Ghet dropped back into her body, and was immediately conscious of pain, so much pain, and she was so tired. Exhausted, mind, body, and soul. She had given everything she was, pushed too hard. There was barely any flame left now, just a few flickering embers, slowly dying.
She had to hold on, just a little longer. There was something... a strong feeling of triumph, slipping away. There was something she had to remember...
She looked up and saw Ro's eyes. Open. Panic filled her, giving her enough strength to hold on. She turned to Callan, urgency in her too-pale face. "Turn it! Let him out before he suffocates. Quickly!"
Ghet's words never penetrated Callan's mind. His topaz eyes were riveted on Y'Roden's now-open emerald greens, and the Emperor was kneeling in his past, his memories overwhelming the present. Blood had been spilled and exchanged, promises made, and his House. His military, his support... and his life... forever promised to Y'Roden, and Y'Roden's to him. Flames raced beneath his skin, in his blood, through his veins. Acid heat burned at his right wrist, and the Black D'Riel dragon began a slow, sluggish writhe as life returned to the dead mark. Around him, like a low rush of wind, the unheard multitude began whispering once more like the distant sounds of people talking, their words carried on the breeze, almost understood, but not quite.
Without thought, Callan's wrist twisted, the emerald smoothly turning the lock with ease while these memories welled up in his soul like satin liquid and sank back beneath the surface of his mind. A mere breath of a moment had been the length of time that had passed, no more, and as the emerald's rotation came to a natural stop, Callan's head tilted, his eyes still on Y'Roden, and his fingers jerked the emerald free. One step to the side was all he took, and held the emerald eye level with Y'Roden.
"Don't make me come in there and get your sorry ass."
B’Rodyn’s arm hooked around Ghet’s waist and he tugged her back and to the side, clear of the casket lid’s path. A single thread of pure emerald had cast out from the coffin, latching onto the Web and reconnecting with a sound akin to a tuning fork. He sensed An’Thaya moving behind them, pushing away from the wall and taking a step forward.
Y’Roden’s hands jammed into the thick crystal lid, his head spinning from lack of oxygen, pain lancing through his upper chest. He slammed the heels of his palms into it again, the seal cracking with a loud snap. Grim determination twisted his features, and he glared at Callan, only half understanding what the Emperor had said… but given the source, assuming the worst.
Palms and one booted foot rammed forwards and the top shot off as if it were made of paper, not the heavy thick stone that it was. Tay leapt aside just as it smashed into the wall she had been standing in front of, backing up an extra step as it came crashing down onto the floor. Tager’s sword clanged after it, accidentally expelled when Ro had kicked forwards.
A slow, rattling breath was all he managed for a moment, then the half-elf was pushing at the sides of the casket, the slight tilt all that prevented him from simply falling to the stones.
Ghet leaned heavily on B'Rodyn, her whole slight weight falling against his chest. She'd fought her battle, and now it was over. She could rest. She watched the lid come off the casket, smiling, knowing it was done. Her gaze lost focus as her eyes rolled back in her head, the demands of her worn body and wasted soul too strong to fight any longer. One single whispered word was all she could manage, and it seemed important, somehow. "Verno." And then she was gone, falling into welcome darkness. So quiet, so peaceful. She just... needed to rest.
"Here old buddy," Callan's voice might sound sympathetic to most, but to those who knew him, there was an edge to it, a subtle undercurrent of seething malice masked beneath the true concern for his friend, "let me help you out of there." The emerald was discretely shifted to his left hand, and his right curled into a fist before slamming into Y'Roden's jaw with a sound crunch.
"I'll finish kicking your ass all over Nenlante later," The Emperor's voice was low, choked with emotions that ranged from wild Rage to utter relief as his arm snaked around the reeling half-elf's ribs and under his arms for support, "That's the least of what I'm going to do to you when you get your bearings back." Callan swallowed hard and put all the strength he had into supporting Y'Roden, which even required a shifting of body mass to increase his weight and stability under Y'Roden's heavier build, "I'll even save the bitching for later, just...come on, let's get you out of here." True sympathy began to seep into his words, Tay was going to kill him later, and he'd take the beating and like it. Probably ask for another, actually.
"Watch that first step there," Callan's arm tightened, "being dead sorta makes you stiff, in a bad way, I hear."
“What,” Y’Roden gasped, “what the hell is going on?” He gave Callan a dry look, “I’d say I missed you too… but I’ve only been in here a second or two. No? More?” Half blind he stared at Ghet, then over at B’Rodyn. “You Bastard,” he hissed, “you promised. Ghet? What the hells is wrong with her?”
With the Dragon’s assistance he managed to win free of the casket, then wrenched away, stumbling the short distance to B’Rodyn. “Ghet?” He reached for her, fell, and brought all three of them down by sheer weight. “Dammit… B’Rodyn, why… why would you let her do this? Oh gods… she needs help.”
“Because she needed to, she said you needed her too,” the S’Hean King said implacably. “What do you mean she needs help? She looks exhausted, that’s all. She asked for her husband, then passed out.”
“Of course she did,” Ro laughed slightly hysterically, his fingers brushing the golden rose tattoo over Ghet’s heart. “What… what did she say… what could she possibly have said to bring me back?” None of it made sense, but then, it hadn’t the last time either. “Never mind… it’s not important.” Cupping the redhead’s face, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Take her to Galain, I can’t.”
Something in the back of Ro’s mind rebelled as the words left his mouth. It seemed horribly wrong… something was very wrong. For a moment his hands tightened on Ghet, as if subconsciously, he was refusing to let her go. With a massive amount of effort, he made his fingers release her, one by one, “He’ll know what to do.” What was he saying? He knew what to do himself, all they needed was Mira and everything would be all right. Ghet just needed to stay, and everything would be all right.
Frustration reared up and Ro growled, channelling it into a balled up fist that caught B’Rodyn in the jaw with a sharp crack. There was a great deal of dissatisfaction in knowing that the other Elf wouldn’t feel the pain.
B’Rodyn worked his jaw and stared at his Cousin for a moment. “I’ll take her, but I’ll need the coordinates.”
A shadow fell over them both as Tay moved close to Callan, Tager’s sword in her hands. Quite innocently, she set it down… point first, on his foot, and not gently. “I can give them to you, Ro isn’t in any shape to do it.”
“Right… fine,” the half-elf muttered, tearing himself away from the redhead, “and then you can send me to Silver Dragon Ridge. I can’t be here… I can’t be in Nenlante, not now.” There seemed to be some deeper reason he needed to go to the D’Riel family retreat, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He scrubbed at short-cropped chestnut hair and dropped his head to his knees… he needed time… he needed to be able to think straight.
He needed a drink.
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