- Ronan Hale:
Pain.
A sharp, searing pulse at the back of my skull.
It was the first thing I felt before anything else, before the cold dirt beneath me, before the heavy weight pressing against my limbs. Before the distant hum of wind that barely touched my skin. Before the scent of blood thickens in the air.
It was pain that dragged me out of the abyss.
I groaned, the sound rough and raw in my throat as my consciousness crawled back to me in jagged, broken pieces. My body ached all over, sluggish, heavy. My fingers twitched against the ground—dirt, damp, cold.
Slowly, I opened my eyes.
The world spun.
Blurred shadows, shifting shapes. The dim sky overhead, the skeletal outline of wooden buildings. My vision swam, my head pounding so viciously I thought I might black out again.
But I forced myself to move.
With a grunt, I twisted my arms, only to realize—I couldn't.
Tied.
