Page 77 of The Blood Rites

Sorin chooses this moment to speak, his voice oddly calm. “If he wants to jump, let him.”

His eyes are locked on the horizon. I wonder if they know what’s coming, if they’ve seen the wave.

“What are you talking about?” Alaris snaps, rounding on him. “If he jumps, it just makes us easier targets.”

Fen laughs bitterly. “What a selfish prick. Do you want me to live because you care, or am I just another body for your shield?”

“Of course I care.” Something in Alaris’ face crumples. “We’re Airborn. We volunteered for this shit. I thought we’d do this together.”

“I just don’t think I have it in me,” Fen replies softly.

None of us have anything to say.

Marissa edges closer to me.

“We need to move,” she whispers. “The next wave could come at any time.”

She’s right. It’s not safe to stop.

Sorin turns back to face us. “You’ve seen it too, haven’t you? The wave? We just avoided being swept away when the last one hit.”

He wraps his arms around himself, shivering even though the sun is still blazing. “It was like it had a mind of its own, like it was chasing us.”

Nausea rolls through me.

I’m trying to force it down when something flickers at the edge of my vision.

A faint Mana Echo bleeds into the world, like a dream coming to life.

Two figures stand beside the pit. They move without sound, sharp gestures cutting through the air. One points into the cavernous hole below, while the other shakes their head. A heartbeat later, one of them turns—and jumps. The second reacts instantly, dropping flat, fingers locking around a wrist. Their body slams hard against the stone, boots scraping uselessly for purchase as the jumper swings over the void.

For a moment, it looks like they might succeed and bring the other back over the edge. Their muscles strain, shoulders trembling as their grip tightens. The one hanging reaches up with their free hand—not to climb, though, just to hold the other person’s arm. A shared moment of quiet. Then—

Their fingers slip, and the jumper is gone. The one left behind doesn’t move at first; they just lie there, arm still outstretched over the pit as if their body hasn’t quite registered what has happened. They begin to shake, silent sobs racking their body. Their forehead presses against the stone, and their fingers claw at the ground in grief.

The image flickers and resets. They are standing again, arguing again, jumping again, falling again. I don’t realise I’ve stopped breathing until Marissa grabs my arm.

Alaris pulls Fen to his feet, practically ripping his arms off.

“Is that what you want?” he asks.

Sorin trails behind them, eyes glazed. Marissa and I take the lead, but I can't stop seeing the survivor's outstretched hand.

“We should get to higher ground,” Marissa suggests. “Maybe the wave won’t be able to reach us if we go high enough.”

She gestures towards a plateau in the distance, directly in front of the Mother Shard, but the glare off the sun-slick, black stone obscures my vision as the sun begins its descent.

I don't correct her. Hope is keeping her moving. And right now, that's enough.

We walk in silence. The plateau is closer than it looked, but the last stretch is almost vertical—a wall of dark, glassy rock crisscrossed with sharp edges.

Three figures wait at the top.

They wear identical pale-blue uniforms. I don’t recognise them at first—back in the Embrace they wore their own clothes.

The Waterborn kneel in a line facing the ocean, the Mother Shard at their backs. The golden number one glows like a scar as they pray, hands clasped, faces serene, eyes closed.

“Do you think they know what’s coming?” Marissa asks.