Her beak grew closer. “Ah, you have not succumbed to your wounds yet because you smell of the old worlds.” Another breath. “Rashearim.” My pulse quickened at the mention of my home. She inhaled deeply again. “You are another of Unir’s blood, only made of silver light like her.” My head whipped toward her. “I am nothing like Nismera.” “No, you are the lost king. Guardian. Protector. You are a long way from home, King of Rashearim.” I swallowed, and the chains containing her massive form rattled as she sat. “Your light burned the sky and ripped the world, yet you stand before me. How is this
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