Not Dead Yet

There was a slow pulse of fading warmth in my chest, an echo of voices I couldn't reach, and a dull weight of memory pressing me under like deep water.

I drifted in that silence for what could've been hours, or probably days, or maybe longer. I am not entirely sure.

My skin felt tight, stretched too thin over the bones beneath it. Everything ached, from the soles of my feet to the joints of my fingers, like I'd been dragged across stone and fire and left to set in place.

I shifted. And a thousand aches screamed at once.

My ribs tightened. My shoulder lit with fire. Even my breath caught—short and shallow, like my lungs didn't trust the air around me.

I knew I had heard it before I was trapped in this unending darkness.

Lightning—raw and violent—splitting stone. Magic, unbridled, screaming through the air where we stood. A storm not of weather, but of will. A force so wild, so familiar, it seared across the ragged edge of my fading awareness.