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Asra didn't meet your gaze for the entire journey across the water to the Lazaret. His hand is still in yours, a small but constant stream of magic passing between your palms, staving off Lucio's voice. Your heart pounds a cold pulse with each second that passes.
Your anchor. How could your anchor be the Lazaret? A place where plague victims had gone in their thousands to die? You didn't remember it, but the stories were vivid enough. Queues at the docks, fragmented families, a ceaseless plume of smoke in the place of graves. The Lazaret prowled the horizon like a threat.
You had never been there, could never have been there - anyone who stepped foot on that island knew it would be their final resting place. How on earth could this island be your anchor?
The gondola slides gently onto the sandy shore, and you stand. You half-expect something to happen the moment your feet touch the beach, but silence simply settles like a coat of ash over you. Your hand slips from Asra's. You wait for a moment, and he raises his eyebrows at you in questioning.
"I don't hear him. Lucio, I mean."
Asra nods, still solemn. "I can't imagine he would want to reach you here. The more death he sowed, the more he feared and hated it." His gaze leaves yours again, and turns towards the treeline.
You take a deep breath, and let your eyes close. Your magic reaches out tentatively. You feel yourself being pulled deeper into the island. Before fear can try to reason with you, you let your feet follow your intuition. Asra grabs your wrist.
"Wait, where are you going?"
You've never seen him look so tense. "Asra. I have to do this."
You see his throat bob as he swallows. He wants to argue, you know; wants to pull you back into the gondola and sail far, far away from this place. But he knows you're right.
"All right. I'll follow wherever you lead."
It doesn't take you long to reach the dilapidated building that gave the island its name. You slip inside, Asra hesitant but close behind you. The little light that can creep through the collapsed ceiling flutters over dozens of empty cots, abandoned plague doctor masks, dark marks that may have been someone's life blood at one point. The atmosphere in the room is heavy, dark. All you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears. Something deep within your mind is slowly being unlocked. Your magic pulls you further and further inside, to another room.
You don't understand what you're looking at first. Then it dawns on you. What else could they have needed, but a crematorium?
Everything else falls away. You raise your hand to brush your fingers against the dusty stone of the oven. You're dimly aware of Asra's voice, sharp, concerned, but you've touched the rock before he can stop you.
//
You're sick.
Exhaustion rules you. Fluid weighs uncomfortably in your lungs. The breaths you take are so small they become almost imperceptible. Your eyes burn. They don't work, not since the red bled across your scleras, and any light stings horribly. You think of Julian. You wonder if he has noticed your absence, has gone to look for you, has finally put the pieces together and realised you were ill. You think of Asra, sweet Asra. You think of your last words to him. The look on his face when he left. How angry you had been. None of that mattered now. None of it. None of it.
You sense someone approach your cot. Their strong arms hold your frail body, lift you from your bed, lead you out of the ward. Fear curdles in your stomach. You had watched doctors take patients away for days before you lost your sight. There is only one place they would be taking you.
Your lips part but no sound comes out. I'm not dead! I'm not dead! You can't move, can't speak, can't warn them. I'm still alive! Please, don't put me in there!
You hear the clang of the oven door shut. You hear the scuttle of a salamander. You feel warmth, gentle at first, then searing, smothering, all-consuming. You can't even scream, can't even cry, as you're engulfed by flames.
Please. Don't let me be alone.
//
"[Y/N]? [Y/N]!"
You gasp a lungful of dry, dusty air. Your eyes open, and you see - you can see - Asra's terrified face hovering over yours. You're on the ground, somehow. Your head is spinning wildly, and for a moment no words come out. Asra's warm tears fall onto your cheeks. His shaking hands are holding you tightly, almost painfully so.
"Are you alright?" His voice is thick from the sob lodged in his throat. "[Y/N]? It's me, it's Asra. Do you remember me?"
You nod. He lets out a long, shuddering breath. His shoulders seem to relax a little, but not much. You swallow, hard.
"I died? I died of the plague?"
Asra's mouth falls open. Pain flashes across his face in a million different shades before he clasps your hand in his and pulls you to your feet.
"Come with me," is all he says, before leading you out of the Lazaret.
He brings you to the back, to more beach, covered in mounds upon mounds of dirt and ash.
Mounds of people.
"I tried telling you, once. I almost lost you for good. So I stopped trying. I couldn't bear hurting you over and over again." He stops, swallows, starts again. "After our argument, I ran away. By the time I learned what had happened to you...I was too late." His voice breaks. "So I went looking...and this is where I found you."
Asra falls to his knees. Tears are gushing down his cheeks, like he's back in that moment, when the trail he had been following to find you suddenly went cold.
"I dug until my fingers bled. All I could find was charred bone and ash. All that was left of you."
The world shifts under your feet. The last three years are rewriting themselves before your eyes. Somewhere, under the sand and dust and ash, are your remains. But Asra isn't finished.
"The night Lucio tried to make his deal...I made one of my own."
Your head is shaking. It's not true. It can't be true. It's too crazy, too reckless, too much.
"I gave up part of my heart." Asra finally looks at you. "In exchange for restoring your life."
You take one step back, then another. Your head is still shaking, denying, rejecting his words. "You wouldn't do that. Asra. Asra. You wouldn't." You have to press your fist against your mouth to stop your lips from shaking. Your other hand touches your chest, right above your heartbeat. His heartbeat.
"How couldn't I?" He's still on his knees, casting his arms out wide, imploring you. "I don't know what you must think of me, now. But I can't say I regret bringing you back. What I did...it brought you back. You're here. You're alive."
There's just silence as your brain whirs. So many thoughts explode through your mind, but you can't get the claustrophobic sensation of the crematorium oven out of your head.
"They burned me alive," you whisper. Your eyes are distant. The colour drains from Asra's face.
"What?"
"They thought I was dead, but..." Your fingers tangle in your hair. "But I wasn't. I was still alive. I was still alive when they..." You double over, hugging your stomach, as your own death rolls like waves over you. Sobs rack through your body until you retch. Asra is beside you, aching to hold you, but doesn't dare to. "I was so scared, Asra, I was so scared– you were gone, you left, and Ilya didn't notice I was sick– I was all alone."
"I'm so sorry, [Y/N]. I am so, so sorry."
You close the distance between you, collapsing into his arms. You bury your head into his chest, destroying it with your tears. One of his arms circles your waist, holding you to him, while the other hand cradles your head. He kisses your hair and rocks you softly.
It feels like an age passes before you can bring yourself to stop crying. Your whole body aches. You pull back a little, rest one hand on Asra's chest. He places his warm palm over your hand.
"If you had been hurt..." you whisper.
He pulls your hand to his lips and kisses your fingertips. "I don't care. I wouldn't care, [Y/N], if it meant I could have more time with you. I would have given you my whole heart if I had to." He presses his forehead against yours. "Can you ever forgive me? For not being there? For leaving your side?"
You feel flames envelop you again, eating at your flesh. The smoke in your lungs. The hole in your heart, where Asra should have been.
You move away.
He resists for a moment, grip tightening on your forearms, before he lets you slip from him. He's frozen to the spot. His eyes are fixed on your every movement, as you stand, take one step back, then another, then another. When he speaks, it's little more than a faint whisper. "[Y/N]?"
"I don't know."
Quiet tears spill down his cheeks anew. "You..."
"It's like I've woken up. My whole reality has changed. These last three years aren't what I thought they were." You let your magic pool in the tips of your fingers and gather in your palms. Your heart is breaking in your chest, and it's clear that with every word you speak Asra's is breaking too – though, you suppose, they're one and the same.
"I'm bound to you in a way we can never change. I don't even know if the way I feel about you is real or just a side effect of the ritual. I don't know anything anymore."
Asra looks like you just smacked him across the face. You keep talking, the words coming out in a tumble before your nerves can interrupt them.
"I think I need to do this on my own."
"Do what? [Y/N]?" He's on his feet in a flash, but you're faster.
You let the gathered magic loose. It forms a protective wall between you and Asra, locking him into a magical prison. He slams his fists against the shimmering barrier, but it's useless. You have all of your tricks back now. All of your magic. He can't break through.
"[Y/N], don't do this, please don't do this!"
"The spell will wear off in a few hours." You can't meet his eye. One look at his face would shatter your resolve.
"[Y/N], you have to listen to me. You could get hurt! If Lucio gets your body–"
"Whatever is left of my body is under your feet," you snap. "I'm living on borrowed time. If me getting hurt means that I can save Vesuvia from another plague, then, so be it. I don't want anyone else to experience what I had to."
Your words sink in like a knife. Then you spin on your heels and hurry back to the gondola. Asra is screaming at you not to go. It's the worst sound you've ever heard.
But you can't stop now. Vesuvia needs you, and you've finally returned.