"MOVE!" I bellowed into the crowd as I ran, my voice sounding inhuman. I didn't bother to keep the demon caged tonight. In fact, I practically threw open the door to her cage and escorted her out. The dark ink spread through my veins again, the skin around my eyes turning obsidian. Shadows curled around my clenched fists, vipers ready to strike. People froze as they saw my face as if they were unsure of what to make of me.

I didn't care. There were too many people around me, all getting in my way.

Not Yared. Please not Yared. How could I be so fucking stupid?

No matter how fast I ran, it didn't seem fast enough. My brain shut down. All logical thought was replaced by the all-consuming need to get to him. To protect him. The cold didn't matter. The ice crystals forming in my hair didn't matter. The skirts bunching around my legs were nothing more than a nuisance. None of it mattered. I just had to find him.

So I could eviscerate this Chosen bastard. I would skin him alive. I would rip his throat out with my bare hands. He would know the pain of a thousand deaths before I was finished.

But Yared came first.

Councilman Terris called to me as I sprinted by. I was only half-aware of shoving him out of my way as I vaulted into Dusk's saddle with half a thought. With a turn of the reins, we were off. The sound of Dusk's hooves on the cobblestones were loud as we got further from din of the festival.

Even in this desperate rush I refused to pray. The Gods had never bothered to answer me. Why would they start now?

The door to the workhouse was locked when I arrived. Taking several steps backward, I threw myself into it. It held firm. I paused as I rubbed my bruised shoulder, taking a moment to actually think. I then summoned a shadow, forced it into the lock, and shattered it from the inside out.

Everything was dark in the workshop. That is, everywhere except Yared's office. A small sob escaped my lips as I saw the silhouette of a figure sitting in the chair. I sprinted for it, my shadows flowing around me like wings. My breath came in sharp gasps, my lungs burning with every step. Stone would have hollered at me for not stopping to check my surrounds. I didn't know who else was in this warehouse. This could be anything. A trap? An ambush? Both?

I could only hope so.

Let them come, I thought as I threw Yared's door open, the glass shattering as it collided with the opposing wall.

He was bloody, and his head was slumped forward. His arms and chest were bound with twine, cutting into his skin. Blood dripped from methodical cuts on his face. His leg was bent at an unnatural angle, dangling off the chair.

A growl escaped my lips as I saw the knife buried in his abdomen, it's serrated edge gleaming.

Numbness spread through me as I reach lift his face toward me, my hands as gentle as I could manage. I braced myself for the sight of his clouded eyes and the stiffness of rigor mortis. The stiffness of the newly dead.

A low moan escaped his lips.

"Yared!" I murmured in a half-sob. His eyes guttered for moment, focusing on me. Both my hands cupped his face now as I tried to awaken him. One eye was swollen shut, but the other eventually opened.

"Little...One...run...Gears...Gears..." he whispered in a barely audible croak. Before I could respond, he fell into unconsciousness again. I tried to rouse him, but he didn't move. I tried to calm myself, realizing Yared didn't need a bounty hunter right now.

He needed a healer.

Through the seething rage, I reached for that distant past self. The one I had left behind on the day Fayra died. It had been years, but somehow it came to me. Slowly, but it did come. It was like reading an old favorite book. At first I couldn't remember the story, but it wasn't long until I found myself citing it word for word. Panic wouldn't help him now. Neither would rage. The shadows faded, flowing down my limbs like water, and dripping back into the dark corners of the room.

Pulling in a deep breath, I settled into an absolute calm. My mind sharpened, and I distanced myself from the situation. This wasn't Yared. He was a patient. I looked around, assessing what tools I had. Several knives and tools were on the desk, and a small wash basin was in the corner. There was a bottle of whiskey on a shelf sitting on the back of his desk as well. After a quick run to the back room, where they constructed armor, I found a needle and thread.

I cut Yared's bonds and laid him flat on the floor. Using the whiskey to sanitize my hands, I soaked several rags in the alcohol to ready for my procedure. It was pointless to pull the knife out. It would only accelerate his bleeding. He would need me to stitch him together from the inside and out. I needed make sure I was as clean as possible before I touched his wound. Infection wouldn't be far behind if I wasn't careful. Even if I was careful, it might come all the same. And, as I found out with my mother, death by infection was a slow and horrible end.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

After preparing my tools, my hands began their work.

"Don't worry," I murmured to Yared's unconscious form, "He didn't hit anything vital. You're going to be okay."

Time faded as I focused on my task. My surrounds did as well. It was like we were in our own realm of life and death, and I was Yared's only shield. I continued to murmur to him as I worked. About his wound. About what he needed to do to care for it after. About anything at all. I had always done that as I performed small surgeries as an apprentice physician. I found that it kept my focus sharp on what I was doing.

A footstep echoed behind me as I finished the last stitch, blood pooling around me.

"I'm afraid you've wasted your time, My Lady Chosen ," came a familiar voice. My hands were still busy finishing their work, but I whirled around just in time to see a hand fly toward my neck, another going to Yared.

I heard a low laugh as I felt the pull of Mark Magic, the same radiant blue glow lighting up an indistinct face under a hooded cloak.

"Everything is working out perfectly," said the Chosen.

And then the material plane fell away.

*******

I felt the air shift to the utter stillness of the Purgatory realm. I turned about, summoning my shadows immediately. Bookshelves were everywhere again, the same eerie sky open above. As before, the cloaked figure was nowhere to be seen.

Miserable coward.

I growled, sending my shadows out like hunting dogs to track him down. He wasn't getting Yared. I wouldn't allow it. I would send him to the abyss before I let that happen. Even as I kept scanning, I saw a book pull free from a shelf, before flying behind another floating bookcase. I lost track of it after that.

"Little one."

I whipped around to see Yared standing behind me. He looked extremely fatigued, but otherwise whole. He even seemed younger. He looked like the man in his prime from the photo with his family. My heart leapt, happy to see him whole despite his physical torture. I reached him in a few steps, pulling him into a hug. He returned it for a moment before pushing me back, his face concerned.

"No, listen to me. You need to go to--"

He was cut off as his face twisted in agony, going to his knees. The tearing of paper was the only sound as Yared's form rippled. A piece of golden light tore from him as he screamed, his arms wrapping around his chest.

The light turned into the image of a baby in a young Yared's arms, his face all joy.

And then it exploded into a shower of sparks.

They had only started to dispense as Yared screamed again, another piece of light tearing from him.

"I'll have you know," came the chosen's voice from the shelves, "You could have prevented this, My Lady."

Another tear. Another agonized scream.

I tried to stop time, but it wasn't working in this realm for some reason. I only had my shadows.

"How many more will you send to the gallows?"

I knelt and folded my arms around Yared's shaking form, redoubling my shadow's efforts.

"This is coming from the little bitch who's too scared to face me head-on!" I growled, trying to sooth Yared. I squeezed my eyes shut. My shadows kept searching, bouncing from shelf to shelf. I knew he would be hiding nearby, wanting to witness our pain.

"I have no fear of you," came a reply, though I heard an edge to his voice now, "I simply have grown tired of waiting for you to find me."

Yared's soul ripped again, and his entire form spasmed under my arms, his back bowing under the pain.

"You're scared shitless of me," I countered as my shadows continued their search.

There! They sensed a blur of motion on my left.

I redirected all of them to box him in. Yared screamed yet again, and I fought to stay calm.

"I almost killed you last time, and you know I would succeed this time if the terms were equal. You're not a real Chosen," I called to the shelves squeezing my arms tighter around Yared as if I could hold him together by sheer will.

"Oh? And what am I then? Do tell," said the Chosen, his voice very close.

Yet another section pulled free from Yared's soul. A huge section this time. The Chosen must have torn out several pages from his book.

Keeping my eyes closed, I could see through my shadows. They bent and flowed through the shelves until I finally, finally saw him. He sat like a gargoyle on the highest level of floating bookcases, looking down on us, his hands gripping Yared's book tightly.

"You," I said in a deadly quiet, "Are pathetic."

My shadows struck. I carefully avoided damaging Yared's book any further. I aimed for the head, wanting to incapacitate him quickly.

But, as before, the hood spun toward my shadows. He bent away from the strike, but not before a shard of shadow impaled his arm.

My mind. He had read my mind.

Another blur of motion, and I lost track of him again.

Yared's yell reached a new tenor as his soul fragmented, another section flaking away.

"Stop this. Come out and face me, or I swear I'll make you regret having a soul," I said in a deadly quiet, though it echoed everywhere. My shadows continued their desperate search for him again. All the while, I folded my body over Yared, murmuring over and over to him.

"I'm here...I'm with you..."

"You know what? You're right," came the voice again, though it soundly oddly emotionless.

"It's time to bring this to an end. He's suffered enough."

And before I could say or do anything, I heard the unmistakable sound of a book being torn in half.

Yared went rigid under my arms, his head lifting to meet my eyes.

"This isn't your faul--"

His voice was cut off as his soul shattered beneath my hands.

The fragments floated and drifted apart, image after image showing themselves in golden light.

And then, one by one, they disappeared.