Page 51

VAELORIAN

I stand at the base of a crumbling archway, breath rattling in my lungs as I survey the devastation around us.

The corridors of House Draeven sprawl in disarray—shattered columns, scorched tapestries, and the stench of blood haunting every ruined hall.

My wings feel stiff at my back, battered from a dozen close calls, the membranes still healing from fresh tears.

In the flickering torchlight, I can see Valeria’s face drawn with exhaustion, yet her gaze remains steady.

We managed to retreat from the catacombs, picking our way through secret passages that used to guarantee safety in times of siege.

Now, those same tunnels echo with the ghosts of betrayal and the howls of the dark elves marauding above.

Here, at least for a moment, the air is calmer.

But a single misstep could bring an entire patrol of enemies upon us.

I sense the fortress’s spirit—if stone and mortar possess such a thing—groaning beneath the weight of chaos.

Once the seat of my family’s power, these halls now stand on the brink of collapse, physically and politically.

Valeria leans against the cracked wall, pressing a hand to the wound on her leg.

Beneath the coat I draped over her in the catacombs, her own clothes are torn and bloodied.

Yet there’s a fierce cast to her expression: anger, heartbreak, determination.

She’s half-drenched in sweat, the ends of her braid matted with dust, but the glint in her eyes warns me that she’s not defeated.

I suppose that’s part of what draws me to her, even if the path we’ve walked is lined with betrayal and guilt.

Still, seeing her so pale stirs protective rage in my chest. We’re both battered to the edge.

Even so, we can’t remain here. The fortress teeters on the verge of falling entirely to the dark elves’ forces.

Our loyal Vrakken, scattered and outnumbered, fight a losing battle in the outer wards.

There’s no sign of my mother, Brinda, or the few council members we might still trust. I remind myself that House Draeven might not be salvageable if we stay and bleed for it any longer.

That reality shakes me to the core, for I was raised to believe I’d one day inherit these halls, lead this family. Now everything spirals out of control.

Valeria shifts, letting out a thin hiss of pain. I step toward her, wings half-furled, wanting to check the bandage again. She lifts her hand to halt me, a flicker of caution on her face. We’re still raw, strung tight by heartbreak. But she doesn’t push me away completely.

“Are you all right to move?” I ask quietly, voice echoing in the corridor’s hush.

“I have to be,” she says. “I’m not dying here, Vaelorian.” Her gaze pins me with an unwavering resolve. “But I can’t fight another horde. Not without rest—or a plan.”

A plan. The single word resonates in my mind.

After all that’s happened—Helrath’s murder, Mahir’s treachery, the Council’s half-blood condemnation, the dark elves overrunning our fortress—it’s painfully clear that staying loyal to House Draeven’s fractured leadership ends in tragedy.

My vow to protect Valeria stands above all else.

I won’t watch the Council stab her in the back the moment it becomes convenient, nor watch the dark elves harness her for their monstrous experiments.

So many illusions have shattered that I’m forced to confront a harsh truth: House Draeven as I knew it is gone.

But that doesn’t mean I have to surrender. There is a path forward, one that might upend everything I thought I was destined for. “We do have a plan,” I say, voice steadier than I expect. “But it won’t be one the Council endorses.”

Valeria searches my face, torn between doubt and the bond we renewed in that desperate moment in the catacombs.

I swallow the knot in my throat. I must show her I’m not repeating old manipulations.

She’s not a pawn to me anymore. If we do this, we do it together, fully equal, forging a new path without the Council’s poison.

“We can’t keep fighting for a House that’s already halfway lost,” I continue, mindful of her pained expression. “They used you, they used me, and now they blame you for everything. The dark elves want your blood, and a hidden faction of my own people has opened the gates to them. Enough.”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. “You’re telling me you’re done with House Draeven? Vaelorian, this was your birthright. Your entire identity.” She gestures at the wrecked corridor, at the shattered statues of old Vrakken heroes. “That’s no small claim.”

I run a hand over my face, brushing off soot and grime.

“I know,” I say. “But the Council’s corruption runs too deep.

They’d sooner sacrifice half-bloods to the dark elves than unite to fight the real threat.

Even my mother can’t hold them in line now, not after Mahir’s betrayal gutted our defenses.

They’ll never forgive me for refusing to let you die.

” My wings tense at the memory of the council session, the cold stares, the talk of archaic laws demanding her execution.

Valeria’s eyes flick downward, shadowed by old hurts. “So we’re just… walking away? What about the innocents left behind?”

Her words cut me. “I can’t save them all,” I admit, voice raw.

“If I stay, the Council will hamper every move I make. If you stay, they might kill you themselves once the dark elves retreat.” My fists clench at my sides.

“And the dark elves won’t rest until they harvest enough of your half-blood essence to tip their magic.

War is inevitable. The difference is whether we let them set the terms.”

She draws a ragged breath. “So what’s the alternative? Hiding? We can’t outrun them forever.”

An ember of an idea has smoldered in my mind since we discovered Xathien’s essence-harvesting caravans.

If we can’t hold House Draeven, we might cripple the dark elves at their seat of power, or at least dismantle the fortress fueling their aggression.

“No,” I say quietly, stepping closer to Valeria, letting my wings fold in a sign of trust. “We don’t hide.

We strike first. We free any captives they’re holding, sabotage their stronghold, and disrupt the new weapon they’re building. Then we flee.”

Her brows rise. “A sabotage mission? You want to dismantle their fortress—the same fortress rumored to be guarded by Xathien’s most elite warlocks?”

“Yes,” I confirm, my voice unwavering. “It’s the immediate threat fueling their invasion.

If we demolish their fortress labs or kill the top mages overseeing the essence extraction, we buy ourselves time.

Maybe we can’t end the war single-handedly, but we can deny them the advantage of your blood or any other captive half-blood they might find.

Then we disappear and gather strength elsewhere. ”

She stares at me, torn. “You’re serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious.” My chest tightens as I look around at the fortress that was once my home, now half-ruined.

“House Draeven’s claims, my seat on the Council—they’re hollow now.

If the Council had truly stood behind me, we wouldn’t be in this pit of betrayal.

I can’t cling to a throne built on sacrificing you.

So yes, I’m forsaking it. Let them name a new heir or let the Council tear itself apart. ”

Her eyes flick from the broken statues to my face, searching for any sign of deception. Slowly, she exhales. “I never wanted to see you lose everything. But…”

“But it’s too late,” I finish, voice hushed. “I’d rather fight at your side than rule a House that wants you dead.”

Valeria blinks, tears glistening unshed. “What if the sabotage fails? We could be captured—especially me. You know they want me above all else. If Xathien seizes me, no fortress walls will save me. You’d lose me anyway.”

My heart twists at the horror of that possibility.

“I know. But we can’t let fear bind us. If we do nothing, Xathien’s fortress remains a factory churning out monstrous spells.

They’ll keep forging caravans to snatch half-bloods or any Vrakken they can drain.

Their power grows, and eventually, no one stops them.

If we succeed, we level the field—maybe not for House Draeven, but for everyone else.

Then we vanish to a place no one expects. We choose our own fate.”

A flicker of hope kindles in her gaze. “You… you mean it? We run. Not to submit, but to strike first, disrupt their plan, and then find somewhere safe?”

I nod, letting my hand drift over hers in a hesitant caress. “This time, we do it as equals. No more illusions of me controlling the plan or using you as a tool. We decide together where to go, how to live. I’m done letting the Council or my mother’s legacy shape my every move.”

She swallows, blinking back tears. “I… want that. I’m terrified, but I want it.

We can’t keep dancing on the edge of betrayal, letting others define us.

If we sabotage that fortress, we might save who knows how many captives from ending up like those we rescued. We give ourselves a fighting chance.”

A rush of relief warms my chest. She agrees—truly agrees, not out of fear, but because we share the same conviction.

This is the hinge point of my entire life.

I circle the corridor, gaze flicking to the battered archways, mindful of the noise of fighting still echoing from distant halls.

“We can’t linger. The dark elves might push deeper any moment. ”

She tries to push off the wall, wincing when her leg nearly gives out.

I dart forward, supporting her. A tension leaps between us at the closeness, the reminder of that raw coupling in the catacombs.

Heat flushes my cheeks, memories swirling.

But we can’t indulge in that here. We have a fortress to escape.