Chapter 41: The Path of the Mage XIV
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By the time he returned, the mist had thickened and the night air bit with cold. He stoked the embers with a few dry sticks until the fire was steady again.
Fizz yawned. "Wake me if another ugly thing tries to eat you. I am too beautiful for back to back heroism. I need my beauty sleep."
John spread his damp cloak near the fire to dry (it became wet when he rolled on the ground) and finally lay back on the bedroll, staring up through the branches. The stars blinked faintly through the shifting mist, and his eyes grew heavy.
Exhaustion tugged at his body, but his mind stayed alert. He thought about the battle, about the revolver, about Fizz’s words and his own mistakes. He needed to be sharper, stronger, smarter. If he was going to survive and unlock the black hole core within him, there could be no more hesitation, no more forgetting.
In the far distance, a single wolf-like howl echoed through the valley. Not the Nightscale Howler, they had killed that one. It was something else. Something answering the scent of blood and the echo of gunfire.
John’s eyes slid closed, his hand still resting on the warm grip of the revolver. The night was not safe. It never would be. But for now, he needed some rest.
A few hours later...
The first light of dawn had not yet touched the forest when John’s eyes opened.
The fire was nothing but a bed of gray ash and faint orange coals. Mist still clung to the ground, curling around the rocks and trees like restless spirits. Fizz was snoring softly on his chest, tiny wings twitching, his mouth open wide enough to show off the upper two small sharp teeth.