Birthright

CHAPTER NINE

The first wave of searing pain drove away his drowsiness. He sucked in a sharp breath and groaned, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Flames erupted in his gut and quickly spread to the rest of his body, as if someone had poured scalding oil into his organs.

It was nothing like he'd imagined it would be, even with Mr. Morrison's words in mind. He knew the pain came in intervals—based on how often the Sen was created in bursts inside him—but every second was so unbearable that he didn't have time to overcome the shock of pain before having to endure it all over again.

Just when he thought the excruciating pain would kill him, it quieted down to a dull ache. His hand fumbled around, searching for the glass of water on the table near him, and he only had a moment to drink before it came again. The glass slipped out of his grasp as waves of pain wracked his body. A cry escaped his lips.

"Don't fight it, Kray," a voice said. Dimly, he recognized Mrs. Morrison. "Relax your body."

It was impossible. "I can't," he bit out. The pain had ebbed, but he kept his muscles clenched. He was afraid it would hurt worse if he relaxed his muscles.

"Kray, do you trust me?"

No. The response did not emerge from his lips. He couldn't explain that at that moment, he didn't even trust himself.

"The Sen does not want to cause you this pain."

Then it should leave me alone.

"This suffering is avoidable. There is a better solution than curling up on your side and waiting for it to be over. The end result will still be the same but the process can either be terrible or painless. Unless you want to go through this for hours, listen to my advice."

Hours. How could he survive for that long? The dim-lit room seemed to be tilting to one side, making him dizzy. "What do I do?" he gasped.

"Yield to the Sen that flows through your veins—allow it to join with your whole being. Look past your suffering and welcome it."

It deeply unsettled him that he would have to give into the very thing that was causing him such a profound torment. But he wasn't strong enough to resist the temptation of relief from his misery. When pain gripped him yet again, he allowed himself to sink into the overwhelming agony.

He had only a moment to question the sanity behind his decision before his mind and body became weightless—he was no longer lying on the worn-out couch in the Morrison's rundown house. Instead, a soft cloud enveloped him, lifting him into tranquility that erased all troubles from his body.

The world came into focus and he found himself floating in the air, in a gray mist so thick that he couldn't see his outstretched arms. He sensed light above him and raised his head. The sky was a beautiful shade of orange, tinged with red and golden rays. In the thickness of fog that surrounded him, he shouldn't have been able to see it so clearly.

Time seemed immeasurable and the worries that had plagued him faded into the background. He wanted to stay there forever, to create a refuge in this odd place that was so foreign to him, and yet made him more comfortable than he could ever remember feeling. All of his happiest moments in life were distant, inconsequential memories.

The weightlessness eventually faded away and his eyes fluttered open. Confusion furrowed his eyebrows as he realized it was already morning. The room was bright; soft sunlight streamed through the flimsy curtains. He tried to sit up on his bed and gasped in pain, pressing an arm to his abdomen.

Everything hurt. Muscles, bones, skin—even his fingertips felt raw and chafed. Hunger gnawed at his stomach; this was one ache he could relieve.

Just as he was beginning to wonder how to make it to the kitchen, the front door swung open. "Ah, good morning," Mr. Morrison removed his long coat and shook it, sending dust flying everywhere. "Teanh told me that you had a Flare last night. How do you feel?"