and Eli come home?"

One of the boys shook his head, and I didn't wait for another confirmation. I needed to see for myself.

I raced up the creaky stairs to the top floor, deftly skipping over the uneven floorboards of the abandoned house we'd turned into our hideout. Up here in the attic, beneath cracked beams and leaky roof tiles, was our little kingdom. A slice of paradise, wrought from the hands of chaos and disorder. Here, when we laid in bed together, watching the moon as we dreamed of a better future, we already were two Kings and their Queen.

A part of me had still prayed I'd find them sitting at the small table in the corner, glasses of wine in their hands, one poured for me, too.

But the room was empty, curtains moved by the breeze sweeping in through the open window above the bed. I set the lantern on the table and dropped onto a chair, wrapping my arms around myself.

It was over. Everything was over.

They were gone. Without a clue, without a trace—just gone.

And without them, I had nothing.

I was nothing.

It seemed like I had felt this grip of familiar grief before, choking the air from my lungs and coaxing bile into my throat.

I was certain I had felt this sharp edge of sorrow, too, carving my heart from my chest, leaving a hollow ache behind.

I wanted to cry, wanted to scream my helpless rage into the night sky, but only a weak mewl left my lips and my eyes stayed dry. My gaze fell onto the dagger at my hip. I pulled it free, studying my exhausted reflection in the blade; dark circles and reddened cheeks.

Ca-caw.

My brow furrowed as I looked to the open window. There, on the frame, sat a black bird, watching me.

A warning flutter stirred in my gut.

It was a regular raven like any other, nothing special about the animal. I squinted, tilting my head, and the bird mimicked my movement. Indeed, there was nothing special about it, apart from that strange glint in its eyes. That intense, knowing stare.

Goosebumps crept over the nape of my neck, and I jumped up. Pointing the blade at the raven, I put all my anger and desperation into the frantic wave of my arm.

"Shoo! Fuck off!"

The bird didn't budge.

"I said fuck off!"

I climbed onto the bed, slashing at the animal. Just before the metal could slice its damned, feathered neck—

Elias and Cynthian stood arm in arm before me in the doorway of a beautiful town manor. They were all grown up and well dressed. Eli wore a luxurious, wine-red velvet robe, and Cyn was wrapped in fine, black fighting leathers. They smiled at each other, but their friendly expressions slipped into steely gazes as they fell upon me.

"Mynarin?" Elias said, his tone cool, blatant displeasure accentuating the syllables of my name.

"It can't fucking be! How long has it been, twenty years or something?" Cyn snickered. "I'd ask how you are, but you look like shit. Just as I remember you."

My throat thickened, my lips trembling and tears burning my eyes.

"W-where have you been? The warehouse, and the docks … I couldn't find you. You disappeared and I—"

"Don't tell me you've been looking for us all these years? How pathetic. By the Creators, we thought you would have gotten the message by now," Elias interrupted. "We grew bored with you. No magic. Not really any use in a fight. Always just those dull potions, rambling on about alchemy and opening up that silly little store. No one would want to buy from you, anyway. You're not good enough."

"You were fucking useless, Myna. Not even putting out," Cyn said, laughing. "We found someone better to build our life with. Someone worthy of our affection."

My brothers moved aside, and a tall woman stepped between them. Her blonde hair reached down to her waist, and she was clad in an emerald silk gown hugging her curves in all the right places. Her full lips twisted into a malicious smirk as she wrapped her arms around my brothers. They both leaned in to kiss her cheeks, holding her tight, and she giggled.

"Who is this, my darlings?" she asked. "Another disgusting beggar?"

"Less than that, my love," Elias responded, smirking at her.

Pressure built behind my ribs and my heart hurt as if they'd reached right into my chest, crushing the thumping organ with their cruel, bare hands.

"I'm not—" I stuttered, shaking my head.

This wasn't right. Not at all.

Find solace in your brothers. Still trust in us. And trust in yourself, Eli's words sounded in my mind.

"You've always been a waste of fucking space," Cyn said.

Elias gestured to the dagger in my grip, regarding me with a nod. "Why don't you do us and yourself a favor and end it all? Don't worry about the blood. Our servants will clean up after you. Consider it a last gift from us."

Find solace in your brothers. Still trust in us. And trust in yourself.

Cyn and Eli had never let me down.

I raised my weapon. My body was alight with adrenaline, every nerve, every cell vibrating with forewarning.

I looked back at my brothers and that woman.

Cyn and Eli were my protectors. My best friends. My family. My lovers.

They respected me. Cared for me.

They loved me.

They would never speak to me like this.

Ca-caw.

A raven hopped at my feet, wings flapping. It was just an instinct, a gut feeling, but—

"Go on! Do it, Myna!" Cyn shouted. "Prove that you can do at least one thing right!"

During the battle in the crucible of one's soul, salvation flies upon wings of night.

I tightened my grip on the knife's handle and smirked. Then, with as much speed and precision as I could muster, I brought it back down.

The bird squawked, thrashing as I drove the blade into its body over and over again. Red soaked its feathers, spilling over my hands.

Blood. So much blood. Too much blood for a tiny, little bird.

I laughed. With each slice, each drag, each stab, I breathed easier, laughed louder.

The world around me disappeared into nothingness.

Cynthian and Elias and that woman, the pretty house in the affluent part of Hedonfel—gone. Only the feeling of broken meat in my wet palms remained.

My eyes refocused. I glanced at the uneven ground beneath my feet, and bile burned in my throat.

I stood on a nightmarish mosaic of self-inflicted death.

A mound of crystallized corpses.

Like macabre sculptures, the cadavers had been preserved at the height of their demise, covered by a hard, shiny coating, akin to enamel.

Blades and spears skewering vital organs, fists still gripping hilts and handles. Throats torn open and tongues ripped out by their own, gory nails. Digits pushed into bleeding sockets. Hemorrhaging stumps and severed limbs. Each one of these people had been struck down by their own hands.

But I hadn't sunk my dagger into my own flesh like the pitiful prey around me, and my fingers were free of blood. Reality wasn't like my imagined massacring of the raven, yet I had still killed.

A mass of black feathers writhed and gargled at my feet. A long, orange beak stuck out from one end, the strange, black miasma streaming from it with each gulping breath. And buried in the grotesque creature's neck was my dagger.

"Th-thank … you …" the abomination groaned. With a long sigh and a last huff of fog, the tension left its form. The mist dissipated, the air slowly clearing, and so did my head.

It had all been an illusion.

Reliving those dreadful moments, reliving losing my brothers—it hadn't been real. And that last part, that last heartbreaking, soul-rending scene, had never even happened. Somehow, this being had invaded my memories, taken and twisted them. It preyed on my worst fears, whispering them into my mind as horrible truths.

Depression.

It couldn't have been anyone else.

There, dead at my feet from a single, precise strike by my hand, laid Depression.

I pulled my dagger free, carefully wiping the black ooze off on their feathers before sliding it back into my boot.

My pulse raced once more.

My brothers.

Where were my brothers?

What if the Demon's illusions had already made them hurt themselves?

"Elias? Cynthian?" I shouted, trying to make out their shapes through the veil of thinning mist.

No response.

The seconds ticked by at a snail's pace.

"Cyn? Eli?" I called again.

Finally, there was a cough. And a tired voice.

Cyn's voice.

"Hellspark? Myna, are you okay?"