Даниил Зверков – The Last Queen Of Noctyra: Awakening Of Aronella (страница 4)
Silence.
Emptiness.
Not a single heartbeat. Not a single echo of ancient blood. Not a whisper, not the slightest sign that somewhere in this world there remained even one being born of her.
Only cold.
Only wind.
Only her own heart, beating alone.
She opened her eyes.
There were no tears there. She had forgotten how to weep thousands of years ago. But for the first time in all her endless life, she felt truly alone.
Absolutely.
Hopelessly.
Alone.
The wind struck her face, cold and unfamiliar. She stood at the edge of the ruin, looking down over the wreckage of her world, and did not know what to do next.
Her body demanded strength. The hunger she had held at bay while looking over the ruins now made itself known—an aching pull beneath her ribs, weakness in her knees, the first hint of dizziness. She had not eaten for seven hundred years. Had not tasted blood for seven hundred years.
She had to move.
Had to find.
Had to survive long enough to understand.
She did not realize when she sank to the stones.
The weakness came over her all at once—not the kind she knew from battle or long travel, but something deeper, emptier, draining her down to the bone. Hunger was taking her strength faster than she could reclaim it.
She leaned back against a broken column, tried to stand, and failed. Her eyelids grew heavy, as though someone had poured lead into them. The world blurred, losing its edges, breaking apart into grey smears and shadow.
But her body no longer obeyed.
Sleep came quickly.
And did not ask permission.
The ocean.
Vast. Endless. Dark. It breathed slowly and heavily, like a sleeping beast. The waves rolled onto the shore, and in their sound there was something ancient, forgotten—something that had existed in the world long before men, before vampires, before her.
The sky above the sea was clear. Stars hung so low it seemed that if one reached out, one might touch their cold light. They burned in the water as well, making it seem as though there were a second sky below, deep in the black.
A boat stood upon the shore.
Plain. Wooden. Old. It rocked lightly on the water, held in place by a rope tied to a stake driven into the sand. Rainwater had collected in its bottom.
Beside it stood a man.
She could not see his face, only his silhouette, blurred in starlight. But she knew who it was.
She knew by the way everything inside her stilled. By the way the air lodged in her chest and refused to leave. By the way her heart—old, exhausted, nearly forgotten how to beat—suddenly lurched upward toward her throat, her eyes.
Seratiel.
The name left her lips on its own, a soft whisper the wind carried toward the ocean without noticing.
The man turned.
And in that instant, the ocean caught fire.
The waves turned red, like a fresh wound. The sky blackened. Stars fell into the water and died with a soft hiss. The boat burst into flame, dry wood catching at once, black smoke rising to cover the horizon.
The man vanished in the fire.
But the voice remained.
Soft. Calm. Sad. It came from everywhere—from the flames, from the water, from the air itself.
Do you remember?..
She lunged forward, toward the fire, toward him, but her legs sank into the sand, which had become thick and sticky as tar. She screamed—and heard nothing.
Do you remember?..
She woke.
Her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat, as if trying to tear its way out. Her breath came ragged and uneven, like that of a hunted animal. She was clutching the stones so tightly her knuckles had gone white, their sharp edges cutting deep into her palms.
The ruins were still before her.
The wasteland.
The dead city.
And silence.
But now, within that silence, the echo of the voice remained.
She closed her eyes and let out a long breath.
I remember, she said.
Her voice was hoarse, strange, as though it belonged not to her but to something else living inside her, something that had only just chosen to speak again.
She remembered.
Everything.
Every line of his face. Every word he had spoken. Every look, every gesture, every touch.
Seratiel.
The first human she had ever trusted. The first she had loved. The first she had failed to save.
The wind struck her face again, cold and cruel. She opened her eyes and looked toward the horizon. Somewhere beyond the mountains, beyond the plains, beyond the forests, the ocean had to be there. That same ocean. She could feel it faintly, as if through layers of time—but she could feel it.
I remember, she said again. And I will find those who did this.
She rose. Her legs obeyed more readily now. Sleep had brought her no rest, but something else.
Rage.
Purpose.
She had to go.
She took one step, then another. The ruins fell behind her. Ahead, through a breach in the wall, she could see the forest—dark, dense, alive. Beyond the forest there had to be a road. Beyond the road—humans.