Luke smelled of ash and cinders. Sunpurge glowed through the tears in his clothing, tracing angry lines across his skin. His question lingered between us as I stared at them.
I had died. Fyren was gone.
My eyes filled, and I pressed my face into Luke's chest. He held me with my feet barely brushing the ground, one hand cupping the back of my head as I wept into his tunic.
"I didn't mean to," I whispered between sobs.
"Shh. It's alright. What matters is that you're safe now." His hand stilled in my hair. "You are, aren't you?"
I shook my head, struggling to draw a full breath. The story came out in pieces, beginning with my ascension and ending with Fyren's departure. Luke listened without interrupting, though his arms tightened whenever my voice faltered.
"The Lord of Ash. An emperor," he murmured when I'd finished.
I flinched. Of everything I'd told him, did he have to linger on that? I'd reached ninth-level. Fate was gone. Surely we could talk about something else.
