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Even as I acknowledge that, a fierce spark ignites in my chest. I won’t let them break me. If gargoyles appear tonight, if the dark elves decide they’ve had enough of me, I’ll fight to my last breath—magic or no magic. That promise is all that keeps me walking as Zhorath drags me back to the cramped slave quarters. Night falls soon. I can only guess at what new terrors it might bring.

Thunder rumbles again behind me, and I lift my gaze for an instant. Lightning zigzags across the sky. For one heartbeat, Iimagine a vast silhouette passing behind those clouds—a beast of stone and fury, wings outstretched. A chill slides through me, uncertain if it’s from fear or something more.

So the gargoyles really are awake,I think, as the heavy door slams behind me and darkness envelopes me once more.

What if… they’re coming for me?

2

KORRIN

Lightning forks across the night sky, illuminating the jagged spires of our stronghold’s battlements and the pale stone statues perched along its walls. Those statues look ancient—wings folded, eyes hollow—yet they bear a disquieting resemblance to the living gargoyles who are rousing all across Protheka. Every time lightning flashes, I catch glimpses of them: silent sentinels that remind me how close we came to eternal sleep.

I stand on the highest rampart, the storm’s cold wind whipping across my face. The air smells of ozone and distant pine, undercut by the stale tang of blood from earlier hunts. I let my gaze sweep the dark landscape below, noting every flicker of movement—mortals scurrying near their watchfires, shadows shifting along the fortress walls. They all look so small to me. Fragile. I can’t help the curl of my lip, a reaction born of the arrogance ingrained in my race. Still, there’s no satisfaction in killing weaker beings; only a hollow sense of duty that’s been drilled into me since the moment I cracked free from stone a fortnight ago.

We gargoyles have awakened. At first, my memories came in fragments, the cold hush of stone sleep, the war centuries past that nearly destroyed us, the witches who wielded terrifying purna magic, the dark elves who conspired in that conflict. They’re all pieces of a broken tapestry in my mind—battle cries echoing over canyons, the flash of magic bright as a small sun, winged figures clashing high above burning towns. Now I’m confronted with a new command from the Alpha:Kill every human woman on sight.It’s a culling meant to prevent the reemergence of purna magic.

I clench my jaw.I am an executioner,I remind myself. I have no illusions about my role. I’m the Alpha’s foremost hunter, a living weapon he wields without hesitation. When he says to kill, I kill. I should feel no doubt.

I sense a presence behind me, and the short spines along my shoulders prickle. I pivot, narrowing my eyes as I spot Tarmik, one of my gargoyle brethren. He has slate-gray skin and a jagged scar across his snout, souvenirs from battles he likely only half-remembers.

“Korrin,” Tarmik says, his voice like a low rumble of thunder, “the Alpha demands your presence.”

I grunt in acknowledgment. I’ve been expecting this summons since the scouts brought word of a dark elf fortress harboring human slaves. There must be females among those humans—potential carriers of purna blood. I spare one final glance at the storm-lashed horizon, then spread my wings in a single powerful motion. The wind catches beneath them, and I leap from the rampart. My stone-like muscles bunch, manipulating magnetic fields that grant me flight. Even after centuries sealed in stone, flight still comes naturally to me—like breathing, but fiercer.

Below, in our courtyard, newly awakened gargoyles test their strength and sharpen weapons. Torchlight casts twistingshadows that make them appear even more monstrous—horns, claws, fanged faces. I circle once overhead, then drop to the courtyard with a dull thud. My landing cracks the stone tile beneath my feet, sending shards of rubble skittering in every direction. Tarmik lands beside me, wings folding.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Tarmik warns before stepping aside.

I enter the Alpha’s council chamber through massive double doors, each carved from dark stone and etched with runes. A cold blue glow emanates from arcane sconces on the walls, sending pale light rippling across black marble columns. At the far end of the hall stands the Alpha himself.

He’s enormous, even by gargoyle standards, eight feet of obsidian skin streaked with pulsing crimson veins. His wings arch behind him, curved horns framing a face etched with swirling patterns that mark him as our patriarch. The strongest among us. I cross the chamber and dip my head, my claws scraping against the marble as I stop.

“You summoned me,” I say, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

The Alpha inclines his head. “Yes. Our scouts have uncovered new intelligence about a fortress occupied by dark elves. They hold human slaves—among them, several females who may carry the seeds of purna magic. You know what must be done.”

My heart pounds, though my face betrays no emotion. “The humans must be culled.”

“Precisely.” He steps closer, and I feel the weight of his gaze. “We cannot risk another war like the one that nearly ended our race. The purna lineage was never fully snuffed out. Rumors suggest one of them—maybe more—hides among these captives. If they awaken, we could face the same horror that forced us into stone sleep.”

I recall half-formed nightmares that haunted my slumber: witches shrouded in blazing magic, entire gargoyle clans reduced to rubble. I have no desire to see our kind decimated again. Even so, a part of me resists the notion of slaughtering so many. It’s fleeting, but I feel it all the same.

“Understood,” I say, steadying my voice. “Do we have any names or descriptions?”

At the Alpha’s gesture, a lesser gargoyle steps forward. He carries a rolled parchment and unspools it, revealing sketches and marks that I assume come from interrogation or captured intelligence. “Many are inconsequential,” the gargoyle explains, his tone even. “But one stands out. A young woman named Elyria.”

My gaze slides to a charcoal sketch on the parchment, a slender figure with black hair streaked silver, a brand at her neck. The rush of adrenaline in my veins surprises me. Something about those scrawled features unsettles me.

“She has certain markings,” the gargoyle continues. “A birthmark behind her ear, rumored to be purna in origin. The dark elves haven’t executed her, implying they see potential benefit—or danger—in her existence.”

The Alpha’s eyes burn with intensity. “You, Korrin, will lead the strike. Infiltrate the fortress, exterminate the human females, and bring me proof. If any show a hint of purna magic, kill them. We cannot allow the threat of another war.”

I force down the unease gnawing at the back of my mind.I am the executioner. This is my purpose.“It will be done.”

The Alpha’s lips curl in a grim smile. “Go, then. Tonight, we reclaim blood in the name of our survival.”

I say nothing more, merely pivot and stride from the chamber. The weight of the Alpha’s decree hangs on my shoulders like an invisible chain, heavier than any stone I’ve ever carried.