Fae'lan's ears were ringing, his mind was racing, and his heart was pounding so hard he felt it would burst out of his chest. The scout's hand trembled as he lifted it to his neck, fingers brushing over the tender skin there. Blood. A shallow cut, just over his jugular.

He swallowed thickly, took a shaky breath, then another. He'd been fighting a manticore, trying to protect the village children. The monster had attacked suddenly, and he'd gotten separated from his party. Then his blade had been knocked away, and the beast had struck at his leg, sending him rolling onto the dirt. He'd been sure he was about to die. The beast had raised its claws, poised to strike, and then...

And then—

"No, no, no," he whispered, panic gripping his chest. His best friend had saved his life, acted as a shield, taken a blow that was meant for him. Desperate, he looked around, hoping against hope that his friend was somehow, miraculously, fine. Smoke and embers swirled in the air, and Fae'lan coughed, waving a hand to clear the air. There, lying several feet away, was the beast, his friend's sword buried in its eye.

Suddenly everything made sense. His friend was a seer, able to glimpse the future, able to change the path set by fate. They'd argued the night before—his friend had insisted on coming along, and Fae'lan had insisted he didn't need a babysitter. He should've known. This had been the reason behind all that stubbornness. That hit should've killed him, and instead...

Fae'lan struggled to rise, his hands clawing at the earth, but his strength failed him. All he could do was crawl, drag himself through the dirt, and pull his best friend's injured form into his arms. "No," he whispered, his hand shifting to the wound, pressing down to stop the bleeding. "No. You can't. You can't die. Please, please. Don't leave me. Not like this."