Going to hold off posting the next chapter till the maintenance is finished, so here is a snipbit in the meantime! (Still haven’t done the final edit for this section yet)
The next time she blinked, she looked up at the looming moons overhead, seeing Amaltheia full as a plum. She didn’t remember anything besides the moon’s name, her words within her plane of the cosmos, the soft hum of what sounded like a lullaby.
Everything else was foreign.
Surprised, she sat up, looking down at her hands in confusion. One of them didn’t look quite right, especially stained with something red. In fact, it coated her, as well as the world around her. It smelled robust, yet sweet, just like the vineyards in—
She winced, and the memory faded. In its place, a sudden swell of panic she didn’t understand washed through her, and her eyes darted around, until they landed on someone else coated in this substance.
A low, rumbling growl disrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see the oddest thing. There was little else she had as a point of reference besides her own body, but it looked vastly different to her, and not nearly as pleasant on the eyes. No—in fact, it was the opposite in every way, and it smelled foul when its mouth opened, like rot and decay.
Swiftly, she stood and lifted her mangled hand—the one that also smelled of rot.
The odd thing crumbled to the ground, silenced by the hole carved through its chest, the flesh rendered to nothing by the sharp gust of cold wind. She winced when her arm grew stiff, but she paid it no mind as she turned to look at the thing making noise beside her.
Was this the knight the gods spoke of?
Instinctually, she knelt to her knees beside him and rested her unblemished hand to his cheek. His skin was clammy, and he shuddered in his sleep. Something was wrong. She could sense it, each injury littering his body—how did she know that?—and immediately knew what to do—how?
Suddenly, blue light blossomed from her palms, spilling like strands of silk. A noise of surprise escaped her when the wounds littering him began to seal, threading his skin like how she’d embroidered as a girl—
A sharp pain bloomed behind her eyes once more, so she shook away the thought quickly, instead focusing on her task—whatever that may be. But this felt right, so she sat quietly as threads of blue light danced over the knight.
She wasn’t sure what to do when he made a small noise and his lashes fluttered, so she didn’t move as she watched his dark eyes open.
His voice was hoarse, as if he’d swallowed stones. “Am I dead?”
She shook her head, then blinked down towards him. “Am I dead?”
His dazed stare met hers. “Yes,” he croaked.
“Oh,” she murmured, contemplative. “What does it mean to be dead?”
The knight blinked up at her in confusion, and it wasn’t long until his eyes widened. He nearly knocked his head against hers when he sat up with a sudden gasp and reached for her. “Wait, how are you alive—!”
The second his hands touched her, he froze. Somehow, he grew impossibly paler under the moonlight, and she watched curiously as his eyes glimmered. Droplets spilled down his cheeks, like little stars. It looked pretty, but it hurt her quiet heart.
“Is the lich still in your head?”
She fidgeted, unsure of what she was supposed to say. She didn’t know—she didn’t know anything. Why couldn’t she remember? There were too many questions.
Finally she picked the two most important ones. “Do you know me? Did I know you?”
Before she could react, the knight pulled her into his arms, and a noise of surprise escaped her. Oddly, she found it comforting, so she engulfed him by returning the embrace. Only then did she realize how fiercely he was trembling, like a weak lamb in her arms.
“I will protect you,” the knight vowed, holding her undead body close.
And with that, she knew he loved her dearly.
Between the passing fields and rotting homes, he kept her safe from the war he spoke of. He taught her how to hunt when it became clear she needed a ‘fresh source’ as he’d called it to survive. Catching rabbits and the occasional deer was easy enough with her magic, but he still taught her the traditional way. The concept of a bow and arrow had been another oddity, just like the bugs that sang at night or the war that left the fields smelling foul and rotten.
They didn’t speak of her past. Every time they tried, her mind would become clouded with pain, and, after she’d explained it, he decided that the dark magic that affected her was the likely culprit. He diswayed much discussion about it, considering her adverse reaction. He was kind enough to explain why she was reacting to her old memories. There was a barrier in her mind, and it seemed to be the only thing keeping the lich from stealing her autonomy. She was fine with her questions going unanswered if she could avoid that. Besides, the other presence in her mind was much gentler, though she hadn’t made mention of it to the knight.
She knew little of their shared past, but she had learned his given name. The pain returned when she said it.
She called him Kas instead.
It was winter when Kas left for the west coast, something he’d explained with nervousness—securing weapons or something to that effect. He had to follow the pretty prince he was always doting on, and it was clear he was worried about leaving her alone. But she didn’t miss it—the way excitement tugged at his lips as he spoke of going with the prince.
“Do you love him?” She asked, sitting near a small fire in the crumbling hearth of a tower. He’d brought her here on his latest scouting mission, and ordered his subordinates to scout further towards the south. She could smell blood in the tower. It had long since been washed away, but it leached into the very stone around them.
One such stain smelled like the prince.
“I do,” Kas admitted with a laugh, bright and carefree as a soaring bird. “I sometimes still can’t believe it. When we first met, I was a bold peasant orphan that planned to steal from the prince. Now I’m his paramour,” he mused, tapping his fingers rhythmically over the stone floor. When the drumming came to an abrupt halt, his tone was grave. “If I get assassinated, go to the young lord Henderson.”
It was not the first time he’d said such. “Who wished to kill you?”
Kas smirked, though it lacked any amusement. “A lordling.”
Ah, it was someone she once knew then. He only avoided names that could bring her pain.
