I don't think you're nervous enough
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(442)



art by crypsis

Until the full fury of the storm hit, Max had been enthralled by it. He had never seen such catastrophe from nature itself and the weather was new and exciting. It captivated him in a way that few things could. This was like battle, like war, but without a physical enemy. His body knew the difference but felt the same rush of elation that it had from each conflict.

He was not alone in this. Amnesty, whom had begun training with him daily, was equally excited by the weather. Though she was several months younger than him, she was far from a novice. She had bragged unapologetically about her bloodline and practice with her brother, instruction from Kaena, and confided in him her desire to wield her mother’s sword. The girl was, however, a realist: she believed it would be her older brother who would come to inherit the blade. It had a twin somewhere, but she did not speak of this often. Max was wise enough not to push her about this and instead worked with her in various other forms. She was quicker than he was and equally as brutal. Together they came up with remarkable two-man tactics.

They had been so bold as to journey to the coast, curious to see the Bay in its fury. It was this mistake, one of arrogant youth, that damned them.

It had been Amnesty, boundless and fierce, who had gone to the far edge of the Cliffside. They were not remarkably high up, but it was enough to worry Max. When her shriek had cut above the storm he had acted on instinct and rushed to her—and that was when the rock underfoot, loosened over years of sand and wind and rain, finally gave way.

They fell together, a tangled mass of limbs and fur, and the water felt like cold death when it struck. Max struggled to find up, struggled to pull himself upright, and my some miracle did so as his younger companion swam furiously against the current. It was too late for them; the water pulled and Max was sucked under again. He kicked hard and felt hands at his aid; the armor sought to pull him under. Somehow, together, they forced it off. There was a hunk of debris floating in the stormy bay and Max clung to it, hoisting Amnesty on as best he could. The rain and wind battered them and the bay’s currents, ferocious as they had been before, were monstrous.

He lost consciousness somewhere due to exposure and was sucked into blackness as the two were further pulled out to the open water.

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