The Weight of Return
Madeline
I didn’t realize I had stopped breathing until the ash hit the back of my throat like tiny cinders.
The ground beneath my boots cracked and shimmered with heat, bleeding thin, glowing veins of molten gold flowing through obsidian rock. It wasn’t just warm—it was suffocating, like standing inside the lungs of something vast and dying. My first step sank half an inch into the scorched black earth, and the dirt pulsed faintly beneath my heel.
I was glad I had decided to opt for different clothing for this trip. My slippers would not have been enough to protect my feet.
It was Alive.
The ground is alive.
Lucien didn’t let go of my hand, but his grip had changed. It wasn’t desperate or tender anymore. It was possession. Purpose.
He rolled his shoulders bac
