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“Korrin,” he murmurs, voice tinged with sadness. “You truly strayed this far?” He glances at my shackles.

I glare, though a flicker of respect remains. “I strayed from mindless slaughter, if that’s what you mean.”

He sighs. “The clan is in uproar. The Alpha demands your execution if you fail to kill the purna, but some wonder if you might yet atone.”

“There’s no atonement in murder,” I snap, words biting. “She’s not the monster they claim. You know how we were taught to fear and hate purnas without question.” My breathcatches in a ragged sob. “I found truth outside this lair—some are not evil.”

Rhyzgran’s gaze shifts, torn. “The clan lost hundreds to purna curses. Old wounds shape our laws. But I always suspected we oversimplified. The Alpha’s decree is absolute, though. Disobeying is… suicide.”

“Then I choose that,” I hiss, though tears sting my eyes. “I won’t kill her.”

His shoulders slump, wings drooping. “Korrin… if you won’t do it, others will. And you’ll die, painfully.” He drags a hand down his face. “I can’t watch that happen, but what can I do? The Alpha’s word is law. If I intervene, I share your fate.”

A bitter laugh spills from my lips. “I ask for no help. Let me face it. Perhaps it’s the only path left.”

Silence stretches. He looks at me with genuine sorrow, a paternal softness I once admired. “I wish it were different,” he whispers. “You were our brightest executioner, unstoppable. Now… you’ve undone it all for a human.”

I swallow. “She’s more than that. She’s everything.” The confession burns my throat.I love her.

He nods, eyes glassy. “I’ll pray to the old stones for your mercy, Korrin. That is all I can offer.” With that, he turns away, footsteps echoing in the corridor. The cell door slams, leaving me alone again.

I languish another day, wracked by pain and fear for Elyria. Each moment crawls, each breath a reminder that time runs short. Then, abruptly, on the third day (or fourth—hard to tell), Varzak reappears with a sinister gleam in his eyes.

“Rise, traitor,” he snarls, unlocking the chains at my ankles but keeping my wrists manacled. “The Alpha summons you. Your precious purna is on her way to the fortress. The dark elves deliver her soon.”

My stomach plummets, heart slamming.She’s alive.Relief and dread meld in a sickening wave. They truly plan to force me to kill her in a public spectacle. My limbs shake as I stand, wings cramped from disuse. Varzak smirks, jabbing me toward the corridor.I can’t let them see how terrified I am.

They march me through the labyrinthine passages, up and up, until we reach an antechamber outside the Alpha’s throne hall. Elders gather in hushed conversation, eyes flicking to me with contempt. Varzak announces my arrival, shoving me forward. A hush settles. Gargoyles on either side sneer or mutter curses.All want my blood.

The Alpha’s voice booms from within the hall. “Bring him,” he commands.

Varzak pushes me through the doorway. The hall is more crowded than before—many gargoyles stand on the periphery, possibly drawn by the scandal. The braziers glow with an almost celebratory malice, as if the clan awaits a savage show. My eyes flick to the dais. The Alpha stands, massive wings partially spread, staff in one clawed hand. His gaze pins me with cold fury.

“Korrin,” he says, voice reverberating. “Your time of judgment arrives. The dark elves will bring the purna soon. We shall test your loyalty at last.”

I manage a trembling breath, forcing myself not to collapse under the hateful stares. My injuries throb. “If she arrives… what do you intend?”

A sneer curves his lips. “You will execute her before the entire clan. Prove you remain our executioner, loyal to our survival above all else.” His eyes narrow. “Defy me, and the clan tears you both limb from limb. Slowly.”

An elder steps forward, a female gargoyle with silver-streaked horns. She regards me with grim disapproval. “The clanhas no use for an executioner who loves a purna. Will you uphold our ancient vow, Korrin, or confirm your betrayal?”

I clench my chained fists.All the clan is here. If I refuse, they’ll kill her.My breath hitches.But if I do as they say, I become the monster she once feared.My heart writhes in agony.There must be a third path. But how?

The Alpha’s gaze intensifies, seeming to peer into my soul. “I smell your hesitation,” he hisses. “Do not hope for a miracle. The moment she arrives, you’ll have a blade in your hand. And the clan will watch. One clean strike, or we punish you both. Decide now, Korrin. Surrender to your sworn duty.”

The hall is deathly silent, every gargoyle’s eyes locked on me. My mind whirls, searching for any flicker of hope.I can’t kill her.But if I openly refuse, they’ll tear me apart, then likely kill her anyway.Is there any chance to turn the clan’s loyalty? Could I sabotage the moment of execution?

My voice trembles. “You will see my choice,” I manage, struggling to keep defiance from betraying my plan. “When the time comes.”

A low rumble of disapproval passes through the onlookers. The Alpha’s mouth twists, displeased by my evasive answer. Yet he says only, “Take him below, keep him under watch. When the purna arrives, we hold the ceremony.”

Varzak seizes my arm, marching me out again. Gargoyles hiss curses as we pass, spitting at my feet. My soul feels numb.Elyria is alive, at least. But I must kill her or face the clan’s wrath.My breath shudders with silent grief.

Varzak leads me to a small antechamber, not the full dungeon. A cluster of younger gargoyles stand guard. I’m pinned to a thick chain bolted in the center of the floor, forced to kneel. A hush falls as Varzak leans in close, voice dripping with malice.

“Soon, the dark elves bring your precious human. We gather in the main arena, and you’ll do your duty. Or I’ll carve her heartout myself. Slowly.” He runs a claw across my throat, eyes bright with sadistic glee. Then he departs, leaving the guards to watch me.

I slump, chest tightening with dread. The “arena” is an open cavern near the fortress’s core, used for clan rites—birth celebrations, challenges, punishments. I recall witnessing traitors executed there, the crowd roaring. Now, I’m forced to stand in that circle, a blade in hand, Elyria at my mercy.I’d sooner slice my own throat.But that saves no one.