RUIN

Tobiah flutters around the yurt like a nervous spring bird, all chirps and anxiety as he arranges everything just so. I stay on the bed as he draws a circle around the length of the yurt and then takes out a powder and sprinkles it in the grooves. It smells floral and seductive, as if reminding me of a faraway place that doesn't exist.

Shatterjaw steps in carefully and watches Tobiah, eyebrow raised.

"Everything okay?" She finally asks as Tobiah starts to draw glowing glyphs around the circle. The pale pink glow is enchanting, and I watch in awe for a long moment before answering her.

"Yeah. We're… uh…"

Fuck, I can't keep my eyes off him. Every muscle is grace and elegance and I've never seen that in another creature before.

"We're scrying," I finally say and tear my eyes away, swearing his shadow has horns. No. No. I'm just nervous. That's all.

Shatterjaw purses her lips and cocks her head.

"I've never seen it done this way before," she says doubtfully.

"This is a shortcut," Tobiah offers and reaches for a knife. "The long way would take weeks to train and from what I understand, we do not have that type of time to spare."

Shatterjaw sighs and nods.

"I suppose. I'll stay if it's all the same to you."

Tobiah shrugs .

"Do what you need to do."

He grabs a wooden bowl and before I stop him, he slices open his wrist and bleeds into it. I half-gasp, half-scream in horror.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demand and rush to him, ready to stop the blood.

"Ruin, calm down," he says, tsking. "You need magic, and I hate to say it, but my blood is the most magical thing on possibly this entire continent. Sit down."

I step back as if slapped. This isn't warm Tobiah, who was being kind and honest an hour ago. This is Tobiah on a mission, where he's focused and nothing else matters. Not even me. It shouldn't sting—I know I'm not his and he's not mine—but it does, and I sit back down on the bed, trying to hide my hurt. I know Shatterjaw sees it because she squeezes my shoulder. I try not to talk, but I can't help it.

"If I'd known you were going to hurt yourself, I would've—" I start, but, uncharacteristically, he cuts me off with a laugh.

"Do not do that," he says, shaking his head. "There is too much at stake to pretend that you would prioritize my fucking comfort over caring for the entire world, Ruin. Calm yourself. This is nothing. I barely feel it and I will heal."

I bury my head in my hands, feeling like a monster. But it isn't really about Tobiah—it's about the weight that's being pressed upon me. It's about the people I know will die serving me. It's about the decisions that I will make in the next month, year, decade that will reshape the world. And it's about how even being close to me is more dangerous than being near Prince Miguel's unhinged greed or King Oathblade's insatiable lust for power.

People shouldn't trust me, shouldn't follow me, shouldn't fucking listen to me, because, like Tobiah, they will cut themselves because I ask.

I shrug off Shatterjaw's hand and feel very alone.

When Tobiah is in front of me, he has a cup of tea and there's no evidence of a cut anymore. He healed, just like he said he would.

"Drink," he says gently, watching me and seeing something I don't—maybe simply can't.

I take it and sniff it. It's floral and rooty somehow.

"What is it?" I ask morosely.

"The mushrooms I told you about," he says and sits down next to me, his immaculate black battle braids brushing against me. "Ruin… it is not… your fault that I am magical and sometimes use my blood. That is my choice. Not yours."

I don't look at him and try the tea. It tastes of fresh flowers and dirt and a whole earthy feel that's… nice.

"I don't like it. Don't do it again," I snap.

Tobiah sighs.

"We will discuss this when you come back. Now, I need you to listen carefully."

I huff and look at him. He's smiling gently.

"Come lay down."

He guides me to the earth where he has two body-sized segments shaped out, side by side, covered in bloody runes. I'm confused.

"Who's that for?" I ask and point.

"Me," Tobiah says with a shrug. "In case I have to come find you."

"How will you do that?" I ask, laying down and watching him curiously.

"There is nowhere you could go where I would not recognize you, Ruin. I will find you if you get lost. I promise. Now finish your tea."

Well, shit on a stick, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I hide my surprise as I finish the tea. Tobiah holds my head gently and I feel myself unlocking little by little, feeling a bit light.

"Tobiah?" I sound distant as magic starts filling the yurt in staggering amounts.

"Concentrate on your vision, Ruin. Reach for it. I will be right here. Focus on that. Focus on the scents and what it looked and sounded like. Your soul knows it. Follow it." Tobiah's voice is gentle but firm, so I do what he says. My vision whites out completely and when I blink, I'm standing on a rough, snowy path and look around in confusion.

It's the mountain path from my vision. It worked. Somehow, it worked, and I'm too astonished to move for a long moment. I'll have to ask Tobiah for specifics because this could be very useful in the future.

I take a breath, but it doesn't seem like a breath. I look down at myself and while the mountain path is full of colorful trees, pristine blots of snow, and dark rocks, I myself am gray from head to toe. Sand colored markers mark mile 1,251 nearby and it's like I'm an observer, a passing thing, and the world is colorful and alive while I am…dead?

I shiver. That can't be right. I'd see Sparks.

Right?

Shaking that off, I hurry up the path and everything living ignores me, even the bugs. I'm quite close to the fortress and soon I see the gates but no signs. I'm going to have to find my way in. Can I even get in at all? The gate itself is down and I curse myself for not asking if I could use magic in this form. I try. Magic is a torrent whenever I reach for it, but now, it isn't even a trickle.

Dammit.

The gate looks old and rusted and I go to tug on it, but I lose my balance and fall through instead. The sensation is disturbing and I take several not-breaths to ground myself. I don't disturb any dirt when I walk which is…weird, to say the least. I look down at my hands and flex them before looking up again and shrieking like a small child. I have come face to face with the mysterious stranger I've been looking for. I fall on my ass and pant, looking up at him.

He's completely shirtless—which is insane in this chilly weather—and displays firm abs and deep golden-bronze skin. His eyes are a striking crimson and glow softly as he looks me over. His hair is that bone white with blue undertones that somehow fits him perfectly. His face is… masculine perfection. Beautiful cheekbones, a firm jaw, a thick, corded neck, and everything so proportional that it's hard not to sit there staring. He's huge, well-over six feet and I suspect he could crush my head between his thighs in any form and I'd die happy. His pants are rough brown trousers tied with a string and he's smoking a cigarette steadily, as if he sees scryers—or spirits—everyday. I swallow as my brain finally catches up to me. I saw this in my visions but only now do I understand every piece like a well-arranged concerto. I don't know how I didn't see it—how I didn't know until now but…

…he's not even a man. He's a demon. How he's existing in this realm without a proper tether, I have no idea, but it shouldn't be possible. Not without a warlock for an anchor and I don't see any.

"You okay down there?" He asks, frowning, and exhaling smoke.

"Y-y-y-y-" I can't form words because I can't feel my magic in this form. I'm helpless. Shit. I might actually die. "…you can see me?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, dumbass, I see you trying to be all stealth to work your way into my home." He looks me over, nose wrinkling. "Well. At least you don't stink. You're not newly dead, are you?"

He thinks I'm a spirit. Fuck.

I stand and back away.

"I…I…my…" I don't know how to say it and he's watching me in a way that unnerves me to my core. "I… came for you."

No, that's not…fuck.

He uses fire from some magical source and turns his cigarette to ash.

"You been wandering long?" He asks, cocking his head and then scratches the back of his ear, speaking to himself. "Why are so many spirits coming here this past month? Can't be a good sign."

He turns away and starts for a door in the corner of the fort. I gape after him. He's… definitely a demon, but not demon-like, perhaps. Why the fuck was I shown a lone, smoking exorcist who talks with animals and… things like me?

"Are you coming? Fuck, you're slower than the usual ones, man. Did you die by head wound?" He asks casually, as if this is a normal conversation for him.

I'm a bit affronted at the comment.

"Excuse you," I snap and run to catch up with him and his ridiculously long legs. "I'm not dead."

"Buddy, they all say that," he says with a sigh as we climb stairs. "It'll be okay. I'm sure there's plenty of people who will be happy to see you again."

"No," I groan. "Please, listen."

He huffs and turns, looking me over.

"What?"

"I'm a warlock. I think. My patron sent me. To talk to you about… I'm honestly not sure. We're just supposed to talk."

He cocks his head and then snorts.

"I see what this is. This is my uncle again, isn't it? You can tell that bird-brained moron that I'm not leaving this realm and he can shove it up his—"

"No!" In order to talk to him, I have to be honest with myself and it's painful. I close my eyes. "My patron isn't… a demon. He's a… a dragon."

The demon looks like he's been slapped and now he's gaping at me.

"What?"

"Sparks is a… dragon…" I squirm. "I need to know where you are so I can come here in person. He… I think he wants to talk."

The demon somehow grabs me roughly and hauls me up the stairs and into a room with a fireplace, a map, and shelves. He closes the door behind him and points at a couch. I want to ask how he's able to touch me in the first place, but that's the least of our worries and he's a motherfucking demon so who knows what his abilities are anyway.

"Sit," he says and then goes to a cabinet and grabs a bottle of something alcoholic that's clear. "Sorry. I'd offer but…"

"I'll get drunk later," I promise and wave it off as I sit down. I don't fall through, surprisingly.

He sits on the floor across from me and chugs for a long moment. Once he's done, he sets it down and looks me over.

"So… a dragon bonded with… you?" He's trying to be polite, but he really sounds like an asshole, like it's unbelievable that anything that powerful would bond with someone like me. Which is a fair point, but he doesn't have to be obvious about it.

I look at him flatly.

"Yes. Me."

"Interesting," he says and grips the bottle. "I'm… Magnum."

"Ruin."

"What?" He blinks at me and starts drinking again.

"Ruin. That's my name," I say with a sigh and am not surprised when he chokes badly and starts coughing like he's dying of a lung disease. After a few very embarrassing minutes, he clears his throat, finally, and nods.

"Good to, uh, meet you, Ruin. Where are you right now? I mean your physical body. Maybe I can come to you."

I shake my head.

"No. I'm south, with the Galaens."

Magnum huffs and sighs, leaning against the fireplace.

"Fuck. That's about a month out," he says regretfully.

"I know," I concede. "I'll come to you. We might stop in Avaughn."

"Why?" He looks baffled.

"I'm… the Grand Maestro. I have to report to the king."

He stares.

"I'm sorry, and how old are you? "

"29," I say, blushing. He seems to be doing math. "I was bonded with Sparks when I was 8. I haven't died yet. It'll be fine."

He shrugs.

"That's not my concern. If your patron is a dragon, you will have an extended lifespan. Dragons and humans are meant to bond, but demons and humans are another matter entirely. The strain is too much, usually. You aren't a warlock at all—someone like me is required for that. You're likely a dragon rider, if what you say about your patron is true. But, anyway, you could be Grand Maestro for decades if you want. Your dragon might even extend your lifespan even further if they so choose. Like… by a thousand years further."

My head spins. Everything everyone has told me thus far is that I will die young. I hadn't even considered I would see past thirty, let alone live longer than is normal.

"How long have you been Grand Maestro?" Magnum asks curiously.

"Ten years," I say absently.

He blinks at that.

"You… started the national conservation efforts for our forests? That was you?"

I squirm.

"Can we talk about this later? I have to go."

Magnum nods.

"Yeah. Yeah. Sorry."

He stands and sways but it's not like I can help him. He hurries over to a desk and pulls out a map.

"I'm camped out in Fort Queensting, the one between the Jovan and Lake peaks. Will you remember that?"

I look hard at the map and nod.

"Yes. I will. Thank you for your… uh… hospitality," I say and stand. "I'm going to—"

"NO!" Magnum shouts and reaches for me as pain explodes in my chest. I look down and see a spirit arm piercing my heart. Color washes over me and I turn blood red before collapsing, darkness' maw consuming me whole.