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Hand in hand, we return to the camp’s fires, illusions flickering around us like drifting fireflies. Survivors glance our way with tired smiles, some murmuring blessings. The Matriarch nods in approval, though sorrow lines her features from the day’s losses. Olyssia waves us over to share a meager meal. We join them, side by side, forging a sense of community in the aftermath.

And high above, the cluster of petrified gargoyles stands silent under the moon, a monument to our victory and a caution that this evil can rise again if we falter. But for now, the prophecy is fulfilled in a way that spares countless lives. We can rebuild. We can stand together.

As the fires burn low, and the hush of the exhausted camp settles, Vaelin and I find a quiet corner beneath a leaning pillar. He pulls me into his arms, illusions drifting around us in comforting whorls. My chest warms with every beat of his heart against mine.We’ve found a fragile peace in each other, a sanctuary after the storms.

Tomorrow, we’ll shape a new future—one where purnas and dark elves, humans and orcs, can find common ground. Where gargoyles remain sealed or, if ever freed, might be guided to exist without endless slaughter. Where the Overlord’s tyranny doesn’t define us, nor do the Red Purnas’ betrayals.Where Vaelin and I can walk in the open, hand in hand, forging something we dared not dream of before.

He strokes my hair, his voice barely a whisper. “Rest, Elira. You’ve earned it.”

I smile, closing my eyes against his shoulder. My illusions flicker, sliding into a gentle dimness, and exhaustion envelops me. I feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, a soothing lullaby after so much violence. The memory of that final sealing, the shimmering pillar of magic that locked Bladrik away, hovers at the deepest recesses of my mind. We’ve won, at least for now. And we did it together, forging a bond that defies our bloodlines and our pasts.

In the quiet hush of the plateau, where the echoes of battle still linger in the air, I let myself hope that this fragile peace is a beginning. A chance to rewrite prophecies. A chance to choose love over fear, unity over division.

My eyes flutter shut as I drift into dreams of dawn breaking over a land free from monstrous shadows. Vaelin’s arm around me, the warmth of his breath against my hair, I dare to believe that we can carve out a future worth living—a future shaped by our own hearts, not by curses or crowns.

And for once, the darkness that threatened to devour us both recedes, leaving only the echo of our shared vow to stand side by side against whatever horrors might yet come.

18

VAELIN

The ground quakes beneath my boots as I sprint toward the circle of shattered pillars, ignoring the agony ripping through my chest. The storm-black sky churns overhead, lightning forking between roiling clouds. All around me, shadows flicker with unnatural life. Purnas shout spells, illusions shimmer, and the battered allied forces cling to the ragged hope we carved out of the chaos mere hours ago. Yet I sense a shift—a terrible tearing in the wards that once held the Gargoyles at bay.

Slick with blood and sweat, I force myself to keep moving. My side throbs where Bladrik’s claws tore me earlier, but I push through. In the near distance, the petrified gargoyles stands silent—those we sealed in the epic clash that seemed to grant us a respite. But that respite is shattering. A fissure of red light crackles up the largest statue, the one we recognized as Bladrik, the Gargoyle Warlord. My heart seizes at the sight.He’s breaking free.

“Elira!” I roar, scanning the battlefield. My illusions swirl around me in a halfhearted attempt to cloak my presence. Too many voices crash through my head—distant cries from wounded orcs, the frantic chanting of purnas reinforcing wards, humans calling for their loved ones. My gargoyle blood surges with dread, and I taste iron in my mouth.He’s awakening again. And he’s more furious than before.

At last, I spot Elira near the collapsed ring of pillars, illusions dancing around her in frantic bursts. She’s at the center of a swirl of battered coven elders, their staves raised, chanting incantations to mend the wards. Olyssia stands to one side, hurling arcs of flame at the creeping cracks in the stone. Their efforts appear useless—the centuries-old runes carved into the ancient monoliths flicker and die, one by one.

My pulse pounds.If Bladrik breaks free now, everything we fought for unravels.I recall that moment we sealed him: the life-draining synergy of illusions and old magic that imprisoned him in stone. But the Overlord must be interfering from afar, or the Red Purnas are twisting the wards—something is fracturing the circle of petrification.

Before I can reach Elira, the stone face of Bladrik’s statue splits with a deafening crack. A roar resonates across the plateau, a deep, savage sound that rattles my bones. Pieces of petrified hide tumble away, revealing mottled flesh beneath. He lurches forward, half statue, half living gargoyle. My throat closes in raw fear.He’s not fully free, but almost.

“Elira!” I bellow again, staggering to her side. She tears her focus from the runes just long enough to see me. Relief and terror flood her eyes. “He’s—” I gasp, but I can’t finish. She knows.

She and Olyssia redouble their illusions, weaving them around Bladrik’s half-stone form. Elders chant, arcs of defensive wards lashing the air. Yet the Warlord’s roar intensifies. Piece by piece, the stone cracks away, letting him flex massive wings. The ground trembles. My gargoyle side clenches in recognition. My blood hums, stirring a savage resonance that both enthralls and terrifies me.We tried so hard to deny it.

“Elira, we have to—” I start, but I see the strain etched in her face. She’s spent, illusions flickering. The coven is battered from the last onslaught. Her eyes meet mine, a silent apology.They can’t hold him.

Bladrik lurches free with a final heave, stone fragments raining down. He towers over the circle of pillars, horns scraping the dark sky. Gargoyles pinned in partial stone forms moan behind him, but Bladrik is wholly alive, wings flaring, eyes molten gold with fury. The wards sputter and fail. A cataclysmic hush falls as he lifts his head to the heavens, unleashing a roar that curdles my blood.

His gaze snaps to me. “Half-breed,” he snarls, voice rumbling like thunder. The single word carries a venomous hatred that sears my nerves. “You dared seal me.”

Behind me, I hear Elira panting, illusions fracturing in luminous shards. She tries to rally the purnas, but I see the hollowness in her eyes. They’re exhausted from keeping the wards for so long. If Bladrik rampages now, he’ll annihilate us.I can’t let that happen.

For a heartbeat, I recall the Overlord’s monstrous experiments, the forging of gargoyle blood in my veins. I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms.This twisted power might be our only chance.

“I’ve got him,” I rasp to Elira, ignoring her startled gasp.

She grabs my arm. “Vaelin, you’re wounded?—”

I turn, pressing a brief, fierce kiss to her forehead. My heart aches with longing and regret, suspecting the cost of what I must do. “If I don’t, we all die,” I say, voice shaking. “Trust me.”

Tears shimmer in her gaze, but she nods, illusions wrapping a protective swirl around me for just an instant. Then I pull away, stepping toward Bladrik, the stone shards crunching beneath my boots.

The Warlord sneers, tail lashing. “Fool. You couldn’t defeat me before. Your coven is spent.”

I meet his gaze, letting that dark part of me—my gargoyle heritage—unfurl. Pain lances my ribs, but a savage heat flares in my chest. My illusions shift in hue, tinted with primal energy. “You’re right,” I snarl, voice deepening with resonant power. “But I’m not just an elf, am I?”