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Elyria’s voice breaks the silence, soft as a whisper. “Korrin… Let’s keep going tomorrow, as far as we can. Maybe we’ll find a hidden valley or a cave system. Anything to stay off the main routes.”

I nod, lips brushing her hair. “Yes. We’ll put distance between us and any who might track that ruin.” I swallow, recalling the possibility of other gargoyles investigating their missing scout. “We won’t stop until we’re beyond their reach.”

She trembles slightly, nestling closer. “I’m with you,” she says, quiet resolve in every syllable.

I close my eyes and let her warmth seep into me, letting the tension in my wings subside. The chain presses into my chest, but I let it be.For now.We’re bound by more than that chain—a vow forged in blood, in defiance of the Alpha’s cruelty, in the fragile hope that we can carve out a future free from the wars of old.

Thunder rumbles distantly on the horizon, but no rain falls here. The stars glitter overhead, oblivious to mortal struggles. I hold Elyria close, mindful of my bandaged arm. My heart still aches with guilt for the gargoyle I killed, but I cling to the conviction that my choice was necessary.I am not an executioner for the Alpha anymore.I am a guardian, a traitor, a shield for the woman who might be the last High Purna in existence.

And so we rest, the hush of the wild foothills our only companion. The hush is broken only by our quiet breathing and the faint clink of her collar. The dawn will bring new trials, but for this moment, I let my eyes drift shut, comforted by her presence. My final thought before sleep claims me:I will kill again if I must. I will burn the world if it means keeping her alive.

11

ELYRIA

The dawn light comes late in these mountains, delayed by the massive peaks that loom to the east. By the time the first rays spill across the uneven ground, my bones already ache from another night of restless vigilance. We’ve been traveling for days since our bloody encounter in that ruined fortress—Korrin and I pressing deeper into the foothills, scavenging for shelter in whatever clefts or hidden alcoves we can find. Each day pulls us farther from the roving patrols, but the tension never ceases. Even in my sleep, I can’t escape the coil of fear lodged in my chest.

This morning, the sky glows peach and lavender, a deceptive promise of calm that does nothing to soothe the dread beneath my skin. The chain at my throat feels heavier than ever, as if sensing the swirling anxieties in my head. I wake stiff and chilled, curled under a makeshift blanket that does little to ward off the mountain air. Across from me, Korrin stands watch, his broad back to the weak sunrise, wings half-furled. He’s so still, I almost think he’s turned to stone again—a silent sentinel haunted by old ghosts.

I rise slowly, testing my limbs for soreness. My ankle throbs from the climbs and descents, but I can still bear weight without too much pain. A pang of guilt flickers, he’s been pushing me so hard, even though I know we have no choice. I swallow the bitterness: we’re fugitives in a land that wants us dead. We can’t afford comfort.

Korrin hears me stir and turns his head slightly, enough for me to catch his golden eyes. There’s a weariness there that makes my heart twist. We share a subtle nod—no words needed. I gather our minimal belongings while he scans the horizon. In this mutual routine, we find a sliver of companionship, each mindful of the other’s burdens. Even so, an unspoken sense of threat lingers in the crisp morning air, as if the mountains themselves watch our every move.

We depart the small ledge we used for shelter, moving carefully through a maze of boulders. The terrain here is punishing: steep inclines, loose rocks, patches of stubborn snow that glisten beneath a thin sun. Korrin leads, ever watchful, occasionally pausing to sniff the wind or listen for distant footfalls. His vigilance is a comfort, though I hate how the chain rattles each time I scramble to keep up.

We speak little, saving our breath for the trek. My thoughts churn with a thousand worries: how far must we go before we’re truly safe? How much more blood must Korrin spill in my name? Each time I recall the fortress, the memory of his final blow resonates with both relief and sorrow. He killed his own kind to save me, severing his last ties. I ignore the almost suffocating feeling and push onward, matching his pace.

At midday, we pause to rest by a shallow trickle of water that runs between two rocky slopes. I crouch, cupping my hands to drink, the icy liquid stinging my palms. Korrin sets his pack down, rolling his shoulders with a low grunt of discomfort. I look at the bandage beneath his harness. The crossbow wound hesustained is still healing, the scabs visible whenever he shifts. A wave of concern crests in me.

“How does it feel?” I ask, quietly. “Your arm?”

He shrugs, feigning indifference, but I see the tension in his jaw. “I’ll manage,” he says, voice gruff. Then his eyes soften, an unspoken apology for shutting me out.

I nod, letting it be. I won’t push him further. Instead, I straighten, scanning the rugged hills. Rocks rise in irregular formations, and far above, jagged peaks pierce a sky that grows darker by the hour. Clouds gather, grey and heavy.Probably another storm.My stomach knots at the thought of trying to scale treacherous paths in the rain.

“All right,” Korrin says after a moment, hefting his pack. “We push on. Let’s see if there’s a valley or ravine we can slip into before the weather turns.”

I tuck my cloak tighter, adjusting the chain so it won’t snag. Each step forward is a small defiance against everything that hunts us.Just keep moving,I chant inwardly,just keep living.

By late afternoon, the clouds have swelled into a solid mass, the wind picking up in chill gusts that howl between the boulders. We make our way along a high ridge, the path so narrow that sometimes I have to press against the stone to let Korrin pass or shift my weight. My nerves are on edge—this vantage offers a sweeping view of the valleys below, but it also leaves us exposed if any watchers are out there.

We spot what appears to be an old trail leading down a steep decline into a hidden valley. Shrugging off our misgivings, we choose it in hopes of finding cover from the looming storm. A sense of foreboding clenches my gut. The path, though well-worn, seems too convenient. But we have no better option, so we descend carefully.

The valley below reveals itself as a long, narrow basin, ringed by jagged cliffs on three sides. At first glance, it seems deserted—just patches of dry grass, a few scraggly pines. The wind keens, rustling dead leaves. My ankle twinges with each step, the chain jangling softly in the oppressive silence.

Suddenly, Korrin halts, lifting a hand to signal me to stop. My pulse spikes.He senses something.I strain my ears, hearing only wind. But then, carried on the breeze, I catch a faint clatter of metal. My heart jumps.Armored footsteps?

“Korrin—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a gesture, eyes narrowed. He motions for me to step behind a large boulder. My heart hammers as I duck down, gripping the chain to silence its rattle. Korrin presses himself against the rock, wings tensed, scanning the valley’s rim.

The metal noise grows louder, accompanied by hushed voices in a language I recognize too well:dark elves.Fear surges.They found us again.My eyes flit to Korrin. He looks over his shoulder at me, concern blazing in those golden irises. “Get ready,” he mouths.

But before we can plan an ambush or route of escape, a new sound slices the air—rushing wings overhead. My stomach plummets.More gargoyles?I crane my neck, glimpsing a shadow skimming the cloud-wreathed sky. A silhouette passes across the sun. Korrin curses under his breath.We’re surrounded—dark elves below, gargoyle(s) above.Panic flares.

We try to double back along the ridge, but the moment we step out from behind the boulder, a flurry of movement explodes around us. Dark elf scouts emerge from camouflaged positions among the rocks, crossbows aimed. My chain clinks as I freeze in alarm, Korrin shifting protectively in front of me.

“Surrender!” a dark elf barks, eyes gleaming with malice. He’s tall, wearing battered leathers with a sigil I recall from the fortress that once enslaved me. My blood runs cold. “You can’t win this time, gargoyle. We have reinforcements above. Our archers stand ready.”

Korrin’s wings snap open, a lethal display. Despite the crossbows leveled at him, he roars in fury, hooking an arm across me to shield me from immediate fire. “Get behind me,” he rasps.