Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Jasher approached my side, regret etched into every line of his face. “Ahav wanted you to know,” he began softly. “The ring is his emblem, and with it, you will never be without his protection.”
Not good enough. “I was supposed to save him.” My hands trembled as I slid the ring over my finger. “I failed.” Failed him, failed the kingdom itself. Failed my mother. My sister. Everyone.
“You didn’t. You gave him what he’s wanted for you all along. A future without the monstra,” he said fiercely. “I will help give that to you, Moriah.”
“We’ll see,” I said. Though I admit, I was glad I hadn’t harmed him, even in my rage. But trust him? No.
A little prickle against my nape. Hmm. What was that?
The prickle continued, growing stronger. I frowned and straightened. Jasher must have sensed it, too. He reacted in the same manner. We looked around and pressed back to back, preparing for another fight.
No monstra in sight. No Malkom or Sin, either. Hmm. What—
The air split, a shaft of inky darkness cleaving the battlefield in two. A jagged seam ripped open reality itself, a massive shadow hand reaching through to snatch Jasher.
He flew backward.
“No!” I reached for him as a second shadowy hand shot out, grabbing me. The world folded inward, color draining until darkness swallowed me whole…
A shrill alarm dragged me screaming back into existence. My eyes flew open, and I frowned. White. Too white.
The ceiling glared down at me, lights buzzing, flickering, stuttering. The air reeked of antiseptic and metal, sharp enough to burn my lungs. A monitor beeped beside me—fast, frantic, wrong.
I tried to move, but leather bit into my wrists. Shackles and a wrist tag with the number 1000 stitched in green thread. Panic detonated in my chest, and I thrashed. The weight of my water wings, the echo of power along my spine—gone. I wore only a paper gown, thin as a lie, my skin exposed, stripped, and cold.
“Jasher?” My voice cracked, echoing off sterile walls. “Jasher!”
No answer, only the alarm. The hiss of oxygen. The click of machinery waking up.
Through a narrow window in the door, shadowed faces observed. One scribbled notes. Another tilted his head, curious rather than concerned, as if I were a puzzle instead of a person.
A button was pressed, and a voice spilled from a hidden speaker, flat and detached.
“Spark 1000 is conscious. Begin containment protocol.”
My body seized. Where was I? What was this place? “Jasher?” I must go back.
The restraints tightened. Red lights flooded the room, pulsing like a warning heartbeat. Somewhere deep in the facility, metal doors slammed shut one after another, sealing me in.
I struggled, tears burning hot and useless. “Please,” I begged anyone, everyone. “I was almost—”
A hiss. Cold slid into my veins. My vision blurred, edges darkening, the world fading like a painted backdrop being yanked away.
A whisper brushed my ear. Soft. Familiar. Impossible. “Moriah.”
Jasher’s voice. Not panicked or distant, but certain. Like a promise.
Then the curtain fell. And the world went dark again.