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My pulse quickens. The Red Purnas are already escalating. That might be part of their strategy to draw Elira out. Anger flares. They’re hurting innocents—witch or human alike—to forward their goals. I recall my own orders from the Overlord, equally merciless. The lines between friend and foe blur.

“Travel safely,” I manage, voice grim. “Avoid those Purnas if you can.”

He nods, a spark of confusion flitting across his features. Perhaps he expected cruelty, not a warning. Then the caravan trundles on, leaving me in the swirling dust of the road. My chest heaves with frustration.This conflict is spiraling. Elira’s not the only target; the Red Purnas are unhinged.

Spurring the zalkir, I continue northward, fighting the tangle of my thoughts. Late in the day, storm clouds gather on the horizon, grumbling with distant thunder. Rain threatens to drench the land. I find a shallow cave among the rocky hills, tucking the zalkir inside to wait out the weather. The wind picks up, howling across the stones.

I huddle by a small fire I conjure with a tinderbox and scraps of kindling. The flickering flames provide scant warmth. My mind circles back to the Overlord’s demand for results, the Red Purnas’ vile plan, and Elira’s precarious place in all of it. I recall that stolen moment: her lips parted in a soft gasp, her breath mingling with mine. The memory aches in my chest, a contradiction to everything I was taught.

Rubbing my temples, I murmur, “What am I supposed to do?” The cave walls offer no answer. The zalkir shifts restlessly behind me, tail swishing. Outside, the wind rises, and the first droplets of rain splatter on stone.

I sense a deeper question thrumming beneath my confusion:Am I truly bound to Orthani’s leash, or can I break free for her sake?The very thought feels heretical. But the Overlord’s cruelty, the Red Purnas’ ambition—both cast a harsh light on the path I’ve always followed. If I remain loyal, I’ll deliver Elira to a fate worse than death. If I betray the Overlord, I’ll be hunted relentlessly.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the cave mouth. The rain intensifies, sheets of water sluicing down. I stare into the storm, my heart pounding. Elira’s name pulses through my mind like a half-remembered promise. She’s out there, alone, possibly in the path of both the Overlord’s wrath and the Red Purnas’ trap. A surge of protective instinct swells inside me.

My loyalty tears in two. On one side, decades of service, the Overlord’s conditioning, and fear of his merciless retribution. On the other, a spark of something dangerously akin to devotion for the witch I should be capturing. The more I struggle, the clearer it becomes: I cannot simply hand her over. The Overlord might break me, but I can’t throw her to the wolves. Not after that night in the ruin, not after feeling her heartbeat against mine.

I realize the fire has burned low, casting dancing shadows. My side throbs, an echo of last night’s battle. In the flickering light, my reflection glistens on a damp patch of rock: obsidian skin, hollow eyes, a man poised on the brink of treason. The Overlord’s enforcer, undone by a single act of compassion and an undeniable surge of longing.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I breathe, voice shaking. Thunder answers, a low rumble over the hills. My heart hammers at the admission. This is the moment I realize I might never be the same obedient blade. Something inside me has cracked, letting in a shard of empathy I can’t banish.

At length, I stand, tossing aside the last bit of kindling onto the dying flames. Water drips from the cave ceiling, forming a shallow puddle near the entrance. The storm rages outside, but I can’t remain idle. I must act, even if I’m uncertain how.Elira is in danger, from both the Overlord and the Red Purnas. I can’t watch from the sidelines.

I approach my zalkir, stroking its scaled neck. The beast nuzzles my hand, exhaling a hot breath that smells faintly of sulfur. My ribs protest as I pull myself into the saddle, but the pain scarcely registers now. The storm outside is fierce, rain lashing in sheets, but I steer the zalkir into it without hesitation.

Lightning rips across the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. I hunker against the beast’s neck, letting my cloak shield me as best it can. Mud splashes under the zalkir’s claws, and the world seems to blur beneath the deluge. My lungs burn with every breath of wet, cold air.

Yet a fierce determination surges within me. I don’t have a perfect plan, but I know I must find Elira first—warn her, protect her, do something to keep the Red Purnas from caging her or the Overlord from twisting her gifts. She might not trust me, but after last night, maybe she’ll listen. Maybe there’s a path forward that doesn’t end in more bloodshed.

My side flares with renewed pain, but I ignore it, spurring the zalkir onward. The storm’s fury howls around us, wind whipping branches and flattening tall grass. My soaked cloak slaps against my back with each stride. Every muscle in my body screams for rest, yet I press on, driven by a fractured loyalty that’s begun to realign around a single truth:Elira’s fate matters more to me than my own survival.That realization both terrifies and emboldens me.

I ride into the night, the thunder and lightning serving as my only companions. Each flash illuminates the drenched landscape—hills, twisted trees, streams overflowing with rain. My mind runs with the question:Where to find her?The last time I saw her, she was heading east, possibly skirting farmland and avoiding major roads. If the Red Purnas are escalating, they might also guess that route.

A new dread blossoms: what if the Red Purnas corner her before I do? The image of Nerissa’s triumphant sneer churns my stomach. The memory of Elira’s exhausted face after the monstrous battle, the brush of her lips against mine, spurs me onward.Stay safe. Please.

Time becomes a blur, measured only by the lightning’s erratic intervals. Eventually, my zalkir staggers, nearly slipping on a waterlogged slope. I rein it in, panting. The poor beast can’t go on much longer without rest, and neither can I. The storm rages unabated. Gritting my teeth, I guide it toward a copse of willows, hoping the hanging branches provide minimal shelter. We slip beneath them, rainwater streaming off the leaves in rivulets.

Dismounting, I sink against the trunk of a willow, breath ragged. My side throbs. The bandage is soaked and useless, blood and rain mingling in a sticky mess. Yet I cling to the flicker of resolve. Tomorrow, when the storm dies, I’ll search again. For now, we must endure the night’s onslaught.

Lightning crackles overhead, painting the night in stark white. My eyes close against the glare. In the darkness behind my lids, I picture Elira’s determined gaze. The Overlord’s face looms too, sneering at my weakness. Between them stands the Red Purnas, ready to exploit any opening. The chaos of it all weighs on me, pressing against my ribs with a suffocating force.

A tremor courses through me, part chill, part apprehension. My once ironclad loyalty is in ruins, and I’m forging a path that might end with my own death. But I cannot stop now. Everything changed the moment I chose not to deliver her to Orthani. If I’m doomed, I’ll at least try to protect her from the darkest impulses of both my people and her own.

Thunder rattles the ground. I curl a hand around the hilt of my sword, half for reassurance, half to remind myself I still have a role to play. The storm’s fury washes away the last vestiges of the Overlord’s illusions about my unwavering obedience. I’m no longer sure if I serve Orthani or my own conscience.

In the hush between lightning strikes, I whisper into the rain, “Elira, hold on.” My words vanish in the howling wind, but they anchor me nonetheless. The road ahead is steeped in betrayal and conflict, but I can’t turn back. Tomorrow, I’ll ride again, battered but resolute, guided by the fragile hope of finding her first—and forging a new destiny that might spare us both from the cruelty that hunts us.

The storm thrashes around me as I slump against the willow trunk. My eyelids drift shut, weariness finally compelling me to snatch what sleep I can in the deluge. Echoes of guilt and longing swirl in my thoughts, yet one truth remains clear: I cannot simply turn her over now. My loyalty to the Overlord is fractured, replaced by a loyalty to something I never expected—Elira’s survival and the faint promise of something beyond the darkness.

11

ELIRA

Islip through the jagged pass at twilight, heart battering my ribs as I make my way back to the coven’s hidden sanctuary. The air here is noticeably colder, the high altitude chilling the sweat on my skin. My legs ache from days of near-constant travel, and a dull throbbing haunts my shoulder—a souvenir of the last monstrous battle and my frantic clash with Vaelin. Just thinking his name tightens my chest with conflicting emotions I’m not ready to face.

Rounding the final bend, I spot the narrow path that leads to the coven entrance, half-concealed by boulders and creeping vines. Dim orbs of arcane light glow along the corridor, illuminating the damp rock walls. Exhaustion claws at me, but I push forward, ignoring the roiling tension in my stomach. This was once my refuge, a safe haven from the violent world below. Now, every step pulses with dread. In my travels, I found out something. I have to return despite the dangers.

The Red Purnas have turned on their own,I remind myself grimly,and if I don’t warn the Matriarch, we could all be doomed.