Hours slip by, but all Eska can manage are a few faint vibrations in the blood. Frustration builds in her chest, tightening with every failed attempt. Her breathing grows heavier, her hands trembling as she forces her focus, but nothing changes.
Her jaw clenches. Why won't it work?
The weight in her chest turns into something hotter, her pulse hammering in her ears. She grits her teeth, her fingers curling into fists.
"I don't understand!" she shouts, her voice breaking the silence, raw with anger.
The moment the words leave her lips, the blood reacts.
It surges uncontrollably, shooting both upward and downward in a violent, twisting motion. In an instant, it solidifies into a sharp blade.
The force pierces straight through her palm, the crimson edge extending far beyond her outstretched hand.
Eska gasps in pain, her eyes snapping open as she stares at the blade of blood protruding from her hand. The shock freezes her in place for a moment, her mind racing to process what just happened.
Oblea rushes to her side, holding her wrist in place and embracing her with her arm.
"Calm yourself! Focus. If you rush, you'll only make it worse."
Something burns inside Eska, something unfamiliar. It isn't panic—not exactly. It coils in her chest, twisting tighter with every breath, every pulse of pain shooting from her palm to her shoulder. Her breathing quickens, but not from fear.
What is this?
The blood in her grasp feels wrong, heavy in a way she never intended. It refuses to obey, resisting her. A sharp sting flares through her arm, but instead of recoiling, the feeling fuels the thing growing inside her.
Frustration. No, something worse.
Her teeth clench. Her fingers twitch. The weight in her grasp isn't just unbearable—it's defiant. It isn't hers anymore. It's slipping.
Then—it reacts again.
A violent force lashes out, uncontrolled, tearing through the space in front of her. Eska barely registers Oblea's expression twisting before she feels herself pulled into a firm embrace, her face pressed against her mother's chest.
"It's alright," Oblea murmurs, her voice low but steady. "Breathe. You have to calm down, Eska. Breathe, slowly."
Eska trembles, but the warmth of Oblea's hold grounds her. The closeness keeps her from spiraling further. She clings to the sensation, focusing on it instead of the pain.
The blood quivers, sharp and unstable, but she feels the weight of it begin to shrink. The edges of the blade begin to soften. A slight trickle of blood slides down her fingers, and then—it's gone.
She exhales, still shaky, and begins to pull away, but Oblea tightens her grip, holding her closer.
"I need you to close your eyes," she says, her voice calm but firm. "And keep them shut. Understand?"
Eska hesitates, confusion flickering across her face. "What—"
"Understand?!" Oblea's voice snaps, sharper, urgent.
Eska swallows, quickly squeezing her eyes shut, nodding without another word.
She hears Oblea shift, the sound of her standing. The faint shuffling of movement follows, breaths coming heavier, labored.
Then more shuffling. The warmth of pooling blood spreads at Eska's knees. She doesn't dare open her eyes.
Minutes pass, each second stretching unbearably as Eska listens to the sound of Oblea moving, shuffling, the occasional sharp breath breaking the silence.
Then, a deep inhale. A slow, measured exhale.
Oblea speaks, her voice tired, strained. "When you open your eyes, I need you to control yourself. I need you to understand that everything is okay, Eska. Do you understand me?"
Eska nods, but something in the way Oblea says it makes her stomach twist. Her hands clench in her lap, unease creeping up her spine.
"Slowly," Oblea continues. "Open your eyes."
Eska hesitates, but does as she's told.
At first, she sees only blood. Dark, thick, spreading across the dirt, sinking into the earth. Too much. Way too much.
Her breath catches, and then her gaze lifts—landing on the object lying in front of her.
Her stomach drops.
An arm.
Eska's breath stutters as she whips her head toward Oblea.
Her mother stands before her, pale, unsteady, her body visibly drained. Blood stains her clothes, her skin, but her right arm—her right arm is gone.
A rope is tightly wound around the stump just above the elbow, pulled so tight it bites into her flesh, stopping the worst of the bleeding. Even so, the sight is unbearable.
Eska's stomach twists violently. The strength in Oblea's stance remains, but there's no hiding the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her breaths come slower, heavier.
Her mother—her now incomplete mother—looks at her, tired but unwavering.
Eska trembles, her breath unsteady as she slowly pushes herself to her feet. Her legs feel weak, as if the ground beneath her might give way.
Her wide, golden eyes fix on Oblea's missing arm, the reality of it sinking in too fast, too heavy. Her lips part to speak, but nothing comes out. Then, her gaze drops—to her own bloodied hand.
Her stomach twists violently. Her breath catches in her throat.
She turns sharply back to Oblea, her vision blurred with sudden tears. "I—"
Before she can choke out another word, Oblea moves.
"No, no." She closes the distance in an instant, pulling Eska into a firm embrace, arms tightening around her. "I'm alive, Eska. That's all that matters right now."
Eska shakes her head against her mother's chest, her hands clutching at Oblea's back. "But you—I—your arm—I—"
The words won't form. The panic won't let them. She stutters, gasps, tries again, but every sentence collapses before it can leave her lips.
Oblea only runs her hand through Eska's hair, steady, warm, grounding. "It's alright, Eska," she murmurs, her voice unwavering. "I'm telling you—it's alright. It's okay."
Eska barely hears her. The weight of it all crushes down, her chest tightening until she can't hold it in anymore.
Her knees buckle.
A wailing cry rips from her throat, raw, broken, shaking through her entire body. "I'm sorry!" she sobs, her voice muffled against Oblea's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
She clings to her mother like she might disappear, her entire body wracked with sobs so violent she can barely breathe.
Her cries don't stop. They don't slow. She shouts her apologies over and over again, her voice cracking, her fingers gripping desperately at Oblea's clothes.
Oblea doesn't let go. She holds her tighter, letting her break, letting her wail, letting her grieve—never once loosening her hold.
Eska's breath stutters as she whips her head toward Oblea.
Her mother stands before her, pale, unsteady, her body visibly drained. Blood stains her clothes, her skin, but her right arm—her right arm is gone.
A rope is tightly wound around the stump just above the elbow, pulled so tight it bites into her flesh, stopping the worst of the bleeding. Even so, the sight is unbearable.
Eska's stomach twists violently. The strength in Oblea's stance remains, but there's no hiding the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her breaths come slower, heavier.
Her mother—her now incomplete mother—looks at her, tired but unwavering.
Eska trembles, her breath unsteadies as she slowly pushes herself to her feet. Her legs feel weak, as if the ground beneath her might give way.
Her wide, golden eyes fix on Oblea's missing arm, the reality of it sinking in too fast, too heavy. Her lips part to speak, but nothing comes out. Then, her gaze drops—to her own bloodied hand.
Her stomach twists violently. Her breath catches in her throat.
She turns sharply back to Oblea, her vision blurred with sudden tears. "I—"
Before she can choke out another word, Oblea moves.
"No, no." She closes the distance in an instant, pulling Eska into a firm embrace, arms tightening around her. "I'm alive, Eska. That's all that matters right now."
Eska shakes her head against her mother's chest, her hands clutching at Oblea's back. "But you—I—your arm—I—"
The words won't form. The panic won't let them. She stutters, gasps, tries again, but every sentence collapses before it can leave her lips.
Oblea only runs her hand through Eska's hair, steady, warm, grounding. "It's alright, Eska," she murmurs, her voice unwavering. "I'm telling you—it's alright. It's okay."
Eska barely hears her. The weight of it all crushes down, her chest tightening until she can't hold it in anymore.
Her knees buckle.
A wailing cry rips from her throat, raw, broken, shaking through her entire body. "I'm sorry!" she sobs, her voice muffled against Oblea's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
She clings to her mother like she might disappear, her entire body wracked with sobs so violent she can barely breathe.
Her cries don't stop. They don't slow. She shouts her apologies over and over again, her voice cracking, her fingers gripping desperately at Oblea's clothes.
Oblea doesn't let go. She holds her tighter, letting her break, letting her wail—never once loosening her hold with constant reassurances "It's alright, honey. It's ok."