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A fragile truce blossoms in that statement. We share a moment of quiet reflection, letting the tension ease a fraction. Finally, I blow on the embers again, conjuring a small flame that flickers around the last scraps of wood. “We need to decide our next move,” I say, trying to sound steadier than I feel. “We can’t stay in the open, and we can’t go wandering aimlessly through the mountains. Drayveth is likely searching for me. So are the rest of the rogue purna who follow him.”

Kaelith arches a brow, or the gargoyle equivalent of it. “You think they’re numerous enough to mount a serious hunt in the mountains?”

I grimace. “They’re determined, I’ll give them that. If he’s convinced I’m dangerous, he’ll rally as many as he can. My hope is that Prazh’s harsh climate deters them for a while. But Drayveth’s not easily intimidated by terrain.”

His mouth settles into a hard line. “Then we find safer ground. Possibly locate a place where we can study this tether—and figure out how to break it.” He glances at me. “Unless you have some hidden knowledge about undoing accidental magical bonds?”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. My coven’s lore is fairly broad, but they hoard the darkest spells. I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about me rummaging through forbidden tomes.”

He shifts his weight, the runes on his skin pulsing faintly under the early sunlight. “Then we may have to consult older sources. Something from gargoyle history, or from purna archives outside your coven’s sphere.” A flicker of reluctance passes over his face; clearly, he isn’t thrilled about interacting with anyone.

“Do you know where we can find such archives?” I ask, nerves tingling with cautious hope.

His gaze drops momentarily, as though searching his centuries of memory. Then he lifts his head. “There were once hidden libraries in the old cities—somewhere across the ocean. But the world has changed drastically since I sealed myself away. I’m not certain any of those strongholds remain intact.”

My stomach sinks. “Traveling across an ocean… that’s not a small journey.” I recall scattered rumors about gargoyle enclaves in distant lands, but crossing seas in this hostile environment is no trivial feat. The dark elves rule many ports, and they’re less than friendly to humans—especially humans with magic.

His tail swishes in an irritated arc. “True. Perhaps we start smaller,” he allows grudgingly. “Are there any reclusive purna enclaves here in Prazh? Or human outposts that might have records of old spells? If nothing else, we might glean hints of who to approach next.”

My pulse skitters.My people.The purna enclaves that remain in these mountains are hidden for a reason. But not all covens are united. There is the Snowfall Glen Coven, deeper in the range, rumored to practice more esoteric forms of magic. My own coven was strict, nearly militant. The Glen, I’ve heard, is more secretive and matriarchal in a different sense, focusing on forging alliances with nature. “Snowfall Glen,” I say slowly, “might be a possibility. They’re extremely wary of outsiders, even other purna, but if we can convince them we mean no harm, they have extensive knowledge of transformation spells and old wards.”

Kaelith folds his arms, runes glowing in mild interest. “And you’re certain they won’t turn on you for being exiled?”

I huff out a breath. “Not certain. But they’re separate from my original coven, so maybe they don’t share Drayveth’s vendetta. The real question is how to approach them. They may see a gargoyle and react with… open hostility. Especially if they recall the ancient wars.”

His lips peel back in a grimace, revealing the hint of sharp canines. “Yes, purna and gargoyles were not exactly peaceful neighbors.” He exhales, tension in every line of his posture. “Still, it’s a lead. And we can’t remain here.”

I nod, though my stomach churns with apprehension. “It’s a start. If the Glen won’t help, maybe they’ll at least point us somewhere else.” My gaze drops, sweeping the small space we occupied last night. We have no real supplies, no map, hardly any protective gear. Just a smoldering fire, scraps of cloth, and the uncertain alliance tying us together.

Standing, I test the steadiness of my legs. The fleeting dizziness from earlier has subsided, which means Kaelith is close enough for the tether to remain stable. He watches me with a keen, cautious expression, as if expecting me to topple again. I swallow my pride. “I’m fine,” I mutter, brushing ash from my knees.

His stare lingers another heartbeat before he nods. “Then let’s go. The more distance we put between ourselves and Drayveth, the better.”

I can’t argue with that. Gathering my cloak, I do my best to secure it around me. The wind is brisk up here, though some of the morning sun’s rays take the edge off the mountain chill. Kaelith’s presence is a living furnace of warmth, which is both comforting and disturbing. I resent that I notice such a detail.Focus,I chide myself.

We pick our way out of the rocky depression, careful to keep within a few paces of each other. The tether tugs faintly, an invisible cord that intensifies whenever we move too far apart. Each time the pull sharpens, I see Kaelith’s jaw tense and feel a matching ache beneath my ribs. The entire situation is beyond surreal: a purna on the run, tethered to a gargoyle who once loved the deadliest Nyxari in history. If someone told me this story a week ago, I would’ve laughed them out of the coven.

Yet here we are, forging a precarious alliance. The path downhill is no safer than before. Loose rocks slip underfoot, and the mountain’s slope dips steeply in places. Kaelith is more agile than I’d expect, especially for someone so large. His wings fold in tight to avoid snagging on jagged outcroppings, and his tail helps him balance. Even so, the precarious terrain forces us to move slowly. A single misstep could send us tumbling into a ravine.

The silence between us stretches, weighted by tension. We pass around a tall rock spire, the wind whistling over it in eerie pitches. I can’t help but glance at Kaelith, noting the wariness that stiffens his spine. His head turns fractionally, scanning the horizon. It’s the posture of a sentinel, someone who expects to be ambushed.

We press on. The day advances, with sunlight creeping higher, illuminating swathes of the mountain range. The air remains crisp, but the rising temperature melts small patches of snow, creating slick puddles and rivulets trickling down the rocks. After a time, the path opens onto a wider plateau. From here, the view is sweeping: harsh plains stretch out like a vast gray-green tapestry, broken by distant clusters of stunted trees and sharp ridges. Farther off, I glimpse a hazy line of cliffs. No sign of Drayveth or any other purna, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.

While I pause to catch my breath, Kaelith sweeps his gaze across the horizon. His wings twitch, as though longing to spread wide and take flight. I recall from the old scrolls that gargoyles manipulate the planet’s magnetic fields to fly, combining that ability with their natural winged physiology. My eyes drift to the cords of muscle running along his shoulders, the wide arc of his wings. A flicker of unbidden curiosity swirls in me, accompanied by an uncomfortable twinge of fascination.Stop staring,I scold myself, clearing my throat.

He turns, catching me in the act. A faint sneer tugs at his mouth. “What?” he asks, as though he already assumes I’m passing judgment.

I force a shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just wondering if you plan to fly us down this mountain. It’d be faster.”

He raises a brow ridge, his intense gaze flicking to my smaller frame. “Carrying you while I fly would be… inefficient.” There’s an edge of dryness in his tone. “And I’m not sure my wings are fully capable after centuries of disuse. If we plummet, the tether ensures we both die.”

A shiver skitters across my skin. I guess that idea’s off the table. “Right. Walking it is.”

We continue, stepping cautiously over loose scree. I sense Kaelith’s annoyance at the slow pace, but we have no other viable path. We slip into a companionable silence of necessity rather than choice. At least he’s not berating me again about Nerezza.I’ll take the win.

With each hour, my legs ache from the unrelenting trek. Memories drift uninvited: Drayveth’s disapproving stare, the branding iron’s searing heat on my wrist, the look of triumph in his eyes when the coven cast me out. I fight back a surge of bitterness. If I let that anger consume me, I’ll end up no better than the tyrants I despise. Focus on moving forward. Surviving is the priority.

At midday—my best guess based on the angle of the sun—we reach a flatter expanse littered with boulders. The environment remains stark, but at least the slope isn’t so punishing. Kaelith halts, scanning for signs of a water source or anything we can use for shelter. A faint breeze rustles my hair, carrying the distant cry of some avian predator.