CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Alec knelt in the soil, not feeling the mud on his hands, the cool breeze on his face—not even feeling his own body—as he knelt there, numb, bent over his brother’s grave. He wept and wept beside the mounds of dirt, hands raw from having dug all night long, from having buried his brother himself.
Alec felt nothing now; he felt nothing but raw, hollowed out, kneeling there, before his family, all alive just days ago—and now all dead. It was surreal. There, before him, was the brother he had sacrificed for, had sent volunteered to The Flames for. But Alec did not feel a hero; on the contrary, he was overwhelmed by guilt. He could not help thinking that this was all due to him.
Pandesia had swept through his village for one reason only: for vengeance. Alec had shamed th
