Darkness. Silence. And then… a voice.
"More…"
It isn't loud, but it cuts through the void like fire. I'm somewhere else, somewhere vast and burning, but it isn't real. The heat presses against my skin, heavy and insistent. The ground beneath me crackles, veins of molten red crawling across the shadows.
"You crave it," the voice whispers, low and rumbling, vibrating through my bones. "The power… the fire… the rage. It hungers. It wants more. More blood. More pain. More fire."
I can't move. My body is gone—or maybe it's me, or maybe it's both. Everything I fought with, everything I burned through—it feels like it's feeding something. Something watching me, waiting.
"Do not fear it," the voice continues, smooth, cruel, almost seductive. "But know… the fire takes. And those who burn too bright, who let it consume them…" The words trail off, vanishing into the flames around me.
I want to speak, to argue, to deny it. But there's nothing. Only heat, only the pull of the fire, only the taste of anger on my tongue. It whispers again, almost hungry.
"More… and yet, less. The blood must pay the price."
And then… nothing. Darkness swallows me again. The world tilts, shifts, and I feel my body—broken, bruised, human—pull me back. A thrum in my chest, like a warning buried deep.
When I open my eyes, the room is dim, sterile, smelling of blood and bandages. Machines beep softly, but the sound feels distant, like I'm underwater. My body screams with every movement; it feels like glass and iron fused together, ready to shatter.
I look around. Maya lies closest to me, her arm locked in a stark, rigid cast. I remember the sickening snap, the scream that tore from her throat, the helpless rage that clawed at my chest as I watched. Jordan is a few feet away, unconscious, bruised and battered. Her long black hair is matted against her forehead, dark bruises blooming across her cheek and temple. She looks small, weak—but even so, she's still a Dragon Keeper, still capable of so much more.
Cameron paces back and forth, his steps echoing off the walls, hands clenched, shoulders tense. His face is pale, taut with guilt. "I can't believe I let this happen. I can't believe I let this happen," he mutters, over and over. "It's all my fault."
Shu steps closer, raising a hand to steady him. "Cameron, it's not your fault—"
"Don't tell me that!" Cameron snaps, spinning away, eyes wide, panic raw and unrestrained. "Don't you dare tell me it's not my fault! Look at them! Look at Maya's arm! Look at Jordan! Look at what I let happen!"
I force my broken body to stand, every rib, every muscle screaming in protest. My sword glows faintly crimson in the corner, a lifeline. I grab it and use it as a crutch, shuffling toward them, each step an act of defiance against the agony coursing through me.
"We lost," I say, my voice growing loudly, sharp and raw with anger and pain.
Shu blinks, trying to ground me. "No… you lived. You survived."
"No, we lost," I growl, louder. "We got the souls back, yes, but look at us! Look at Maya! Her arm—broken. Jordan—her head slammed into concrete. Cameron froze. We barely made it out alive. We were sent on a suicide mission, and one person—one man—dismantled us in moments. One man! That's all it took!"
Shu opens his mouth, but words falter. He cannot undo what happened.
"Fuck you," I say, the words sharp, cutting, shaking from every ounce of fury and exhaustion I've carried. "I'm leaving."
I turn, limping, dragging myself toward the door, every movement excruciating. And then I see Cameron, slumped on the floor, staring at the statues of past Dragon Keepers. I sit down beside him, letting the silence stretch between us for a long moment.
"Hey," I say quietly.
"Hey," he replies, his voice small, fragile.
"I froze, William," he whispers, shoulders trembling. "I saw him crush, and I froze. I… I let him break Maya's arm. I let him slam Jordan. I let you fight alone."
I place a hand on his shoulder, pressing lightly, trying to give some grounding, some warmth amidst the ruin. "It's not your fault, Cameron. No one could have prepared us for that. The chaos, the fire, the power… it was beyond anything we could have imagined. You did what you could. You followed my orders. That's why we lived. That's why Maya's arm can heal. That's why Jordan's head is still on her shoulders. You did your part."
Tears streak Cameron's face, and his hands shake less, the weight of guilt still there, but slightly lighter. "I… I don't know if I can do this again," he admits, voice cracking.
I look at the broken, exhausted faces of my team—Maya, Jordan, Cameron—and realize fully: I failed them.