Nightblade (Darkest night)

Morgan snapped awake, his back arching off the bed as a ragged gasp escaped from his throat.

The pain was blinding.

​His eyes flew open, his left hand violently clutching the coarse wool blanket draped over his chest.

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, his vision swimming with disorienting streaks of gold and deep purple shadow before slowly, painfully settling into focus.

​He was no longer on the mountain edge. He wasn't in the abyss. And most of all he wasn't witnessing a clash between two infinitely stronger beings.

"Breathe...breathe..." he thought, then almost immediately grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Pain is good. Pain means I'm still alive."

He let out a shaky breath.

"I survived..."

He'd survived the harrowing encounter with Nythrakar, he'd broken a perilous cycle that had existed for thousands of years.

And while he hadn't come out of the ordeal unscathed, he was definitely alive which not many, scratch that, none of his predecessors could boast about.

"Well, atleast that counts for something...."

He tentatively shifted his weight, his gaze sweeping across the room.

​He was lying in a small, low-ceilinged room built from rough hewn pine logs and dried mud.

The air smelled thick with the pungent scent of crushed bitter-herbs, damp leather, and fresh blood.

A single iron crystal lantern flickered on a low wooden table beside the bed, casting long, dancing shadows across the exposed rafters above.

His chest was wrapped tightly in thick linen bandages that bound his ribs like an iron corset.

His right leg was completely immobilized, encased in wooden splints and bound with heavy leather straps that throbbed with every pulse of blood through it.

​At the sight of it, Morgan squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a weak, raspy groan that burned his dry throat.

"Damnation....that bloody hurts...aaarghh!"

He could feel his leg slowly recovering but still...

​"Don't move," a voice said sharply from the corner.

"Unless you want the splint to snap and drive the bone through your skin again."

​Morgan forced his eyes open again, slowly turning his head toward the sound.

​Sitting in a rough wooden chair pulled up near the foot of the bed was Raven.

"Huh, why is she... "

She looked terrible.

Her dark hair was tangled, matted with grey mountain dust and dried sweat. Her leather coat was unbuttoned, revealing a stained tunic beneath, and deep, dark circles bruised the skin under her sharp eyes.

She was holding a small, blood-stained dagger in her right hand, idly scraping a dried patch of mud off her leather boot.

​She had been sitting there for hours.

​Morgan stared at her, his throat coarse almost as though he had swallowed a handful of sand.

He tried to speak, but only a dry, pitiful cough came out.

"How embarrassing..."A voice whispered within his mind.

"Sarenus..."

​Raven didn't move from her chair, though her hand tightened slightly on the dagger's hilt. Her dark eyes swept over his bandaged chest, his bruised face, and finally locked onto his open eyes.

​"You're still here?" Morgan managed to rasp out, his voice a pathetic, gravelly whisper.

"Attaboy, there were go..."Sarenus whispered.

Morgan painstakingly resisted the overwhelming impulse to roll his eyes.

"If you have nothing useful to tell me, I'd suggest you shut it!" He whispered furiously.

Raven's jaw twitched.

"Did you say something?"

Morgan glanced up at her, his face turning pale.

"No, I just thought i remembered something! There's nothing to worry about."

The sound of Sarenus' amused laughter almost made him scowl once more.

A flash of profound relief crossed her face so quickly it was gone before Morgan could process it, instantly replaced by a sharp, venomous glare.

​"Unfortunately," Raven snapped, her tone dripping with irritation as she sheathed the dagger with a loud, metallic clack.

"Valerius refused to dump your corpse in the woods, and Angel said carrying you down the ridge while you were bleeding into your own lungs was 'impractical. So I'm stuck watching you breathe."

​Morgan's bloody, bruised lips twitched upward into a faint, miserable excuse for a smirk.

"Lucky... you."

​"Shut up," she muttered, pushing herself up from the chair with a tired sigh.

She walked over to the low table, picked up a clay cup filled with water, and brought it over to the bed.

"Drink. And don't spill it on the bandages. Angel spent two hours picking stone splinters out of your chest."

She slid a hand under his neck, lifting his head just enough for him to sip from the rim.

The cold water felt like pure heaven, washing away the metallic taste of blood clinging to his tongue.

Morgan visibly relaxed savoring the soothing sensation of the water running down his throat.

"Damn, I never knew the day would come when water tasted this good," he absent mindedly thought, while greedily gulping down every drop.

​As Raven leaned down, her eyes caught his face at close range.

​For a fraction of a second—so fast she almost convinced herself it was an illusion of the flickering lantern light—Morgan's pupils weren't brown.

They shimmered with a strange, dual ring of brilliant gold and liquid darkness before dissolving back into their normal dark color.

​Raven froze, her hand pausing under his neck.

She stared at his eyes, her brow furrowing slightly.

​"What? Like anything you see?" Morgan rasped, noticing her sudden stillness.

Raven blinked, her expression hardening as she pulled the cup away and let his head drop carefully back onto the pillow.

​"Nothing," she lied smoothly, stepping back toward her chair.

"Your eyes look like hell. Like the rest of you."

​Morgan let out a slow, shallow breath, resting his head against the coarse fabric of the pillow.

His body was a ruined temple of pain, every muscle screaming in protest, but beneath the physical agony, deep within the hidden bedrock of his inner world, the Void hummed with a quiet, rhythm.

​The golden sun and the void were calm. The liquid heat he had absorbed was silent, tucked away behind a thick, invisible lock of unfathomable darkness.

​He closed his eyes, the image of the celestial terrace still burning behind his eyelids.

The white marble.

The floating mountains.

The two Sovereigns standing at the edge of the world.

​And a single, echoing phrase that refused to leave his mind, carrying a cold, lingering weight that made his chest tighten.

​Even the Realm Between had boundaries.