The realization swept through the sunken crater. The monster was hurt. The monster was bleeding. The monster was mortal. "He is weak," a tall, broad-shouldered man named Kael said. Kael’s face was dark with grief and pure, burning anger. He had lost his wife and his teenage daughter in the fall of the city. He had spent the last three days sitting in the dark, wishing he was dead. But now, seeing the cause of his pain standing right in front of him, looking weak and vulnerable, a violent fire lit up inside Kael's chest. "He is weak," Kael said again, louder this time. He took a heavy step forward, stepping in front of the women and children. "Kael, no!" Elara warned, holding her hands up. Kael ignored the princess. He bent down to the hard, rocky ground. He dug his dirty fingers into the dirt and pulled out a large, heavy chunk of petrified root. The stone was the size of a melon. It had sharp, jagged edges. Kael gripped it tightly in his large right hand. "He took my family," K

Tears began to well up in Frank’s eyes. They spilled over his dirty eyelashes and ran down his cheeks, cutting clean lines through the soot and dried blood on his face. "I am so, so sorry," Frank wept. His voice cracked with genuine, profound sorrow. "I am so sorry for your daughter, Kael. I am sorry for your wife, Mr. Thorne. I am sorry for your home, Mrs. Gable."The crowd was completely silent. The only sound was the bubbling of the acid pool and the soft, ragged breathing of the refugees. "I am not a god," Frank whispered, bowing his head slightly, exposing his bare neck to them. "I am just a boy who made a terrible, unforgivable mistake."He closed his eyes, accepting his fate. "If killing me brings you peace," Frank said, his voice totally steady, totally resigned. "If smashing my head with those rocks makes the pain go away... then do it. You have the right. I will not fight you. I give you my life."Frank took a deep breath, and he waited for the darkness. "Frank, NO!" Elar

"My ancestors, the First Kings, built this bunker," Elara said, pointing to the dark steel walls. "They tried to control the machine. And when they failed, they made a deal with it. My father forced you to marry. He forced you to have children. He did not do it to make the city strong. He did it because he needed more souls to feed the parasite so he could keep his crown."The refugees stared at her in total disbelief. Their entire worldview, their entire history, was shattering right in front of their eyes. "My family is the reason you are suffering," Elara said, her voice cracking with deep, profound sorrow. She pressed her hand against her chest. "My bloodline is the curse of Lyrendale. Frank was just the spark that set the dry wood on fire. But my father built the pyre. If you want to kill someone for your pain... if you want revenge for your destroyed lives... do not kill the boy. Kill me."Elara dropped her dagger. It hit the cold metal floor with a sharp clack. She stood there

The refugees immediately began to move. Having someone give them clear, confident instructions was like a breath of fresh air. They scrambled to grab their torn blankets and makeshift bandages. They helped the weak and the injured stand up. Frank stood by the wall, keeping his glowing Phantom Limb raised high to act as a lantern for the frightened people. As they walked past him, they kept their distance. They pressed themselves against the opposite wall, keeping as far away from his magical arm as possible. They looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. No one said thank you. No one smiled at him. Frank watched them pass. He felt the sting of their rejection, but he accepted it. He was the pariah. He was the monster in the dark. Elara waited until the last of the refugees had moved past them, heading slowly into the dark steel hallway. She turned to Frank. The hard, commanding look on her face softened just a tiny bit. She looked incredibly tired. The adrenaline of the standoff was

Frank watched from the safe side of the plateau. He saw Kael’s desperate face. He saw Mrs. Gable crying. He remembered what he had told Elara in the dark crater. “I will be their shield.” Frank pushed himself up from the shaking floor. He ignored the burning pain in his broken ribs. He ignored the exhaustion in his legs. He walked to the very edge of the deep, glowing chasm. He stood right next to Elara. He looked across the fifteen-foot gap. He looked at the massive, heavy, sinking island of rock and steel. It weighed thousands of tons. "Frank, what are you doing?" Elara asked, looking up at him. She saw the bright, fierce neon blue light burning in his eyes. "I am going to hold it," Frank said simply. He planted his heavy leather boots firmly on the solid, safe metal floor. He bent his knees slightly, lowering his center of gravity. Frank raised his left side. He pointed the burnt, blackened stump of his severed arm directly at the sinking island. The Phantom Limb, the arm ma