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I clear my throat. “We should prepare illusions for our departure.”

“Now?” She swallows. “I thought we were waiting until full dark.”

“That’s near enough,” I reply, letting a swirl of chaotic power ripple around my claws. “The earlier we arrive, the less chance of stumbling into high patrols. We need to reach the archivist’s location near the Temple District by midnight.”

She nods, squaring her shoulders, determined again. “Then let’s go.”

We head for the corridor, the tension from earlier replaced by a mutual sense of purpose. Yet an undercurrent of last night’s memories lingers—my body recalling her warmth, her expression hovering between resentment and an unspoken longing. I push it aside, focusing on the mission. My fortress stirs around us, lesser demons hissing from the shadows. They must sense something has changed.

Eventually, we reach the fortress courtyard, where I muster the illusions. My horns prick with energy, chaos flame swirling around my hands in dark ribbons. It’s second nature to cloak my horned silhouette, rendering me almost like a tall, broad human with faintly pointed ears. My wings vanish behind a glamor. My molten veins dim, replaced by illusions of ordinary flesh.

Valentina watches, unsettled yet impressed. “It’s bizarre,” she mutters. “You look almost… normal. Human.”

I snort. “That’s the intent. But the illusions won’t hold against advanced wards or direct blasts from certain spells. Sowe must avoid too much attention.” I scrutinize her. “You’ll pass as you are, though maybe a hood will help hide your distinct eyes.”

She touches her face self-consciously, then pulls the coat’s hood up. “Anything else?”

I shrug, the illusions shifting around me. “Stay close. We have the amulet that might blunt the contract’s hold. If anything goes awry, I’ll signal you to tap into your power—though I doubt you know how to wield it properly yet.”

She sets her jaw, a flicker of determination lighting her silver eyes. “I’ll manage.”

We cross the threshold of the courtyard, heading to the swirling portal that leads out of my domain. The wards sense our departure, crackling with muted reluctance. I place a palm against the ancient runes, letting them part. Darkness yawns beyond, the boggy landscape outside tinted with twilight.

Before we step through, I steal a glance at her. She meets my gaze, and something unspoken passes between us—an alliance forged by necessity, an undercurrent of attraction we both can’t ignore, and the staggering weight of the revelation that she’s Abyssborn.

We step into the portal together, crossing from my fortress realm into the reeking marsh that skirts Vhoig’s territory. The night air slaps us with damp chill, gnats buzzing around stagnant pools. My illusions adapt to the environment, shimmering faintly around me. Valentina draws the hood tighter, grimacing at the smell.

“Lovely,” she mutters. “Can’t wait to see the city again.”

A humorless smile plays at my mouth. “At least we’re not stuck in the fortress. Come.”

We stride into the swampy expanse, ankles squelching in mossy mud. My illusions keep the flicker of demonic power hidden, but the contract still weighs on me, a coil of tensionaround my heart. Every step reminds me that if King Grymlock tries a direct summon, I’ll be forced to endure crippling agony. Yet, I harbor genuine hope. Valentina might help me cut these chains.

I flick a glance at her as we trudge. Under that hood, she’s quiet, likely brooding over everything. Eventually, she glances up, catching me watching. My heart gives an odd lurch, though I mask it with a neutral expression. She faces forward, exhaling steam in the cool night, and picks up her pace.One day,I vow internally,when I’m free, maybe I’ll figure out what else this is between us.

For now, though, we march across the bog, illusions intact, forging a path into the heart of Vhoig. A mixture of feelings churns in my chest: triumph that I’ve uncovered her heritage, fear that if she perishes, I lose everything. My wings twitch beneath the glamor, longing for flight, but that would draw too much attention. So I remain grounded, guiding Valentina through the half-rotted boardwalks across the marsh, eyes peeled for any scouts or monstrous beasts.

In the distance, the lights of Vhoig glimmer like dying stars, beckoning us into a labyrinth of potential enemies. My heart thuds with anticipation.

With a glance at the woman beside me, I steel myself.She’s Abyssborn.If fortune smiles, we’ll harness that fact to tear down the King’s hold on me. Yet a sliver of dread gnaws at me:What if fate decrees something darker?I tamp that fear down. For now, I cling to the spark of hope swirling in my chest. If I dare to dream of freedom, it’s because of her.

We continue, the soggy path a testament to how precarious our alliance is—one misstep, and we could vanish into the swamp, swallowed by the darkness. But we press on, forging a fragile bond that might reshape both our destinies.

11

VALENTINA

Night blankets Vhoig’s outskirts in a haze of violet-tinged darkness. My boots crunch over damp gravel as Malphas and I creep through a narrow alleyway, the looming silhouettes of the city’s outer walls towering to our right. The illusions he conjured cling to him like a second skin, rendering his horns invisible and smoothing the molten lines across his flesh. Under that glamor, he appears as a tall, broad-shouldered man with hair the color of midnight. The faint aura of brimstone still clings to him, barely masked by the illusions, but hopefully no one else will notice.

I tug my hood low, hiding my distinctive eyes. The coat is worn, but it conceals enough of me that I might pass for a mercenary or a traveling worker. My ribs twinge with every breath, still healing from the illusions test and our savage encounter back in the fortress. I don’t let it slow me. We’re here for the archivist—Enith—who can confirm exactly how my so-called Abyssborn lineage works. Still, tension coils in my gut. The memory of Malphas’s revelation about my ancestry haunts me like a half-remembered nightmare.

A rancid wind wafts from the harbor, carrying the stench of rotting fish. We approach a side gate in the city wall, typically used by dockworkers and lesser merchants after dusk. Only one guard stands watch: a slender dark elf in a rust-red tunic, eyes half-lidded from boredom. My heart hammers, recalling how easily such guards once shoved me around in Lowtown.

Malphas halts us in the shadows, pressing me against a mossy wall. “I’ll handle him,” he murmurs, voice a mere rasp. In the gloom, his illusions hold, but I sense the undercurrent of demonic power simmering beneath. “Stay close.”

I nod, hugging my arms. My mind reels back to the conversation we had hours ago—I’m Abyssborn.If that’s truly the reason his contract falters, then everything about my life is about to change. My breath snags in my throat. I’m not sure I’m ready for this. But there's no turning back now.

We slip from cover, Malphas striding out with an air of calm authority. He keeps one hand near the hilt of a disguised blade, illusions flickering to present the shape of a standard longsword. The guard snaps upright at our approach, eyes flicking from me to Malphas.