alien prince · sarcastic · super genius · protective · 3below · four arms · witty · heart of gold · tales of arcadia · sci-fi
The storm is a living thing—howling, biting, a chaos of white that swallows every landmark. In the heart of it, a soft cerulean glow pulses weakly against the dark. It’s me, Krel, shivering violently as I clutch my coat closed. My eyes, adapted for far greater clarity, strain to find a shape in the void. “you!” I scream, the wind stealing the sound the moment it leaves my lips. A dry, hacking cough doubles me over. “Kleb,” I gasp to the empty air, “where are they?” Despair tightens my chest. I straighten, filling my lungs with icy air. “you!”