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Olyssia joins, folding her arms. “Count me in. I’m done letting them terrorize us from the shadows. My flames will keep those gargoyles at bay.”

A flicker of confidence sparks in my chest. I turn to Vaelin. “It’s time we trust each other completely. No more secrets. If we’re to unify these scattered forces, we need your insight into the Overlord’s tactics, and how the Red Purnas might manipulate them.”

He dips his head in agreement. “I’ll share everything I know, about supply lines, potential weak points in the Overlord’s armies. As for the gargoyles… my blood might sense them before they strike. It’s an edge, though an unsettling one.”

I nod, ignoring the pang in my heart at that reminder of his cursed heritage. “Then let’s move quickly. We’ll assign purnas to each region, gather any humans willing to stand with us. The rest can fortify these mountains.”

The Matriarch touches my arm, voice low. “Elira, we have a plan, but the final piece is the ritual you discovered. If it comes to it—if the gargoyle horde pushes us to the brink—we’ll rely on you to seal them away again, as our ancestors once did. That will require a circle of powerful purnas. Possibly… sacrifices.”

A chill crawls down my spine, recalling the grim details from the scrolls. “I understand.” My hand slips into Vaelin’s, seeking reassurance. His grip tightens, silent promise swirling between us.

Within the hour, the plateau hums with urgent preparation. Purnas rush about, preparing travel kits, marking wards on parchment, studying old tomes. The Matriarch issues swift commands, dispatching small teams to rally humans or guard strategic passes. Olyssia volunteers to handle communications, sending flares of elemental magic into the sky as signals. Quelina organizes novices, ensuring they have basic illusions to cloak vulnerable caravans.

Meanwhile, Vaelin and I gather near a makeshift table outside the largest rock hall. We pore over a rough map of the region, my illusions lighting the surface as we plot potential infiltration routes for Red Purna forces and the Overlord’s armies. Vaelin speaks in clipped tones, describing how the Overlord might deploy scouts or set traps. I note each threat in a ledger, fighting the tightness in my chest.

At one point, Olyssia appears, breathless. “Elira—some loyal purnas in the far valley managed to convince a band of human travelers to join. They’re heading here with supplies. And a handful of orcish scouts have been spotted near the western ridges. We might persuade them too, if we can prove we’re not their enemies.”

I bite my lip, a flutter of optimism stirring. “This is good. We might forge a decent coalition if everyone unites.”

Vaelin sets a hand on my shoulder. “We can do it. We just have to hold off the Overlord long enough. If the gargoyles attack soon, though…” He trails off, the weight of his words unspoken.We might be overrun.

I muster a nod. “We face them head-on, exactly as the Matriarch said.”

As dusk settles, I stand near the edge of the plateau, gazing at the distant lights of small fires in the valley below. Each flicker represents another group of purnas or humans converging. My heart swells with a strange mix of terror and pride.We’re forging an army from scraps.

Footsteps approach—Vaelin. He stops beside me, cloak rustling in the wind. We exchange a somber look. “We made our choice,” he says quietly. “To fight. Even if it’s likely we’ll stand against impossible odds.”

I exhale, leaning my head against his shoulder. “That’s what the prophecy demands, I guess. But it’s our choice too—to save rather than destroy.”

He slips an arm around my waist, gaze distant over the twilit sky. The hush that follows wraps us in a moment of delicate intimacy. Despite the swirl of voices behind us, the scraping of purnas hauling supplies, it feels like we’re alone on this cliff, hearts colliding in a single breath. My mind flashes to the fortress corridor where we first truly connected, the desperate magic that fused our souls. The memory stirs warmth in my chest, banishing the chill of impending war.

He lowers his voice, so soft only I can hear: “Thank you for trusting me.”

Tears prick my eyes. “You’ve earned it, Vaelin. Together… maybe we can tip fate in a better direction.”

The rumble of distant thunder echoes across the mountains, or perhaps it’s the roar of gargoyles prowling Ghalarak’s peaks. Either way, it’s a stark reminder that time is short. I pull away, squaring my shoulders. “We should finalize plans with the Matriarch. Tomorrow at dawn, we march to intercept the gargoyles or meet any threat along the pass. We can’t let them break through to the human lands.”

He sets his jaw. “I’m with you.”

We rejoin the coven’s elders by a large bonfire stoked on the plateau. Shadows dance across determined faces. The Matriarch stands at the center, staff in hand, her silver braid swaying in the wind. She acknowledges our approach with a nod. “Elira, Vaelin—are we ready?”

I glance at him, then face the gathered purnas. My voice carries more confidence than I feel. “Yes. At dawn, we move out. We’ve rallied who we can. The Red Purnas and Overlord might march from the east, the gargoyles from Ghalarak. We’ll intercept them in the valley if possible. If the gargoyle Warlord emerges, we confront him directly.”

A murmur of both dread and agreement sweeps the circle. Olyssia steps up, shoulders tense. “We’ll position illusions to mask our numbers, lure the gargoyles away from any villages. Meanwhile, a second unit wards our flank against the Red Purnas. If the Overlord’s troops appear, we rely on Vaelin’s knowledge to undermine them.”

Vaelin inclines his head, ignoring the uncertain glances from a few purnas. “I’ll do my part.”

Quelina sighs, gripping her staff. “We face monstrous odds. But if we stand united, perhaps it won’t be a complete slaughter.”

The Matriarch’s gaze sweeps us, solemn yet resolute. “Stay vigilant. The gargoyles have an ancient cunning, and the Red Purnas know our tactics. Elira, if the Warlord attacks in force, you may need to attempt the sealing spell. The rest of us will support you.”

A shiver crawls along my spine, remembering the lethal cost of that spell.So be it.I lift my chin. “I’ll do what I must, Matriarch.”

With that, the council disperses, purnas hurrying to make final preparations. I stand by the bonfire, flames casting wavering light across Vaelin’s features. He stares into the embers, expression distant. Gently, I slip my hand into his. He squeezes back, a silent acknowledgement of the uncertain road ahead.

Above us, the night sky spreads thick with stars, no moon in sight. The wind whistles across the plateau, carrying faint echoes of monstrous roars. We stand on the brink of war, yet I cling to the fragile alliance we’ve built. My heart beats with renewed determination.I choose to fight, to believe we can save each other from the darkest fates.

When I look at Vaelin, I see more than the Overlord’s forged weapon or a tortured hybrid. I see a man struggling to define himself beyond chains, forging a path anchored by the tenuous bond between us. And when he looks at me, I hope he sees not just a prophecy-laden witch, but someone willing to defy her own fate to protect what—and who—she loves.