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They escort me down a different hallway, deeper into the fortress than ever. My hope sinks with every step. Tapestries hang on the walls, depicting dark elf victories over humans and monstrous forms. The heavy oppression of this place weighs on me like a physical force.

At last, we arrive at a cell block lit by eerie greenish lanterns. One guard slides open a reinforced metal gate, revealing a cramped cell lined with runic inscriptions. My chest constricts, these runes might be designed to suppress any latent magic.They’re caging me not just physically, but magically.

They shove me inside. The collar chain is locked to a ring in the wall, giving me even less mobility than before. My arms still bound in front, I slump to my knees, trembling. A final clang echoes as they shut the iron gate, then I hear the snick of multiple locks. No chance of prying those open by brute force.

Alone in the flickering greenish gloom, tears flood my eyes. My entire body shakes with grief, exhaustion, and the raw terror of returning to captivity.This is it. I’m lost.The fortress has me again, more securely than before, and the only one who ever dared rescue me might lie broken in some lonely mountain pass. My soul hollows out.

I put my forehead to the cold stone floor, the chain biting my throat. “Korrin… please be alive,” I whisper, voice shaking. But no answer comes, just the mocking silence of a fortress built on cruelty. My tears blot the dusty floor, heart fracturing under the weight of my loss.

In that final moment, everything seems truly undone. The fragile freedom we shared, our tender bond, the hope of forging a life away from the clan and the elves—all shattered by a single ambush. My mind replays Korrin’s last roar, the bolt striking him, the gargoyle slamming him to the ground.He can’t survive that, can he?

My sobs echo in the chamber, a lonely lament that no one hears. Bound, collared, cut off from light or rescue, I surrender to despair. The fortress walls loom around me like a tomb.It’s over,I think.All is lost.

12

KORRIN

Isurface from a sea of pain, consciousness flickering around the edges of a dark void. At first, I’m not sure if I’m alive or if some cruel afterlife has claimed me. My lungs burn, chest tight. My wings ache as though they’ve been wrenched from their sockets, and a throbbing agony pulses through my skull. Every breath stings, echoing through battered ribs.Am I truly breathing?

Gradually, my senses return. Sound filters in, a murmur of voices, the scrape of boots on stone, the distant drip of water. My nostrils flare at the smell of incense, blood, and something more pungent—an unmistakable tang ofgargoyle lair.I know it too well: the faint metallic tang that clings to the corridors, the acrid smoke of braziers that line the cavernous halls.I’m in my clan’s stronghold.A cold dread curls in my gut.How did I get here?

Memory roars back, slamming into me with brutal force.The ambush.Dark elves. Another gargoyle swooping down. Elyria’s scream, the chain rattling as she was torn from my side. My last sight was her tear-streaked face, my own wings pinned under a blow that shattered the ground. Then… nothing. Blackness.They must have found me, half-dead, and brought me here.Butwho? My mind spins with images of gargoyle scouts, the Alpha’s enforcers.The clan wants me in chains for my betrayal. Or worse.

“Wake,” a cold voice commands, echoing in the darkness. A heavy blow strikes my shoulder, jolting agony through my battered muscles. I groan, forcing my eyelids open. Torchlight stabs my retinas, and I squint.

I’m lying on a slab of black stone, a narrow dais in what appears to be a dungeon chamber. Iron clamps bind my wrists and ankles, pinning me in place. My wings, too, are lashed with thick straps. The chamber is lit by flickering braziers that cast cruel shadows across the walls, revealing carved gargoyle totems—grim faces with fanged maws. The sight is painfully familiar from my training days.My clan’s stronghold, the keep’s lower dungeons.A place where traitors are punished, or purna captives are interrogated. My heart thuds with bleak terror.

Standing before me is Varzak, one of the Alpha’s favored enforcers, a gargoyle known for his sadistic streak. He’s tall, even by gargoyle standards, with obsidian skin that gleams in the torchlight. I see the clan insignia branded on his forearm, the same place I once bore the mark of an executioner’s rank. His lips curl in a sneer as he slams a closed fist against my ribcage again, forcing a tortured sound from my throat.

“Traitor,” he spits, eyes flaring with malicious glee. “You gave us quite the chase. The Alpha wants you alive—for now.”

Pain sears with every breath, but I refuse to cry out. “Varzak,” I rasp. “Where is she?” My voice cracks with desperation.Elyria… is she even alive?

He scoffs, delivering another cuff to my shoulder. “Shut your sniveling. The Alpha will decide if you get answers. Your concern for that purna filth is pathetic.”

Fury and horror swirl. She must be held somewhere in the fortress or, gods forbid, back with the dark elves. My bloodruns cold at the memory of them dragging her off, her screams echoing. I muster a ragged snarl. “If you’ve harmed her?—”

He backhands me across the jaw, a savage blow that splits my lip. “Silence. You have no demands to make.”

My head reels, stars dancing at the edge of vision. Warm blood drips down my chin. I gasp, spitting out the coppery taste. The pain is excruciating, but fear for Elyria dwarfs it.At least I know I’m in the clan’s lair, not a dark elf fortress. That must mean they struck some arrangement or found me first.A faint flicker of bitter relief: if the Alpha wants me alive, I might have a chance to find her.

Varzak lets out a harsh laugh, turning away as two more gargoyles enter—both I recognize from the Alpha’s inner circle. They unfasten the straps around my wings, but keep my wrists and ankles shackled. I try to stand, but my battered body protests, forcing me to rely on their rough grips as they haul me upright. My vision swims with dizziness. The corridor beyond the cell is a corridor of polished obsidian, lit by braziers and lined with macabre gargoyle sculptures. They drag me along, ignoring the rattle of my chains.

At every step, agony flares in my wing joints, memories of the crossbow bolts and savage blows that pinned me on the battlefield. But I cling to one thought:I must learn Elyria’s fate.If the Alpha has her, I’ll endure anything to ensure her safety. If he doesn’t, I must escape to find her.But how, with every gargoyle here calling for my blood?

They haul me up a winding staircase carved into living rock. My stomach knots. I recall the path from my earliest training days: it leads to the Alpha’s personal throne hall, the seat of his dominion over the clan. My heart hammers in dread.This is it.I can’t muster illusions about mercy. The Alpha enforces loyalty with iron claws.

At the top, a massive ironbound door swings open, revealing a vast chamber lit by braziers of eerie green flame. The walls are lined with carved pillars depicting gargoyle conquests, each telling a story of subjugation—dark elves, humans, even other gargoyles who defied the clan.I used to revere this place.Now, it feels like walking into my own funeral.

In the center stands the Alpha: nearly eight feet tall, wings extended in a display of dominance. His obsidian skin glimmers with veins of crimson, and curved horns frame his stern face. Around him, a half-circle of gargoyle elders watch with grim interest, arms folded. The hush is thick with menace.

Varzak prods me forward until I stand (barely) ten paces from the Alpha’s dais. My wrists remain shackled, ankles weighted by iron. My wings hang limp, trembling from the pain. I force my chin up, refusing to cower.I’ve killed clanmates to protect Elyria. My betrayal is absolute. Let them see I regret nothing.

Silence stretches as the Alpha regards me with a withering stare. When he finally speaks, his voice resonates like distant thunder. “Korrin,” he says, spitting my name. “I had hoped the rumors were false. That you had not become the traitor they claimed.” His molten eyes flick to my battered body. “Yet here you stand, reeking of human stench.”

I swallow, my throat parched. “I am no traitor,” I lie, trying to keep my voice steady. “But I refuse to kill the innocent.”

He snarls. “Innocent? A High Purna is anything but. Our clan nearly perished at the hands of purna witches once. Need I remind you of the old wars? And you, an executioner, have forsaken your vow for a creature who would see us burned to ash if she awakened fully.”