The Forsaken
He tried to attack. He struck out with arrows of celestial light, but they missed the dragon. He saw Cordelia’s body, clamped and screaming in the dragon’s claws. Images of Weaver flashed in his mind, memories of Nate’s dragon claws digging in to his hide, and he screamed.
But then, there was darkness.
Had Noah been another man — perhaps the attuned he once was — he would’ve been dead.
But he was Vi’s, and no ice claimed his heart. Yet he still lay still, unconscious, in the shadow of the Greenwing’s trees.
Noah jolted awake, the biting cold seeping through his battered body. His breath came in shallow, icy puffs, the arctic forest of the Greenwing surrounding him in an eerie stillness. Snow drifted lightly from the darkened sky above, landing softly on the tattered remnants of his cloak. His head throbbed as fragments of memory surged—the beat of dragon wings, Cordelia’s voice, and then… darkness.
His chest tightened as he sat up too fast, a sharp pain lancing through his ribs. He pressed a trembling hand to his side, finding a raw, open wound from the impact of the dragon’s tail against his ribs. Panic clawed at him as his eyes darted around the desolate clearing, searching for any sign of her.
“Cordelia!” he called, his voice breaking against the emptiness. Pain surged through his body and he doubled over again in the snow. The snow swallowed his words, leaving only silence. His heart thundered as he scrambled to his feet, each movement a fresh wave of agony. Tracks crisscrossed the snow, but hers—hers weren’t among them. He staggered forward, calling her name again, desperation fueling his every step. He couldn’t even think of healing himself. All he could think of was finding her, saving her, killing the dragon.
”DELIA! He called—but it was cut short with a cough, of blood dripping from his mouth, and of him falling and smashing his face into the dark, cold dirt and snow.
A broken sob escaped him, his anguish rising into the indifferent arctic sky. He screamed. Birds retreated from their roosts, hares and small game fleeing from their covers. Then everything again went still and silent.
And he teleported.
He appeared outside the lodge, holding himself as he swayed on his knees. Vi’dore was there immediately, horn sinking down to heal. The demigod clung to the unicorn’s head, each eave of healing bringing a new hell to his mind.
Noah stood in the quiet stillness of the lodge, every corner steeped in her absence. The world felt heavier, quieter—like it too mourned her loss. He ran his fingers over the back of the chair where she used to sit, her laughter once filling the space like sunlight. Now, it was just him and the silence, an unbearable reminder that Cordelia was gone. His children were in their beds, and he couldn’t bring himself to wake them — not yet.
His chest ached, a deep, unrelenting throb that no amount of tears could ease. She had been his compass, his anchor. The half of his soul he could never imagine living without. Yet, here he stood, shattered and lost — alone.
Tears stung his eyes and threatened to spill over his eyelashes onto the back of her chair. Vi, he prayed silently, help me.
But then, there was darkness.
Had Noah been another man — perhaps the attuned he once was — he would’ve been dead.
But he was Vi’s, and no ice claimed his heart. Yet he still lay still, unconscious, in the shadow of the Greenwing’s trees.
Noah jolted awake, the biting cold seeping through his battered body. His breath came in shallow, icy puffs, the arctic forest of the Greenwing surrounding him in an eerie stillness. Snow drifted lightly from the darkened sky above, landing softly on the tattered remnants of his cloak. His head throbbed as fragments of memory surged—the beat of dragon wings, Cordelia’s voice, and then… darkness.
His chest tightened as he sat up too fast, a sharp pain lancing through his ribs. He pressed a trembling hand to his side, finding a raw, open wound from the impact of the dragon’s tail against his ribs. Panic clawed at him as his eyes darted around the desolate clearing, searching for any sign of her.
“Cordelia!” he called, his voice breaking against the emptiness. Pain surged through his body and he doubled over again in the snow. The snow swallowed his words, leaving only silence. His heart thundered as he scrambled to his feet, each movement a fresh wave of agony. Tracks crisscrossed the snow, but hers—hers weren’t among them. He staggered forward, calling her name again, desperation fueling his every step. He couldn’t even think of healing himself. All he could think of was finding her, saving her, killing the dragon.
”DELIA! He called—but it was cut short with a cough, of blood dripping from his mouth, and of him falling and smashing his face into the dark, cold dirt and snow.
A broken sob escaped him, his anguish rising into the indifferent arctic sky. He screamed. Birds retreated from their roosts, hares and small game fleeing from their covers. Then everything again went still and silent.
And he teleported.
He appeared outside the lodge, holding himself as he swayed on his knees. Vi’dore was there immediately, horn sinking down to heal. The demigod clung to the unicorn’s head, each eave of healing bringing a new hell to his mind.
Noah stood in the quiet stillness of the lodge, every corner steeped in her absence. The world felt heavier, quieter—like it too mourned her loss. He ran his fingers over the back of the chair where she used to sit, her laughter once filling the space like sunlight. Now, it was just him and the silence, an unbearable reminder that Cordelia was gone. His children were in their beds, and he couldn’t bring himself to wake them — not yet.
His chest ached, a deep, unrelenting throb that no amount of tears could ease. She had been his compass, his anchor. The half of his soul he could never imagine living without. Yet, here he stood, shattered and lost — alone.
Tears stung his eyes and threatened to spill over his eyelashes onto the back of her chair. Vi, he prayed silently, help me.
i'd fashioned my own cross
been crushed by its weight
there's no stronger message
than dirt in your face
been crushed by its weight
there's no stronger message
than dirt in your face
