Desperately running, Zhao Ling Xian stumbled over a pile of twisted bodies and wrecked timber.
Even though he was surrounded by the haze of smoke and fire, he continued to run towards the inner courtyard of the manor, searching for his lover. With spiritual force swirling in his palm, he tore the manor apart. Any doors in his way were blasted open even as he leapt high over each threshold, and gripped his sword tight in his fist, scanning every corner with coal dark eyes.
Where are you?
His lungs burning for air, and his chest squeezed causing him to gasp. Even to his own ears, the sound of his own breathing was horrible like a dying animal.
Abruptly skidding to a stop, his vision blurred and he felt like his heart would shatter in his rib cage.
There!
She was lying in a courtyard white with the new snow. The peaceful scene was broken only by her ravaged body and the bloody dark hole seeping at her chest. A’Xian’s heart twisted when he saw that her clothes were torn and that she lay in a pool of red. What terrible things had been done to her?
He stumbled toward her, arms outstretched, falling to his knees next to her. Please…please no!
Trembling, A’Xian gathered her broken body in his arms. Tears spilt hot onto her blood splattered face as a sob caught in his throat.
“Oh!” he cried softly as her head lolled against his chest.
She looked so small…Like a battered bird that had had its wings smashed flat…just barely breathing.
The faint, ragged sound of her breath gurgled in lungs that were choked full of blood. The heavy, wet noise told him there was absolutely no hope, and each laboured breath stabbed through his consciousness.
No!
At that moment, eyes the colour of honeyed amber opened to gaze up at him, and the cracked lips that were flecked with blood formed into a painful smile.
“You came…” she whispered in a rasping, ruined voice that had once been soft and sweet.
She shook her head. With what strength she had left she lifted her hand to his face, smearing it with red.
“How many lives have I spent loving you? Why does it always end up like this? Why…?” she whispered. “My beloved, in the next life…let’s not meet, alright?”
Her words pierced him to the bone. Ignoring the pain radiating from his heart, he gently caressed her hair, but the small hand that was against his chin slipped limply to the side as she turned her head to stare at something in the distance.
“Oh,” she said, quietly resigned.
“No! Don’t leave me all by myself! I’m begging you. Don’t leave!” he moaned.
Her smiling lips moved without a sound, saying words that only she could hear. The light slowly drained from the tear-glazed eyes as a last ragged gasp rattled out into the silence of the snow brushed night.
For a moment there was only the soft sound of falling snow and the jarring noise of his own harsh breathing as he realized that she had left him behind.
Zhao Ling Xian screamed himself awake, and sat bolt upright in his own bed, in his own tent. Trembling with anguish, he realized that his body was soaked in sweat and his heart was still thundering in his chest.
“Your Highness?” the guard outside called out to him, clattering to attention with concern.
Zhao Ling Xian, the twenty-six year old, Seventh Prince of Tiansheng Kingdom breathed out slowly, closed his eyes and then he wiped the back of his wrist against his forehead.
“It’s nothing,” he said, sighing.
Dammit! he thought.
He had not had that dream for a very long time. The last time he had been a teenager, and the dream had haunted him for days. A girl with amber eyes…
He sighed again.
Actually, such a bloody mess of a dream wasn’t too surprising considering that he had been putting down a rebellion for the last few months. Sighing again, he leaned back. Luckily, he was alone today otherwise his reaction would have ruined his reputation as Tiansheng’s God of War.
Screaming in my own bed before battle…Haaaah, what a joke!
With that thought, he turned the sheet aside and stared dispassionately down at his own lean, muscular, battle hardened body. He would have new scars after this was done. Shaking his head with an abrupt laugh, he snorted at the whisper of his own vanity. What am I thinking?
“Quickly come in!” he shouted, and attendants rushed in. He’d probably only been asleep for a quarter of a shichen. He couldn’t even remember how many days it had been since the siege had begun.
Climbing out off the cot, he dressed hastily and put his arms out to allow his men to strap armour onto his body. His personal guards worked dutifully and swiftly, helping him adjust a snarling dragon epaulet, and finally tightening the strap that held it in place. Metal horns forming sharp spikes thrust proudly upward at his shoulder. One of the young guards held out his red tasseled helmet and the Prince jammed it down on his head.
“What’s the situation outside, Lao Bai?” he asked calmly, turning.
Bai Zhi Yi, a general of the An Xi Army, pushed aside the tent flap to enter. The Seventh Prince glanced at him as the old man’s raspy laugh sounded without humour.
“Everything is already well prepared, Your Highness. We are awaiting your command.”
“Very good!” he said, checking a vambrace and flexing his fingers. Hidden just inside, the thinnest blade of metal sat against his wrist. He formed a fist, making his fingerless leather glove creak ominously.
Clapping Lao Bai on the shoulder, the Seventh Prince grabbed his spear and strode out of his tent into the night, grinning madly. The uneasiness caused by the dream was swept away as he turned his mind to the important task of leading his men.
Lao Bai shook his head, chuckling as he followed his wild, young Master out.
Gods, that brat loves night assaults.
Those bloody idiots in the fort didn’t stand a chance against Tiansheng’s young God of War. And even for an old fart like him, it would likely be a very entertaining evening.
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