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My tail swishes against the basalt dais. The B story indeed—the intangible thread binding me to a slave girl with demon-touched blood. A single question echoes through my mind, refusing to be silenced.Which of us truly holds the leash now?

I lean back, letting the fortress’s wards swirl. The night stretches on, unbroken, as I keep watch in my domain of twisted spires and demonic wards. And somewhere down the corridor, Valentina rests, caught in the same uncertain dance of power and survival.

7

VALENTINA

Another morning passes in this twisted fortress—arrives with the soft crackle of arcane flames guttering in the brazier across the room. I wake on the slab, blinking grit from my eyes. My breath mists in the cool air, and the heavy fur Malphas tossed at me last night has slipped halfway off the basalt bed. Sleeping here was no luxury, but it beats lying in an alley or rotting in an elven cell.

I push myself upright, easing the stiffness in my shoulders. Bruises protest, but the salve Malphas provided wards off the worst of the pain. I inhale slowly, adjusting to the eerie hush that pervades these halls. Unlike the bustle of Vhoig, there is no jostling crowd or clamor of daily chores—only an unsettling calm that reminds me I’m in a realm shaped by chaos magic. A realm teeming with creatures who’d likely devour me if Malphas gave the word—or if he wasn’t around to stop them.

The events of yesterday flood my thoughts, the trek through the bog, the wards swallowing us into this dark domain, the lesser demons slinking in the shadows. And Malphas himself—eight feet of obsidian skin threaded with molten veins, wings scarred from countless battles, horns asymmetrical from awound he won’t discuss. A monster in every sense, yet one who defied a death sentence on my behalf. The strangeness of our uneasy alliance weighs on me, but there’s no turning back now.

I swing my legs over the edge of the slab. My stomach growls a complaint. I nibble on a leftover strip of jerky from the meager stash Malphas left, wincing at how it squeaks between my teeth. At least it’s food. Once I finish, I shrug on the patched coat he somehow procured during our flight from Vhoig. The linen bandages still cling to my ribs, so I adjust them for comfort. A fleeting notion crosses my mind,should I remain here and wait for Malphas?I banish it almost immediately. Sitting idle will only feed my anxiety.

Edging to the door, I pause, recalling his warning. He told me to stay put, to avoid prowling the fortress alone. Another part of me seethes at the idea of cowering in one room. I weigh my options, biting my lip. Curiosity wins out. If I’m stuck in this nightmarish place, I might as well learn its layout.If I can’t walk around without Malphas’ permission, then I’m no better than the slaves in Vhoig,I think grimly.

Gathering my nerve, I open the heavy door. It grinds on stone, echoing along a corridor lined with flickering torches set in iron brackets. At first, no one appears to challenge me. The hall stands empty. Low vibrations of distant magical wards hum at the edge of hearing, a constant reminder that we’re cut off from the outside world. I start forward, boots tapping the cold basalt.

The corridor splits at an archway carved with sinuous runes. I pause, fingertips grazing the inscriptions. They pulse faintly under my touch, as though tasting my presence. I pull back. A chill prickles my skin.So many illusions and wards…this entire fortress might be watching me.

I keep going, choosing the left branch at random. The hallway widens, then curves downward, leading to a series ofrooms behind intricately carved doors. Each door is made of blackened wood or hammered iron, etched with demonic sigils. None look welcoming. The hair at my nape bristles.Maybe I shouldn’t explore too deeply alone.

A clatter of claws on stone startles me. I turn, heart lurching, to spot a squat figure sidling into view from a side passage. One of those Zonak demons. Its body is knobby, with leathery skin the color of soot. Big yellow eyes blink at me, pupils narrowing. We stare at each other in tense silence.

I recall Malphas’s caution, these lesser demons won’t hesitate to harm me if they think they can get away with it. I force myself not to flinch or step back, even though it’s unnerving. The Zonak tilts its head, sniffing the air. My pulse thuds. Then, apparently deciding I’m not worth immediate trouble, it skitters off, claws scraping the floor. I exhale in relief.

My relief doesn’t last. From the corridor behind it, two more shapes emerge—this time, Trolvors, tall and spindly, with elongated limbs and reptilian heads. Their eyes gleam an oily black. My grip on the dagger at my belt tightens, remembering the creature that hissed at us yesterday. One Trolvor extends a scaly arm, sniffing the air. The other’s tail lashes in slow arcs, as though deciding if I qualify as prey.

Raising my chin, I square my shoulders, striving to project confidence. They grunt, exchanging guttural clicks. I wonder if they’re communicating about me, deciding whether to kill or ignore. My mouth dries. But I stand firm, refusing to show fear.You wanted to explore,I scold myself internally.Here’s your first test.

One Trolvor lopes closer, claws tapping. The stench of decaying meat wafts from its breath. It towers over me by nearly two feet, though not as tall as Malphas. I grip my dagger, heart hammering. The demon leans forward, sniffing near my neck.Its scaled muzzle almost brushes my bandages. The reek nearly makes me gag. I grit my teeth, refusing to turn away.

A strangled hiss leaves its throat—maybe a threat, maybe curiosity. In a jolt of boldness, I jab the dagger forward, just enough to make it reel back. My heart pounds so loud I swear they can hear it. The second Trolvor trills, rearing up on thick haunches. My muscles tense, preparing for a fight I’ll likely lose.

But a heavy footfall echoes from behind them, and the Trolvors freeze. Malphas steps into view, horns scraping a torch bracket, molten eyes blazing with displeasure. The Trolvors instantly back off, heads bowing. His gaze flicks to me, then to them, and the tension in the corridor spikes.

He bares his fangs in a silent snarl. “Away,” he commands in a tone that vibrates the air. The Trolvors scramble over each other in their haste to vanish down the adjacent corridor, leaving only their rancid odor behind.

Silence falls, broken by the crackle of torchlight. I lower the dagger, my chest still tight. Malphas fixes me with a glare that promises trouble.

“You just can’t obey a simple instruction, can you?” he demands, voice like a low growl.

I lift my chin. “If I stay cooped up in that chamber forever, I’ll lose my mind.”

He advances, wings shifting in a threatening display. “I told you these halls aren’t safe for you alone. Yet here you are, drawing Trolvors’ attention.”

I clench my fists at my sides. “I’m not a caged animal. You can’t expect me to lie there waiting on your whims, day after day.”

His eyes narrow, swirling with threads of shadow. “You are what I say you are,” he says softly. “You swore fealty to me. Breaking that oath might cost you more than you’re prepared to give.”

The words cut deep, but I refuse to yield. “I swore to follow you for survival, not to be your spineless prisoner. And I didn’t break any vow by walking around.”

A flicker of something—anger, grudging respect—passes across his face. “You dare lecture me about what your oath entails?” His wings flare, sending a gust of air that rattles the torches.

My heart wants to slam itself into my ribcage, but I stand firm. “Yes,” I answer, voice trembling just enough to betray my fear. “Because I’m not worthless if I can’t even navigate your fortress without getting pounced on.”

For a moment, I think he might lunge at me. Then, with a bitter twist of his lips, he exhales. “Fine,” he snaps. “If you insist on wandering, let’s see if you can survive the illusions I’ve set up for intruders. They’re not meant for your fragile kind, but since you’re so eager to explore…”