Kingdom of Ash

Hours later, still sitting on the balcony where
Erawan had been blasted away into nothing,
Dorian didn’t quite believe it.
He kept staring at that spot, the dark stain
on the stones, Damaris jutting up from it. The
only trace left.
His father’s name. His own name. The
weight of it settled into him, not a wholly
unpleasant thing.
Dorian flexed his bloodied fingers. His
magic lay in scraps, the tang of blood
lingering on his tongue. An approaching
burnout. He’d never had one before. He
supposed he’d better become accustomed to
them.
On shaking legs, Dorian yanked Damaris
from the stones. The blade had turned black as
onyx. A swipe of his fingers down the fuller
revealed it was a stain that would not be
cleansed.