That was raaaaaaw.

Thank you!

God damn! That was gripping from start to end, well done.

Literal chills ,would read again

Thank you! No clue who ApocalypseOwl is, but I’ll assume he’s good enough that you know the name.

When a pessimist dares to dream

I am looking at the world through unfamiliar eyes
My legs don't feel like mine
My thoughts don't sound like me
I keep swimming toward a vision though I'm no visionary

Outside my conscious head
Within my waking heart 
Nothing is what it seems.
Unrooted and drifting.
in this restless ocean
of long-deferred dreams.

I've risked it all before.
I've lost it all before.
Dreams don't come with proof;
Do I dare sacrifice
My cynic's safe harbor,
my cautious, careful truth?

So late to try again.
So old to dream again.
I declare myself maker
with canvas, paint, and brush
Painter! Risk-taker!

Waves of uncertainty
Waves of audacity
I sink, yet I will
emerge optimistic.
Going under in hope,
Drowning, I grow gills.

I am looking at myself through unfamiliar eyes.
My feet don't move like mine
My words don't sound like me
Could drowning in dreams mean I'm becoming a visionary?

*bonus constraint words: Sacrifice and emerge

The husband spoke, calmed by her presence. "Did you figure out what went wrong last time?"

"No." Electra said as she turned to Simon. "But you will. Place your hands on top of mine."

Simon did as told, her tone didn't leave much space for outside opinion.

"As a doctor, you know the human body better than me. I'll supply the magic, you provide the knowledge."

She carried his hands over the woman's body, and Simon felt the patients pain as if it were his. Organ failures, blood clots, several easy to miss issues compiled into a giant problem.

As he pointed issued out, Electra surged power into the spot. They operated that way for two hours before the woman was saved. She slept peacefully on the mattress afterward, with her husband sobbing into her hair. He tried mumble thanks, but his sobs disrupted every attempt.

Simon walked the other four men out of the room. The couple deserve some privacy. Electra walked alongside him, stray sparks of electricity hissing with each step.

She told him, " It'd be a shame for your talents to go to waste here. Medical knowledge is invaluable."

Simon forced a smile and said, "What makes you think I'm wasting them. I'm doing just fine."

"Uh huh," she said, swiping a finger at a passing table and showing him the dust she'd collected. "I'm a bit of a straight shooter, so you'll have to excuse me. You should work under me. That was scary, and could have been prevented if we'd detected the signs earlier." She raised a hand for him to shake.

Simon stared, considered, then shook it. "Do you think I could save people? I wouldn't be an accessory, I could actually help others?"

"Did you forget the past two hours already? Short term memory loss isn't good for a doctor."

Simon felt he could cry. He journeyed with Electra from that day on, performing preventive screening of citizens, saving lives. Though not the way he learned in school, he'd evolved, and found his purpose again. When they saw him, they labeled him one of Electra's kind.

They called him a hero, but he was still a doctor.

Simon's purpose in life was lost long ago. He'd spent quite a few nights staring at the moon's reflective on the ocean, and envisioning a plunge of no return into its depths. The waters would cool him. They'd flow around and through him, numbing him to the world as the coerced his final breaths away.

As a doctor, he knew drowning wouldn't work that way. The process would be excruciatingly painful as salty water filled his lungs and burned him. Besides that, the heroes would pull him out long before the process commenced.

They'd fly in with their shiny armor and majestic weaponry, pull him out of the water, and present him to the townspeople like a trophy. The villagers would sing their praises. "How pure are our heroes. Willing to pause their busy days to save a useless doctor." Simon would drip before them, each drop stripping a bit of his dignity to the ground as the hero would smile and fly off to slay a dragon or evil empress.

Once they left the townspeople would glare at him with contempt. They'd ridicule him for being a worthless doctor in an age of magic, painting their town in a negative light before an idol.

Yes. Drowning in the ocean would play out exactly like that. Just like every other aspect of Simon's life, he'd fail. His hospital had failed and closed years ago. Fooloshly he'd painted a red cross on a sign and placed on the front door of this house, unable to accept the truth. People didn't need medical doctors anymore. Magic beat science ages ago, he was simply a relic.

The thought pained him in more ways than one. He should have felt glad people didn't need him. That meant they were healthy. At the same time, it also meant his life's purpose was useless. A doctor with no patients is a mere man who read a science book.

In his most selfish moments, Simon would wish upon the stars for someone to fall ill. For someone to need him.

Simon sat at his study, watching those stars twinkle when a the sound of his front door opening startled him. Burglars? But he had no money. He opened his door a crack and poked his head out. Five men wandered his hall, their muddy books squeaking against the unpolished tile. A woman dangled in their arms.

The squeaks irritated Simon's ears, and the subsequent groan he produced caught the men's attention.

One of them asked, "You're the doctor, right?" The hall was dimly lit so Simon could barely make out his facial features, but his eyes were so wide the whites glowed. Simon leaned back toward his study, sensing potential danger but the man said, "My wife is sick. She needs help."

Simon froze, then frowned. Was this man taunting him? He opened the door and said, "If she's sick call a hero. The ones who can heal do so instantaneously."

The four husband shook their heads gravely as the husband said, "No. We called a bunch of them. Even Electra, but whatever she has is extreme. They can't figure it out. Doctor, plea-"

His voice trembled and trailed off into a high pitched squeak that Simon felt penetrate his body and stir his arm hair. Simon spoke as calmly as he could. "Ok. Carry her to your left. There's a room with a queen sized bed in it, place her there."

The men left as Simon grabbed a face mask and a pair of gloves from his study. They were dusty, and defeated the purpose of the equipment, but he wore them all the same. The smell of latex brought him back to his days at university, when he was young and dreamed of saving the world. He spoke those memories out of his head and walked toward his first patient in thirty years.

She lay naked on the bed, and her husband was fighting another man in the corner of the room. "You just wanted to peek. He didn't say anything about her being..." The voices trailed away from Simon as he stared at her. She lay so still. Only under the stern scrutiny, could one notice the faint and slow rise of her chest.

Simon paced to her as the sound of pounding and slamming continued. He placed a hand on her chest, then neck, then forehead. Each one was burning more violently than the last, and the heat made his own head sweat. Her eyelids twitched under his touch, and a slight relief came when her face scrunched up.

That relief vanished when the coughs started, so forceful the bed creaked under her twitching body. Simon took his hand off her like a guilty party as the sounds of fighting ceased.

"Doctor, what are you doing? Please help her." One of the men said, Simon couldn't tell who.

Her face grew crimson and purple veins popped out of her neck as she hacked.

Simon retreated. Stared. Then rushed to his medicine cabinet. Nothing but expired pills and liquids lay there. He had no money to update his stock, and doubted merchants carried the old goods anymore. He jumped as he heard a man whimper, "Please God. Please" behind him and the room closed in.

Simon's breath shook as he gripped the cabinet for support. Had he wished for this? The pills he clutched probably wouldn't do anything to help, but they were something. It went against all medical practice, but the medical field hadn't lived long enough to condemn him.

He had to try something, even if the woman died here. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't try to save her. Simon rushed back to the bed as the woman's husband stroked her hair and planted tearful kisses on her temple.

He saw Simon and opened his mouth a speak, but nothing but choking sounds came out as he hyperventilated. Simon shook the bottle of pills for no reason at all as he nodded to the man. He hoped the nod was comforting, as sign that he knew what he was doing.

Then he prayed he knew what he was doing as he opened the pills and a golden flash filled the room. The cause stood in the doorframe.

Golden eyed, tall, with blue puffy hair. The number one medical hero in the land, Electra. The air paused in her presence as she eyed Simon. "You're the doctor?"

Simon no longer wanted to be, but he nodded out of habit.

Electra walked to the bedside, and the men parted for her. She placed both hands on the woman's chest, and a blue light emitted from them.

Well, you see, we – those who say “Ni” that is – are perhaps more complex than others – who do not say “Ni” like me and we – might expect. Yes, Ni!

I, and we – the others who say “Ni”, I mean – tend to appreciate the artistry of such majestic and naturally occurring and of course sometimes unnaturally encouraged landscaping wonders we – Ni! – know as shrubberies. Ni! Yes. Shrubberies.

Though – Ni! – a shrubbery is also more complex than perhaps anyone – who says “Ni” like me and we and so on or otherwise – also expect. A shrubbery contains wonders of its own. Yes, Ni, indeed! Birds, berries, bugs, sticks, twigs, et cetera and beyond. We and me and Ni! are mesmerized at length by these – shrubberies and all their complexities, that is.

Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Remind us – Ni! – of the question?

Holy shit balls that was a fantastic read. I almost thought this was one of ApocalypseOwl's stories.

Absolutely brilliant work

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The kNIght.

[God's Design]

"They're just kids...," Regis, the Divine Emperor was surprised when three teenagers wandered into his throne room. "...and only one of them is a boy," he mumbled to himself as he sat up straighter to intimidate them. The boy had bright blue, almost white hair pulled back in a ponytail and he wore dark blue plate armor. The girl to his right had short dark hair framing her pale face and she wore dark red leather armor with a white quiver on her back and a white bow at the ready. The girl to the boy's left was the strangest by far. She had spiky, bright orange hair and her face was covered with white makeup. She wore a black and orange outfit that reminded Regis more of a court jester than an adventurer.

"It's fine," the boy said as he looked to his right. "I'm sure your mom has a reason for leaving Riot and me out of the match," he said.

"Yeah, you don't need to keep apologizing," the girl with white makeup added. "I wouldn't want to be on Spider's team anyway," she said. The three of them were so distracted with their conversation they apparently didn't notice they were in Regis' presence. He decided to remind them he was there.

"You are in the presence of a god!" his booming voice echoed around the room. The three teens stopped walking and looked at Regis. He rose from his throne and the boy drew a nearly transparent, icy sword from his sheath. The ranger nocked an arrow and the other girl readied her own weapon; though, Regis did not understand what it was. It had the same basic shape as a sword; but, it was rounded and bulging and made from a bright orange material. The 'blade' part looked like an orange sausage with two small yellow corn-cob-like bulbs forming the cross-guard. Regis couldn't help but notice the faint squeak when she readied it. It was obviously a toy, which meant this poor group of innocents did not know what they were up against.

"Why have you children come here?" Regis asked as he stepped closer to his challengers.

"It's just nice to spend time together," the boy answered with a chuckle. Both girls giggled at his comment, but it only confused Regis. He was a god and did not enjoy the feeling that they were mocking him.

"I see you children have yet to learn any manners," Regis said. "Allow me to teach you," he snapped his fingers. A plume of dark smoke revealed six skeleton guards between Regis and the teens. They were armed with swords and shields and wore heavy plate armor. He could have summoned five times as many; but, he only wanted to frighten them. He did not expect them to move so fast.

The boy charged forward with his icy sword and the orange-haired girl followed with her own 'weapon'. Meanwhile, the ranger raised her bow and took aim at Regis.

"Defend me!" Regis instructed his soldiers. He was still concerned about them, although he wondered if maybe he was the one underestimating them. The skeletons braced their shields as the boy lunged forward and sliced with his sword. Regis felt a blast of cold air at the same moment he heard a loud, disembodied voice fill the room.

[Glacial Smite] the first skeleton exploded into pieces of bone and armor and went flying. The two skeletons closest to it were frozen solid and unable to move.

"What?" Regis was surprised by how powerful they were; but, he still had more surprises on the way. The orange-haired girl attacked the group of skeletons from the other side.

[Mimic Sword] the voice filled the air again. She swiped with her ridiculous weapon. The skeleton she aimed for exploded as another wave of frigid air washed past Regis. It left the last two skeletons trapped in ice.

"What??" Regis panicked. They were more powerful than any kids had a right to be. They weren't ordinary and he now knew he could use his full power on them. But, as he had that realization, he briefly forgot about the third member of their team. He looked up in time to see her release her arrow.

[Shadow Point] the voice said. Regis summoned another army of skeletons as he kept focused on the arrow. But, it vanished after flying forward for a moment. He felt something pass through him and yet felt no pain.

"Enough!" He yelled. "I AM A GO-," he took a step forward to approach his intruders; but, he couldn't complete the action. He found himself unable to move even a single step. A sudden insight caused him to whirl around to check behind him. A single arrow shaft was sticking out of his shadow.

"You know...," the ranger said. The close voice startled Regis enough to turn around. The ranger stood next to him with a smile on her face. His second wave of skeleton soldiers was already defeated as the other two surrounded him. The boy with blue hair readied his sword as he stared Regis in the eyes. "...even an NPC god is still just an NPC," the ranger grinned.

"Wh..what?" Regis stuttered. He was afraid for the first, and only time in his life. His only answer was a deep voice filling the room.

[Glacial Smite]

***

Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1830 in a row. (Story #020 in year six.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at this link.

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

"Now, Noxie. I know what you're thinking, okay? I think we just need to calm down here," Braintrust urged.

"You know what I'm thinking, do you?" I asked in an irritated tone. "You know what the fuck I'm thinking!? YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE A SON!?"

"I never said that, Noxie."

"It's fucking Noxus. Don't act like we're friends just because I've spared you and your ilk for all these years."

"Noxie - Noxus. Look. I know you're going through a lot right now. But they're just kids. They don't know any better. They saw a villain, and they attacked. It's what they were trained to do. You can't blame them for that. Your son knew the risks when he took up the mantle."

"DON'T SPEAK TO ME OF MY SON!" I exploded. "He was a good boy. He never hurt anyone. He did a couple of low-level bank robberies. His power was the ability to walk through walls. That was it. He wasn't dangerous. He wasn't like the other villains in our ranks. He was just a sweet boy that was made for robberies. And they killed him like a dog. Not because they had to but because they could."

"And I will make sure they are punished within the League of Superheroes. They will face full disciplinary action and likely be stripped of their status." I stole the breath from his lungs so he couldn't say another word. He gasped for air, but none would come. Not until I released him. He collapsed to the ground, gasping.

"You think that your fucking disciplinary action will make up for the death of my son? What am I to say to his mother? Don't worry, darling, they got a good finger wagging. There's already been news stories about the fucking heroes and how valiantly they acted. Top of their class, the new generation of heroes. Their first act as professional heroes after school. Bringing down the dreaded Phase Walker. Who has never harmed a fucking soul in his entire goddamn life! No, I will take my revenge on this team. And you will not raise a finger to stop me, or I will kill you, too."

I returned the oxygen to the air around him and let him breathe again. He gasped for air as if he had been held underwater for minutes. He breathed heavily and hard.

"Noxie. Please. They're kids."

"They were kids. Before they killed my son, they were kids. Now they are monsters that need to be put down."

He sighed, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop me. He was only my nemesis because his pathetic league had assigned him to be so. There was no hero in the world that could stop me. I was going to show them why Noxus was a name to be feared.

I stalked down the stairs of my hideout, and Braintrust followed. "Get out," I said as we came to the first exit. "And if I find that you stand in my way on this, Braintrust, I will kill you without remorse. It will be slow, and it will be painful." He left without a word.

I continued down to the basement that also functioned as the garage to my tower. I got on my motorbike and started up the engine. It roared to life. I was already in my outfit. I was meant to look like a vulture. Not that it mattered. I wasn't trying to hide anything anymore. This was revenge. And I wanted everyone to know it.

I opened the garage door with the remote built into my suit and revved the engine. As soon as the door was open enough, I sped out. I kept my head low and swerved through the streets. I passed Braintrust, who was walking solemnly down the road. He wasn't on the phone. It appeared as though he had given up the foolish notion of standing in my way. That was good. I had known him for twenty years. I had no desire to extinguish his light.

Before long, I made it to city hall. In front of the building was a giant set of stairs. Upon those stairs was the team of superheroes that had killed my son. They were basking in the glory of reporters and camera flashes. Asking them questions, getting their insights on their conquest. When I pulled up, everyone turned to see me. The reporters flocked to me immediately.

"Noxus, what is it like losing your son?" one asked.

"Noxus, will you be releasing a statement of apology for your son's actions?" another queried.

"Noxus, what do you have to say about the prank you pulled on Instruct-a-Girl last week?" a final one asked.

I lifted them all off the ground with a gust of air and flung them to the side. Cameramen included. They went tumbling down the stairs, and I'm pretty sure I heard a crack. I wondered if it was a bone or a camera. I didn't much care either way. The heroes on the stairs turned their attention to me from the few cameras that had lingered behind.

"Noxus! Have you come to apologize for your son's actions?" the leader, Thunderboy, asked.

"You believe that I have come here to apologize to you, young one? You know me as the benevolent trickster. A villain in name only. Someone who plays light-hearted pranks on your beloved idols. Have you ever done any research on me, Thunderboy?"

"No, Noxus, I don't believe I have. I've never seen a reason to. You're a washed-up villain that is categorized as no-risk in our bingo books. Why should I do any research on you, of all people?"

"I know that you graduated top of your class, but your records are sealed," another of the team, Azure, said.

"Good. Then you know I am not one to be trifled with. Do you want to know why they sealed my records?" I seized the air from all of their lungs at once and replaced it with carbon monoxide. "It was because I agreed to never harm a hero. Only to use my powers to play games."

The entire team collapsed and began choking, but their bodies didn't have the air to do so. They were convulsing within seconds. I returned the air to them long enough for them to catch their breath.

"And I am not one to be underestimated, Thunderboy. Are you grasping that now?" I stole the air and replaced it once more. Again their bodies began to convulse. After a few seconds, I returned the air to them once more.

"I am going to enjoy this. You will regret killing my son. You will regret ever looking at him. And once that regret sets in, the fear of your own mortality will soon follow. And as that fear envelopes you, I want you to know this was avoidable. And I want every hero to know that this is the fate that awaits you if you ever bring my son's name up again. I am no longer the fun-loving prankster of old. I am Noxus, the god of air. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that my son's name is not dragged through the mud any longer."

I stole the air from their lungs once more and watched their bodies convulse upon the stairs. Some of them began falling down the stairs. I used gusts to keep them all on the same level. It made torturing them easier. One by one, their bodies ceased convulsing. Until only one remained. I returned the oxygen to Thunderboy's lungs and used a gust to lift him off the ground. He was gasping for air, holding onto hope that I would allow him to live. It was not a hope I would allow him to hold for long.

"Cameraman. Zoom in on his eyes. Let everyone know the fear that this young man contains within his soul. Thunderboy, you killed my son today. And for that, your life is forfeit. I hope that you meet him in the afterlife. If you do, apologize to him. Or I will find a way to traverse to the afterlife myself and kill you again. When I look upon the stars tonight, I had better find peace staring back at me. For the hope of your eternal soul rests upon that peace. Now die."

​

--------------------

I'm still working on a lot of things as a writer, so any feedback or criticism is appreciated <3

Thanks for reading! I'm glad you liked it.

very cool

“I have passed your trials, I have defeated your underlings and now…. I am here for YOU!!!!!” the bright haired, self-styled ‘hero’ screamed into the void. He was broken, I could see it, feel it. I knew it like I know all things.

He stood there, leaning on that stupid sword he had convinced himself would be my downfall. He was breathing heavily and losing blood at an astounding rate. He was nothing more than an annoying coddled child that had been foisted onto this path by progenitors that were unwilling to parent. Through his life he had never been told no. He had been finely crafted and molded to think that he was the center of his own story, and that everything and everyone else around him was secondary to his eventual ascent to godhood, or something that he imaged was godhood.

It was almost enough to make me feel bad – if not for how totally insufferable he was. When his first friend died he lamented; he cried, he gnashed teeth, and he swore revenge. When the twentieth died he offered prayers in a sacred grove. When the seventieth died he didn’t so much as stop to remember their existence.

“I have sacrificed everything to bring you down and halt your evil ways.” He continued to scream at the wall of blackness before him. The part he wasn’t saying out loud was ‘and take your place because it is my due.’ Like he was owed something. People starved because of him. They fought and died. They were convinced from his delusions because he was rich and powerful. How could one become so rich and so powerful if not for having a stellar character and work ethic. He was obviously better and smarter than those around them.

Of course, they always failed to take into account his astronomically rich parents. The connections and bribes and all of the other things that go along with hoarding wealth for generations. Greed is one of those evils that I wish I could go back and erase. But alas, free will and all that.

“Why do you hide from me. YOU FEAR ME! YOU KNOW I WILL DESTROY YOU!!!!!” More yelling, great. I suppose it is time for me to make my grand entrance and finally put an end to this farce.

I walked out of the void striking a rather regal visage. I took the appearance of an old man in a robe because that is what they deemed I should look like. I towered over the child, even with a slight bend to my back from ‘age’. Go away child. There is naught here for you but death.

He began to laugh. To actually laugh at me – the beginning and the end. The creator of all things. “You do not frighten me old man. It is you who should be scared.” As he finished his hackneyed overtures, he charged at me with sword raised over his head and a blood curdling roar to boot.

He had moxie at least. So convinced of his own delusions he was willing to charge at me with his toy and think he had a chance of winning.

I snapped my fingers. His legs blew off and his upper body flopped to the floor with a wet meaty thump like a fish hitting the cutting board before gutting and scaling.

He screamed. Of course. But I could tell it was more than just the pain. I could feel the petulance rising inside him. I could see the walls being thrown up in his own mind to block out the powerlessness he was feeling. Already a new narrative was being written in his mind about how he could over come this, prosper from it.

“Yield. Yield. I YIELD” he screamed, like that was some kind of magic word that held power over me. “Have… have I not proven my self to you. My worth. I…. I can do so much for you if you just let me live. I will become your greatest prophet.”

I rolled my eyes; something I couldn’t normally do as I so rarely took a physical form anymore. It felt good. I raised my hand, his body following suit. His broken, legless frame suspended in mid air in front of me. Tears streaked down his eyes from pain. I would have expected shame mixed in those tears but felt none from inside. Still his mind moved and plotted. Placing him at the center of this story.

I warned you. I warned you over and over again of the consequences of your actions.

Each one of these trials you faced wasn’t to prove you had enough to strike me down. Each one of these trials was to try and stop you. To try to show you that you had deluded yourself into this fantasy world you placed yourself in the center of. Each time I asked you to sacrifice something I thought you would say no. You SHOULD have said no. Countless others HAVE said no. Not you though.

But… there is no one to blame but myself. I gave you free will, so I cannot see what you will do, I can only extrapolate probabilities and guess at the outcomes. I can only see what you MIGHT do.

I put trials and tribulations in front of you to try and make you see. Instead, all they did was further fortify your own insanity.

For that I am sorry. I have failed you and countless others that have suffered because of you.

“I…. I don’t understand.”

I know.

I snapped my fingers a second time and his body disintegrated into dust. I lowered my hand and the cloud blew away as if in the wind.

And so I can give you naught but death.

This was amazing. I always admire the way writers on this sub can describe worlds in such an engaging way. 10/10, would read it again.

This was fun, cheeky as hell. Loved the follow-through on the Arches bit.

Tala lay upon the cool moss in the shade of a great oak. Her face, caught in the dying rays of the blood-orange sun, was lit in a cruel light. Eyal ran a hand against her cheek, and she grimaced with a wistful smile.

"Tala, be strong." His voice shook. Too much running, not enough time for care.

"It's the way of things," she said quietly.

"No. I won't let it."

"The rain does not care for the mountain."

"Chew," Eyal said in place of an answer. He held the birchwood in his hand, bark stripped from one of the trees that grew near their village. Tala took it between teeth, moving her head between throbbing pain and sweet relief as the sap leached out.

"The old women make this look so easy," he muttered between gritted teeth, digging through his satchel.

"You are not an old woman."

"But you shall be. One day."

"Careful," Tala said, a momentary smile flashing across her face. Or was it just the dying sun.

"Thyme?"

"For cooking."

"Roostfern?"

"I'm not pregnant."

"Ginnyweed?"

"Only a little."

Eyal broke a small branch from the bundle, the elongated buds smelling dark and bitter. He cupped it close to Tala's mouth.

"The wound," she said instead, releasing the pressure from her abdomen. "Press it in." A momentary hiss. "That's better."

"There's too much blood." Eyal rocked back and forth, his motion a contrast to that of his companions. "Too much."

"Fetch a rock."

"Tala..."

"Fetch one. Now."

He scrambled away. Hands clawing at dirt, bushes, anything. Already twilight was growing. The dark greens giving way to black. He rushed onwards, finding a scraggly rock on the banks of a slow moving stream. It was wet in his hands. Water and tears.

"Tala, Tala please tell me," he begged, kneeling beside her.

She lifted a hand slowly and guided his own to her wound. The blade had pierced deeply. The rock sat on her belly, it's wetness running off into her tattered cloak.

"Tala..."

"Think of me," she said.

"I am."

"Think of us."

"I will."

"Think of the child."

His voice broke. "I do."

Eyal could feel the slick rock beneath his hands. The shuddering breath of his wife. His grip faltered, too wet, too long they had waited before stopping. But they had to run.

"Think, and the world will be."

"Tala?"

He could feel the coolness of the rock. The wetness. Looking down he saw the cracks in the dark earth. He saw the blood run, red as dawn. He could feel it pulse, each verberation pooling and trickling into the nave of his wife's belly.

She lifted one red streaked hand and cupped his cheek.

"Like getting blood from a stone," she said quietly.

"You always were hard-headed," he said, with a smile.

Ni

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