Coughing, sputtering, vomiting up water, Jamil dragged himself out of the surf. He couldn’t remember when he had come back, when the Curse had relinquished its hold. He’d just…come to, wildly splashing through a wave as he struggled to reach the shore. It hurt to move, hurt to think, the wound in his side throbbing relentlessly. His face ached.

Visions of the destruction of Bilal’s ship rushed to the forefront of his mind, forcing a strangled scream from him. Vendic had corrupted him, taken control of his Curse and forced him to kill innocent people. Horrified tears ran down his torn cheeks, stinging the gashes in his skin, and he screamed. Pounding his fists into the sand, he screamed. All he could see was death. Hunched on his hands and knees, Jamil vomited until nothing remained inside him.

If the corruption lingered, if it was even something one was capable of being freed from, he did not know. He couldn’t feel it squirming, couldn’t hear Vendic’s terrible voice in his ear. Had Kit burned it all off after all? Had it let him go?

Kit. Jamil’s heart skipped a beat as the last image of them came to mind: Kit, frozen in midair at the moment the ship had split, their shining hands outstretched and their eyes both determined and afraid. They had said something the moment before, something that had forced back the corruption and allowed Jamil to return to the front. What had it been? He wracked his brain but could not remember, could only see Kit’s lips silently forming the word.

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“H-have to find Kit…” He groaned and slowly stood, shaking from blood loss and cold. Looking around the beach, Jamil almost vomited again when he realized he was surrounded by the wreckage of Bilal’s ship. Guilt filled him like hot acid as he limped around, looking for any signs of life. There were none. Broken wood and pieces of wing-sails and shreds of metal from the turbines littered the sand, along with enough bodies and body parts to nauseate him all over again. He doubled over, retching.

“A-at least none of them’s Kit…” He panted and wiped his mouth, looking around once more. His eyes fell on something green and his breath caught. “Arte?” It had to be. Stumbling on rubbery legs, Jamil walked toward the prone figure. Kneeling down, he turned the body over to see it was, in fact, Arte. She was unconscious and badly injured, her left arm stuck at an unnatural angle, but at least she was alive. Letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Jamil sat back in the sand.

“Here’s Arte…so where’s Kit?” He muttered out loud, relieved to have found one friend but desperate to find the other. As if on cue he felt the invisible cord tugging and he stood, looking in the direction it pulled.

“Kit?” Jamil took a few steps but something very strange suddenly happened. The tugging abruptly stopped like the cord had been yanked right out of him, and when it did his consciousness snuffed out like a candle and he dropped lifelessly to the sand.

~