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Firian
The ground felt hot. The cheek pressed against it burned with the sharpness of shock. Firian’s arms and lungs spasmed, muscles contracting at random. He shuddered as he drew the first mouthful of air into his lungs. Thoughts wouldn’t form in his mind. His body could only feel, and it was hellish. It felt as though his head had been split open with an ax. Maybe it had been. If he wasn’t dead, he was dying.
Events in Kiria’s bedroom settled into his mind like butterflies, landing and flying away and landing again, bright as blood. He was here to kill Belik before he could take the Western Kingdom for himself. This was Firian’s last stand.
But he couldn’t stand.
He peeled his eyes open and turned his hammering head. Above him, darkness reached as far as the sky. The sight made
