XIX | Betrothed to the Blade
He turned and kicked for the water’s ceiling, unable to endure the void any longer, as the cold foam surged like molasses around his limbs—making every exertion seem double what it should be and his lungs feel as though they would implode amidst the vacuum (for the mask’s reserves of air were well depleted). A storm of sparkling dots began to swirl before his eyes, and—just as it seemed he would lose all consciousness—he burst into the red-orange world of men yet again: where he released his mask and swallowed the sky in great, greedy gulps—even as the water shot skyward to rain down around him and the dying orb burned hot and cloying on his face and the chilly droplets pattered his dead-blue skin.
When he’d quenched his need for air at last, he turned to fac
