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My throat tightens. “And if we do nothing, you remain bound and both of us eventually fall under the monarchy’s blade. They’ll never stop. This new plan—our plan—is worth the risk.”

He clenches his jaw, muscles rippling across his broad shoulders. His wings quiver, etched with scars from recent skirmishes. “Why are you so determined to save me now, after I dragged you into this hell?”

My chest aches at the vulnerability lurking behind his anger. “You didn’t drag me alone. I walked into it with my eyes open. Yes, we had rough beginnings, but we’ve fought side by side. We’ve bled for each other. If I can help you break free from that vow without losing myself in the process, then I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen.”

He studies me in silence, conflict twisting his features. Then he nods, resigned but also sparked with a faint hope. “Fine,” he says, voice low. “We do it your way. But if it comes to the final moment, and the prophecy demands your life, I’ll stop you. I won’t watch you die for me.”

A small, tight smile forms on my lips. “We’ll see who can be more stubborn.”

The hush that follows is tense but brimming with purpose. We exchange a glance—an unspoken accord—and I feel that ember of determination in my heart flare into something real.No more catacombs, no more fleeing. We break the vow on our terms.

“First,” I say, “we need a plan to draw them out. The monarchy hunts us, but we can choose the battlefield, can’t we?”

Malphas inclines his head, considering. “Yes. If we send a loud enough message, they’ll converge, bringing their best soldiers and sorcerers. If we can funnel them somewhere with wards of our making… but we lost my fortress, and illusions alone might not suffice.”

I knead my lower lip, thinking hard. “There are other old strongholds across Protheka. Some are rumored to be built on Wildsponts—places where arcane energy runs rampant. If I could harness that energy, perhaps I can amplify the unbinding ritual. Enough to overshadow the fatal cost.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Harness a Wildspont? Even I’m wary of those primal energies. They spawn monstrous creatures, twist reality. We’d risk unleashing horrors.”

“Better to fight horrors we choose,” I counter. “We’re already living a nightmare, Malphas. If a Wildspont’s power can help me manipulate the vow’s demand, I’ll brave it.”

He exhales, nodding slowly. “Then we’ll need to locate one. I know rumors about the Wildspont deep in the Runa Marshes to the west, an overgrown ruin said to be older than the monarchy itself. Might be crawling with savage beasts, but it’s a lead.”

A nervous tingle skitters down my spine. “Then that’s where we go. We lure the monarchy there, set our own wards, and attempt the ritual. If the prophecy insists on blood, we’ll channel the Wildspont’s energy to feed that demand. With luck, it’ll accept the magic instead of my life.”

He gives a short laugh, humorless but not dismissive. “You make it sound almost feasible. I admire your audacity, mortal.”

Warmth and exasperation coil in my chest. Even now, he labels me mortal, but the affection beneath the word is undeniable. “We have little to lose. Let’s embrace the insanity.”

A hush settles again, the forest still around us. Outside the clearing, a crow caws, the sound jarring. Malphas turns, scanning the perimeter. He bristles. “We can’t linger long. The monarchy’s scouts might be close.”

I nod, heart pounding with renewed urgency. “We’ll rest for an hour, gather our strength. Then head west. The Runa Marshes are days away. We’ll need every ounce of grit we can muster.”

He meets my gaze, intensity swirling in his eyes. “And if along the way we discover an alternative—some relic or sorcerer who can break the vow without risking you… I won’t hesitate to pivot.”

Hope sparks in my chest. “Agreed. We keep every option open.”

We settle in that plan, the next step in a perilous dance. My tension eases by the smallest fraction, replaced by a grim focus. I can’t dwell on the catacombs or the prophecy’s threat of death. We have a path, however fraught. That must be enough for now.

We spend the next hour patching ourselves up, devouring the last bits of dried meat Malphas scavenged from a half-burned caravan days ago. It’s sour and tough, but my empty stomach doesn’t complain. My ribs ache whenever I draw breath, so Malphas helps me secure fresh bandages. His claws tremble slightly as he wraps the cloth around my torso—frustration or lingering pain, I can’t tell. Neither of us speaks. The hush is loaded with everything we left unsaid in that catacomb.

When we’re done, I lean against a pine trunk, letting the bark dig into my shoulders. Malphas stands with his arms crossed, scanning the trees for movement. He’s restless, wings fluttering in small agitated twitches. I wonder if he’s wrestling with guiltover my new plan. He hates the idea of me risking my life, but we both know passivity equals doom.

At last, he hisses under his breath. “I sense something.” He strides to the clearing’s edge, sniffing the air. My pulse spikes, hand flying to my short sword. Then he relaxes, a rueful look crossing his features. “A lesser demon, maybe, or an animal. Hard to tell. No sign of elves.”

I let out a breath, tension draining. “Good. One crisis delayed.”

He nods, stepping back into the clearing. The morning sunlight is stronger now, dappling across the scattered pine needles. For a moment, I see him plainly—not just the monstrous demon who once towered over me in the ritual chamber, but a battered warrior with jagged horns and a haunted gaze. The molten lines that crisscross his skin pulse faintly, slowed by fatigue. He’s terrifying, yes, but also heartbreakingly vulnerable. I recall the nights we clung to each other—rage, lust, sorrow fueling us in equal measure. That bond, twisted as it is, anchors me.

He catches me staring and arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” I murmur, heat rising to my cheeks. “Just… thinking how different you look without illusions. I see the real you more than ever.”

A strange softness flickers in his expression. “That can be dangerous. The real me isn’t something you want to see too closely.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “Don’t talk like that. I’ve seen your worst, remember? And still, I’m here.”

He exhales sharply, perhaps touched or annoyed—I can’t tell. “Then let’s go,” he says, pivoting to scoop up his battered pack. “The Runa Marshes are waiting.”