The Dark Between Dreams | ✔️

Chapter 33 🔻 Burn Scars

I sat up, chest heaving. It took me a few blinks to comprehend where I was, but gradually I recognized the top of the ziggurat. I looked around for my friends. "Guys? Are you okay? How did we get up here?"

But no matter where I searched in the dark, I couldn't see Webb or Vale anywhere.

"The storm is only picking up," someone said.

I sprung to my feet, ready to fight at the familiar flat tone. But my spear was gone.

Nymandus Blackburne, king of After, stepped from the darkness and approached me.

"You!" I spat at him. "What are you doing here?" Where the fuck was my spear?

Blackburne paid me no mind. He didn't even bother to look in my direction. He kept his gaze fixed on the swirling sandstorm surrounding the ziggurat. "Any sign of Orville?" he asked.

"I do not hear him anywhere," said someone with an Arabic accent with a twinge of worry.

I spun to confront the other man. "Crow!" I said. I dashed for my friend, but when I reached out, my hands fell through him like I wasn't there.

I froze. This wasn't real. This was another memory. I regarded the two men at the heart of the storm. But whose memory was I witnessing?

Blackburne ran his fingers through his undone hair. It was strange to see him so disheveled. "Gott im Himmel," he muttered. "You were right, Crow. There used to be an entire civilization out here."

Crow moved his spear, a beautiful golden thing with two points at either end fringed by cross beams shaped like spread red wings, to the other arm to make room for a crow that had just escaped from the storm. He turned an ear to it, listening as it rattled. "My eyes have seen Orville!" he said to the king. "He is just on the outskirts of—"

The blind ghost fell silent. He stood where the lovers perished, as if their shadows were his own. As if he could see them, he knelt to lay a palm on the seared stone. His lip trembled. His star-filled eyes swirled like the storm surrounding them.

Both Blackburne and I moved for the smaller man when he suddenly cried out and doubled over as if in pain. Blackburne caught Crow before he could fall to the ground. "Crow?" the king said. He actually looked worried as he held his friend. "What's wrong? Another memory?"

But Crow just writhed in response. His body contorted as he let out a strangled scream. Blackburne held on to him tighter and tighter, calling out his name. Finally, the shrouded man went limp in his arms.

"Crow? Speak to me! Are you alright?"

My blood went cold as the blind man raised his spear and pointed it at the king's throat. When he spoke, his words dripped with venom. "Unhand me, monster."

Blackburne released Crow and backed away from him, palms raised. His throat bobbed. "What are you doing? It's me, Crow!"

Crow's eyes burned scorching red. His expression contorted with manic rage. The storm churned faster—louder. The winds shrieked like a thousand angry ghosts. He pointed his winged spear at the frightened king and said, "I know."

He stepped toward the king. Blackburne took a step back.

"Did you have another memory? What happened?" Blackburne asked. When his friend raised his spear, he pleaded, "Crow! Talk to me! What are you doing?"

The blind man snarled. Whips of wind struck the king, forcing him to raise his arms to protect himself. Fear glistened in the whites of his eyes when he peeked over his arms at his crazed friend. He was cornered with nowhere to run. Another step backward and he would fall into the pit.