Leesa could not tell if it was day or night; her vision was smeared with ash and tears, the world a blur of flame and desperation. But she reached the edge of the deck at last, where the flames had not yet claimed dominion. She knelt, cradling Flavian close.
Her bloodied fingers searched for a pulse. Nothing. Her cheek pressed against his chest. Silence. "No…" she whispered hoarsely. She slapped him lightly. Then harder. And then, a cough. Weak, but real. Her heart surged with fierce relief. He was alive.
With the last shreds of her strength, she pulled him up and rolled him overboard into the sea's dark embrace. He fell through the air and vanished into the waters below. It was done. The fire roared behind her. Her legs gave way. Leesa collapsed. Her blade clattered beside her, and the flames closed in.
From a distance, their small vessel rocked gently in the dark swell of the ocean, the air thick with smoke and the scent of burning timber. Anton narrowed his eyes, scanning the silhouette of the great ship as it smouldered like a dying beast on the black horizon.
"There!" Elzar called, pointing toward the faint outlines of figures moving atop the fiery deck. Through the haze, they saw it clearly, one figure, cloaked in smoke and blood, leaning over another and casting them into the sea below. For a breathless second, the falling body caught the reflection of the flames, a flash of silver in the night, it was as if a sun had plunged into the dark waters.
Without waiting for a command, Elzar cast off his cloak and leapt into the sea. Anton gave the oars one last powerful pull, drawing the boat alongside the doomed vessel. Hooking his blade against the railing, he climbed swiftly, the heat scorching his palms even through his gloves. The deck was a wasteland of ruin, flame lapping at the shattered remains of cargo. And then he saw her, Leesa, sprawled upon the blackened planks, the hem of her cloak already aflame.
"Lady Marlene!" he gasped, rushing to her side. He dropped to his knees, beating out the fire with his bare hands. Her body was limp, her face smeared with soot and blood, yet her chest still moved, barely. Carefully, he lifted her, her one hand on his shoulder, and his hand around her waist. She was lighter than he remembered, worn to the bone from battle and sacrifice. With gritted teeth, he navigated the unstable wreckage and climbed down to the boat, laying her gently upon the deck.
Moments later, Elzar emerged from the sea, his arms wrapped tightly around Flavian. He pulled the unconscious prince aboard, water pouring from their bodies as the boat rocked with the weight.
Anton knelt between them. His fingers sought a pulse. "Her heart is weak," he said, voice tight with urgency, "but still there."
"And the prince?"
"Steady," Anton exhaled.
Elzar looked out at the sinking wreck behind them, the fire now fully consuming its frame, embers soaring into the night sky like dying stars. Without another word, they turned the prow of the ship toward the distant shores of the Astandra Empire, the moon guiding their way. They sailed through the silence, the wounded sleeping under a canopy of stars, their breath mingling with the wind, their fate bound by fire and blood.
The sky above was not blue, nor gold, nor grey, it was pure white. Endless, serene, and glowing like woven silk in the sunlight. Leesa floated within it, unburdened by gravity or pain. The air here was soft and cool, as though she breathed the very essence of morning. Her wounds, her blood, her exhaustion, none of them followed her here.
She walked, or at least, moved, her feet barely skimming a floor that did not exist. All around her, the clouds curled like smoke upon a still lake, and a strange tranquillity rested on her shoulders like a familiar shawl. There was something hauntingly known about this place.
Then, she saw it. A grand, marble passage emerged ahead, gleaming and curved like the neck of a swan, leading to a platform where a strange, empty sofa sat. She halted, the silence deafening.
Her eyes narrowed. "…I know this place."
She turned around slowly, peering behind the thick mist of clouds, hoping or perhaps dreading to find another soul. But there was nothing. No footsteps, no breeze. Only the silence. And then she raised her voice. "Where are you, you workshy god?"
The air shimmered. Above her, bubbles began to appear, floating gently toward one another, each bursting and merging in a delicate dance until they formed a towering figure, at least eight feet high. His robe was simple and white, though his entire form shone with such intensity that Leesa had to shield her eyes. The light pulsed like a thousand torches bound together, brighter than any mortal flame. She squinted at him, unimpressed.
The god's voice was mirthful, as radiant as his glow. "You called, my little entertainment?" He smiled down at her, if it could be called a smile, with the amusement of a playwright watching his favourite drama unfold.
It took her several moments, minutes perhaps, before her eyes could adjust to the overwhelming brilliance. Slowly, Leesa blinked, then frowned as her vision cleared.
"You're seriously too shiny for your own good," she muttered, shielding her face with one hand.
The towering figure beamed even brighter, as though flattery, however reluctant, fuelled his glow. "Well, what can I say?" he replied, spreading his arms wide. "My aura is delightful. Yes, I know."
Leesa rolled her eyes, the biting edge of exhaustion still laced in her voice. "Great. You're still insufferable."
The god twirled lightly in the air, utterly unbothered. "And yet you still come to visit."
"I don't visit," she snapped. "I wake up here every time I'm dead. So, tell me, why am I here again?" Her tone sharpened, the haze of awe wearing thin beneath the weight of reality. "Am I dead?"