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We gather our belongings in quiet coordination, a newfound softness in our movements around each other. He helps me stand, offering his arm for balance when my ankle twinges. I offer him a small, tired smile in return, my chest tight with a mixture of hope and looming dread for the future.

Outside, the rain lingers in a steady patter, turning the foothills into a patchwork of slick mud and glistening leaves. We both know we’ll be trudging through miserable conditions today, but I can’t find it in me to complain. Not when the tension between us has eased, replaced by a fragile bond that might see us through.

“Ready?” he asks quietly, adjusting the harness that secures his pack.

I nod, fingers brushing the chain around my neck.One day, I’ll be free of this.“Let’s keep going,” I reply, voice resolute.

And so we emerge from our alcove, stepping into another day of uncertain travel. The storm-scented air ruffles Korrin’s wings and tosses my hair into my eyes. Yet beneath the gray sky and the distant threat of enemies, I sense a flicker of cautious optimism. We’ve confronted each other’s secrets—his creation as an executioner, my terror over purna magic—and we’ve chosen to stand side by side.

The path through the foothills remains dangerous, the future even more so. But I take Korrin’s hand—he squeezes mine in return—and we forge ahead. The chain rattles, yes, but my heartthrums with an unexpected warmth that just might sustain us when the darkest moments come.

10

KORRIN

Achill wind scours my skin, leaving an electric tingle that sharpens every sense I have. The foothills we’ve been navigating have given way to a plateau of jagged rocks and twisted pines. Over the past days, Elyria and I have encountered half-collapsed shrines, lonely monoliths, and ancient markers that hint at a vanished civilization—possibly the same that built the monastery we sheltered in. In this wilderness, ruins sprout like old scars on the land, each one whispering of secrets best left buried.

Today, we discover a place that resonates with a particular eeriness: a ruined fortress perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking a narrow valley. Its walls are half-tumbled, the gatehouse collapsed into rubble. Broken statues line what used to be a courtyard, their stone faces worn away by centuries of rain and wind. Barely any roof remains, just shards of timber and gaping holes that let in the harsh sunlight.

We approach in cautious silence. Elyria’s chain rattles softly with each step, and though we’ve grown adept at muffling it, the sound grates on my nerves. We’re not sure if any danger lurks here—beasts or bandits, or worse, other gargoyles. Yet we can’tignore that the battered walls might offer temporary shelter from the wilds around us. The day has been long, and we need a secure spot to regroup before nightfall.

“This place looks older than the monastery,” Elyria whispers, hugging her thin cloak tight against the wind. Her breath puffs white in the chilly air. “And more… savage somehow.”

I nod, scanning the broken battlements. A rotting banner, unrecognizable from the ravages of time, drapes one corner of the ruin. “Likely a fort that changed hands many times,” I murmur. “Its architecture is a clash of styles—some gargoyle-like buttresses, but also angles reminiscent of orcish fortifications. Hard to say who last controlled it.”

She glances at me, eyes flicking to my wings. We haven’t yet fully spoken about my old clan, about whether this place might have once served gargoyles. But we both know the risk: ifanygargoyles still roam these foothills, they might be drawn to such a vantage.

“We’ll be careful,” she says, quiet but firm.

I sense the undercurrent of trust there, hesitant, but real. Since our talk in the alcove, we’ve found a fragile understanding. Even so, tension coils in my gut like a serpent. Something feels off about this fortress, as though it still hums with leftover magic or memories of war. My executioner instincts prickle, warning me that we’re exposed.

But Elyria’s footsore, and the sun is dipping low. We need somewhere to rest. With a curt nod, I lead us through a gap in the shattered wall, picking my way across broken stones. We remain poised for ambush, but the ruin seems deserted. No fresh footprints or scent. Just dust and a faint tang of old decay.

We locate a portion of the fortress that still has part of its ceiling intact—a cramped corner room with half a roof, enough to keep out the worst of the night chill. The space is littered with debris: splintered wood, scattered stones, a fallen archwaycarved with unreadable runes. Elyria kneels to brush away dirt, clearing a patch for us to settle. I keep watch at the threshold, scanning for any sign of movement beyond the crumbling corridors.

The wind keens through the broken halls, stirring shadows that flit across the tumbled stones. My wings twitch, uneasy.If any gargoyles approach, I’ll sense them first,I tell myself, trying to still the knot in my chest. But I can’t shake a faint sense of dread, as if we’re not alone.

When I finally step back inside, Elyria has laid out our meager supplies in the corner, near a collapsed window that admits thin, murky light. She meets my gaze, the chain at her throat glinting ominously. “All clear?” she murmurs.

“Seems so,” I reply, voice tight. “But I don’t like it here. Feels… haunted by old battles.”

She nods, lips thinning. “We won’t stay long.”

I exhale, relief flickering through me. “One night,” I agree, “then we move on.”

We set about making a small fire with the scraps of rotted timber, though there’s scant kindling that isn’t damp. Our attempts produce more smoke than heat, but it’s enough to stave off the worst chill. Elyria rubs her hands, hissing at the swirl of ash that drifts up. I shift closer, offering the meager warmth of my body. The chain rattles, an ugly sound in these dead halls.

Before we can drift into uneasy rest, a low rumble grips my gut. Not from hunger, but from my gargoyle senses picking up a vibration in the air. I still, every muscle tight. Elyria notices instantly, her eyes wide. “What is it?”

I hold up a hand, listening. My wings flare slightly, attuned to subtle changes in the wind. An unmistakable echo reverberates from somewhere beyond the fortress’s outer ramparts: the heavy footfalls of multiple creatures.Gargoyles.Possibly more than one. My heart lurches. But wait—there’s also a different cadence,lighter, clipped steps that might belong to elves or men. Fear twists in my belly.

“We have company,” I whisper.

Elyria’s face pales. “Dark elves?”

“And gargoyles,” I confirm, teeth gritted. “They’re heading this way. Probably caught sight of the ruin or our smoke.”

She curses under her breath, shooting a frantic glance around. “What do we do? Hide? Run?”