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Time blurs. My entire body shakes with exhaustion, old wounds throbbing. But the emotional agony dwarfs physical pain. I keep recalling Elyria’s trembling form, how she looked the first time I spared her.What if I have to look into her eyes and see trust or betrayal?

A door slams outside. Footsteps pound the corridor. Gargoyles come and go, whispering about the dark elves’ arrival. My breath comes in ragged gasps.It’s happening.Soon they’ll drag me to that arena.I must do something.My mind churns—maybe I can feign compliance, then turn on the Alpha. But the clan’s enforcers will be everywhere.Suicide.Still, that might buy Elyria a chance to flee.She’s collared, likely shackled. She can’t outrun them alone.My heart sinks further.Is there truly no hope?

At last, a guard steps in. “It’s time,” he grunts, unchaining me from the floor but keeping my wrists bound in heavy manacles. “Don’t struggle.” I clench my jaw, letting him yank me upright. My ankles quake, wings pinned behind me. Two more guards flank me, each gripping an arm. The corridor is thick with tension. Every gargoyle we pass stares with contempt or curiosity. I see no friendly faces, no hidden allies.Trapped.

They march me down a flight of stairs, across a wide corridor lined with torches. The air thickens with excitement, as if the entire fortress hums with anticipation. My chest aches. I catchglimpses of gargoyles gathering in droves around the entrance to the central arena—a cavernous space where I once trained. My stomach flips.It’s real. They’re going to force me to do this in front of everyone.

We enter through a side gate, stepping into a vast circular chamber. Tiered stone benches rise around the perimeter, jammed with gargoyles—warriors, elders, novices. Torches mounted high on pillars cast harsh light over the central ring, an open floor of polished stone. My wings fold in tight, an instinctive reaction to the throng of watchers. A hush ripples through the crowd as they see me.They came to watch a spectacle.My heart pounds, fear and hatred mingling in my veins.

At the far side stands the Alpha on a raised platform, staff in hand. Varzak stands near him, arms folded, expression triumphant. The crowd parts, letting me see a second set of metal gates across the ring. My breath catches. A group of dark elves stand there, elves I half-recognize as fortress overlords, with a single chained figure among them. My vision blurs with tears.Elyria.

She looks gaunt, bound at the wrists, collar still around her neck. A fresh bruise darkens her cheek, and her eyes dart frantically across the arena. When she sees me, her face twists with heartbreak. I swallow a broken cry. She’s alive, but battered.They said they’d deliver her to the Alpha—and here she is, an offering of cruelty.

The crowd hushes as the Alpha raises a claw. “Clan,” he booms, voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “We gather to witness an act of redemption—or final justice. Korrin, once our proud executioner, has strayed. But we give him a chance to reclaim honor. By slaying this purna, he atones for all.”

A murmur ripples among the gargoyles, some cheering, others looking grim. My stomach roils. The dark elves pushElyria forward, into the ring. She staggers, chain rattling. The Alpha turns to me. “Korrin,” he calls. “Step forth.”

I close my eyes, the entire arena watching. My heart roars:I cannot kill her.But how can I save us both from the alpha’s wrath?

13

ELYRIA

I’ve been dragged through these corridors so many times now, I can’t recall how many days have passed since I last drew a free breath. Each tunnel is dimly lit by guttering torches, the walls sweating damp and mildew, the floor slick with old grime. Orcish slaves might have carved these passages long ago—now they’re just another extension of the gloom that devours everything in the gargoyle stronghold.

Over the past handful of days, the dark elves have moved me from one makeshift cell to another, shuffling me under heavy guard. They claim to be acting on behalf of the gargoyle Alpha, ensuring I’m securely caged while my “trial” or my “execution” is arranged. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been gagged, bound, or forced to kneel while sneering elves deliver scraps of water or stale bread. Each time I see that gargoyle crest etched on the towering walls, my stomach lurches:Korrin’s clan.The same place that once belonged to him as an executioner. Now it’s my prison, and possibly his, too.

Every second I’m here is a fresh wave of terror. The chain around my throat is heavier than ever, the collar biting raw circles into my skin. My wrists are shackled in front of me,limiting my range to a brief span of movement. My ankles feel bruised from rough handling. And though the dark elves are my jailors—along with a smattering of gargoyle overseers—I can’t stop imagining Korrin somewhere in these same halls.Is he captive, too? Has he succumbed to his clan’s demands?

I recall the last time I saw him, bloodied, pinned by a gargoyle’s brutal dive, dark elves swarming his fallen body. The memory is a twisted dagger in my chest.Surely no one could survive that.But a tiny ember of hope flickers, refusing to die.He’s survived worse. He is unstoppable, right?My thoughts churn day and night:Will he come for me? Or will he betray me to save his own life?

My mind snarls in circles, memories tangling of the ambush, the wild blow that took him down. My heart aches.If he’s gone, I might as well be gone, too.Because I’m chained once more in this fortress, facing a death I cannot escape. A slow suffocation of the spirit. And yet part of me—some stubborn spark—wants to believe that he’s still out there, battered but alive, fighting for a miracle.

On the day my life is set to be decided, though I can’t quite pinpoint how I know it’stheday—the dark elves shove me into a new cell, deeper in the fortress. This chamber, more imposing than the last, has carved gargoyle effigies leering from the walls. Torch brackets cast elongated shadows of fanged faces across the floor. Above me, the ceiling arches high, lined with hooks that might once have held captured or caged beasts. Now, I’m the caged one.

A gargoyle stands guard by the iron gate, arms folded. He doesn’t speak to me, only watches with contempt. Behind him, two dark elves hover, crossbows slung over their shoulders. I sense the tension between gargoyle and elf, an uneasy truce. Maybe the clan allied with these elves just to keep me penned.The realization draws a ragged laugh from my throat.I must be important to them—dangerous enough to unite old enemies.

My ankles are shackled to a ring in the center of the floor, with just enough slack to let me sit or stand. The collar chain is looped around a second iron post, forming a humiliating tether that keeps me from moving more than a few strides. Hours creep by, each minute hammered by the knowledge that a final judgment is near. I try to quell the trembling in my limbs, but the chain rattles anyway, betraying my fear.I can’t stop shaking.

Strangely, in the corners of my mind, something stirs. A faint hum, like a distant pulse. It’s not the clang of metal or the hush of footsteps. It comes fromwithinme, a thread of awareness that prickles in my veins.My magic?The purna inheritance I never fully believed in. Over the past days, it’s flickered once or twice—like a candle in a windstorm—whenever I felt cornered. But it never built to anything real, never manifested in a way that could break these chains.

Part of me wonders,could I truly unleash some force strong enough to free me?Fear clenches my heart at the thought. The rumors say a High Purna’s awakened magic can reshape reality or burn entire armies. But I have no training, no idea how to channel such power. And if it flares uncontrolled, who might it harm—even Korrin, if he’s alive?

I swallow, tears scalding my eyes.Focus on survival, on him.The day drags on. No food, minimal water. Guards change shifts, but they keep me under constant watch. The gargoyle who stands guard sneers each time I look up, as if my existence repulses him.A purna locked in gargoyle territory is an abomination.The threat is so thick I can taste it.

At some point, a group of elves enters the corridor, whispering among themselves. One—an officer with a jagged scar across his cheek—steps to the gate, eyes me with cruel amusement. “They’ll summon you soon,” he says in a voicemeant to unsettle me. “The Alpha demands a public display. Your gargoyle friend will be forced to do his duty.”

My heart lurches, blood roaring in my ears.Korrin’s alive?My entire body stiffens. “Where is he?” I demand, voice hoarse. “Is he—hurt?”

The elf’s scarred lips twitch. “He’s alive enough,” he taunts. “But that might change if he disobeys. The Alpha’s going to make him prove loyalty by slitting your throat.”

My throat clenches. A wave of dizziness hits me.He’s alive. He’s in the fortress, forced to kill me.I can hardly breathe. The elf laughs at my horror, then leaves with his retinue, footsteps echoing ominously.

The guard gargoyle smirks, tail flicking. “It’s what you deserve, purna,” he growls. My gut churns with equal parts relief and terror:Korrin is here, but what if they coerce him to kill me?

I slump to the floor, chain tugging at my neck. Emotions swirl: joy that he survived, dread that I might face him in an execution arena. My tears slip down unbidden.He won’t do it. Right?But the memory of how the clan breaks traitors sears my thoughts.They’ll torture him until he obeys.My chest heaves, stifling sobs. I brace my shackled wrists against my forehead, ignoring the guard’s jeers.Don’t cry, don’t break.But it’s so hard.

Time bleeds again. Sometime later, a half hour, or half a day?—the gate creaks open, and a small party of gargoyles stands there, led by a lean female with cold eyes. She unlocks my ankle ring and collar chain from the floor. Another gargoyle seizes the chain, dragging me upright. Pain shoots through my shoulders. My battered ankles protest.It’s happening.I see the finality in their expressions.