Shaky Hands - Whumptober Day 1
The haze of chaos surrounds Aoren as he drops to his knees, the room startlingly silent. Darian just laughs, sauntering over to the boy on the floor.
“You thought you could take me down with that? A sorry excuse for magic and you think everything is going to be okay?” He scoffs, tilting Aoren’s chin with the tip of his sword. “You know it’s treason, right? That I have every right to stand you in front of the crowd and hang you.”
“Then do it.”
“Oh, no. That’s much too easy. I’ve got something much better.”
Aoren stumbles into the stables in the early hours of the morning, the fog of dark magic clinging to his skin. He sends the horses skittering away, kicking at the doors of the stalls. His head burns and he feels like he’s dying. The darkness, at least, soothes the pain as he finally collapses onto the hay. Tegh appears with a light a few minutes later, softly calling into the night. Aoren’s gentle sobs from the empty tack room draw his attention, rushing forward to see to him.
"What happened?" His voice is soft, inviting Aoren to answer.
"Darian." He manages, pressing himself into Tegh's side, hands trembling. "He's going to hurt Nyx."
