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I swallow, scanning more text. My old lessons about purna come flooding back. I recall how my gargoyle elders taught me to spot the signs of a High Purna: unique markings, dormant powers that could devastate armies if awakened. And here wesee mention of‘the last scion shall bear the mark of stolen magic, cursed to undo the old wars.’The pit of my stomach grows cold.

“No,” I whisper. “This is describing your lineage.The High Purna.”

She staggers back, nearly dropping the scroll. “That’s impossible. I’m not even sure I have any magic, let alone being some… legendary bloodline.”

I close my eyes, grappling with swirling memories of gargoyle lore: the High Purna were the ones who nearly obliterated my race centuries ago, wielding catastrophic spells. The entire reason the Alpha decreed we cull potential purna.And I’m harboring the last of them.My breath quickens.

Elyria’s chain clinks as she paces, panic flashing in her eyes. “I was just a slave. The dark elves suspected I might be purna, but they never confirmed anything. I never showed any real power.”

My mind races.The fortress kept her alive, probably wanting to harness her potential. Now she’s free… with me.If the Alpha learns she’s the final scion of a High Purna line, the entire gargoyle host will descend on her. Letting her live is an act of open rebellion. “This is bigger than we knew,” I mutter.

Her gaze darts to me, fear and defiance swirling in equal measure. “So what? Are you going to—” She cuts off, tears threatening. “You said you wouldn’t kill me.”

The question stabs me like a blade. My duty as an executioner was absolute.Kill any purna.And she’s not just a purna; she’s from the most feared line in living memory. My entire body tenses. “Elyria, I…” My voice shakes. “I can’t— I won’t kill you.”

She exhales in shaky relief, though tears brim in her eyes. “Then what do we do? The dark elves… if they find out. Yourkin… if they learn I’m this…High Purna.” Her voice breaks. “We’re doomed.”

I gather her shoulders, drawing her close so she won’t collapse under the weight of this revelation. The old me might have delivered a merciful strike, ended her life swiftly to spare my race potential destruction. But the new me, the me forged in the ruin, bound by an indescribable connection to her, can’t even contemplate that. “We keep going,” I say, forcing conviction into my voice. “We go deeper into the mountains, far from all who might harm you.”

She trembles, tears slipping free. “But you’re risking everything. This is…” She gulps, voice quiet. “This is treason, right?”

I swallow hard.High treason.The Alpha’s edict is crystal clear: any gargoyle who defies the kill order is a traitor. “Yes,” I murmur. “But I made my choice when I first spared you.”

We stand in silence, our breath mingling in the dusty air. The scroll on the slab is a testament to the forces that shaped our world: purna magic that once nearly destroyed gargoyles, leaving a scar still raw after centuries. And now, that magic rests in her blood, dormant but lethal if awakened.

Elyria pulls away, wiping her cheeks. Her face is resolute. “We should get rid of this place. Or at least hide these scrolls. If the dark elves or gargoyles find them, it’ll confirm who I am.”

I nod, forcing my mind into action. “Agreed.”

We gather the more intact scrolls referencing the High Purna lineage. My heart hammers with each mention of a cataclysmic prophecy, each reference to alast scion.It feels like a noose tightening around our necks. In the end, we set them in a corner and pile rubble over them. A crude job, but it’ll obscure them from a casual search.

Then we slip out of the archive chamber, returning to the main hall. The mosaic stares up at us with silent judgment.Moon phases, swirling vines, and at the center, that symbolic female figure.I almost feel it watching Elyria. She averts her gaze, hugging herself.

By the time we exit into the outside air, the storm has broken. Rain slashes through the trees, thunder rolling overhead. We find shelter in a small alcove near the monastery’s entrance, at least enough to keep us from getting drenched. Water drips off the stone pillars, and lightning flashes beyond the forest canopy.

Elyria collapses onto a broad step, burying her face in her hands. I hover nearby, wings shifting in agitation. The chain rattles as she rocks slightly, struggling to process. My own thoughts reel, a storm within a storm.She’s the last of a High Purna bloodline. If I were the gargoyle I was raised to be, I’d end her life right now.The idea makes me nauseated.

I sink down beside her, careful not to crowd her. Rain mists the air around us, turning the monastery courtyard into a hazy dreamscape. My heart thuds with a mixture of dread and fierce protectiveness.

Elyria lifts her head, eyes red. “So… all these nightmares about me having a dangerous lineage—they were all real,” she whispers. “I spent my life denying it, thinking I was just a worthless slave with no power.”

I swallow. “You still might not awaken anything. Some purna never do. And… even if you did, it’s not fated to destroy everything. You have control.” My voice trembles on the last word. Iwantto believe it, but I recall the stories of High Purna unstoppable storms of magic. Fear gnaws at me.

She lets out a bitter laugh. “Control? I can’t even keep my own freedom without being chained.” She tugs at the metal around her neck, a furious gesture. Then she sighs, deflated. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying.”

Guilt courses through me. “I wish I could remove it now. But if we cross paths with gargoyles, they’ll suspect everything.” Myeyes drift to the swirling rain. “They might suspect anyway. I’m gone too long from the stronghold.”

She wraps her arms around herself, shivering from cold or emotion. “You’re risking your life for me, Korrin. I’m… grateful, even if I don’t always show it.” Her voice softens, sending an ache through my chest.

I shift closer, the chain lying between us like a serpent. “I’m risking more than my life,” I admit, voice low. “I’m defying the Alpha, betraying the executioner’s oath. If the clan finds me, they won’t just kill me. They’ll make an example out of me.”

She flinches. “I never wanted that for you.”

A wry smile tugs at my lips. “I never wanted it for myself, either.” Then my gaze drops to her hands, clenched in her lap. I hesitate before covering them with my larger palm. Her fingers spasm beneath my touch, but she doesn’t pull away. “But I can’t be what I was anymore,” I say, voice raspy with emotion. “Not after everything.”

She nods, tears gleaming. Then, almost impulsively, she leans into my side, resting her head against my shoulder. The chain clinks. I freeze, wings tensing, but an overwhelming tenderness surges beneath my fear. I lift an arm, curling it around her protectively. She exhales shakily, letting me hold her in the rain-drenched gloom.

We sit like that for a time, two fugitives from a war that might reignite the moment her magic stirs. The thunder overhead resonates with the conflict in my own heart. I recall the old, prideful lesson that gargoyles are unstoppable apex predators.We’re unstoppable, except by purna magic,I realize grimly. That’s the impetus for centuries of hatred. And ironically, I’ve bound my fate to the most feared purna line of all.