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“Passable,” I interrupt, though the warmth I feel for her success is genuine. “We’ll keep practicing until it becomes second nature. You won’t have time to think in a real fight.”

She exhales, rolling her shoulders. The brand on her wrist flickers under the faint sun, and I sense a pang of sympathy for the burden she carries. “Fine,” she says, though her tone is less defensive now. “Just give me a moment to breathe before you throw another attack at me.”

I incline my head in a curt nod. “Take your time. There’s no point in burning you out on day one.”

She collapses onto a nearby rock, rubbing her palms together.

Her breath comes in visible puffs in the cold.

I remain standing, scanning the horizon for any signs of movement—Drayveth, or worse.

The valley is still, except for the whistle of wind over the snowy plain. My tail flicks in restless arcs.

My mind drifts to gargoyle combat training.

It’s typically brutal, forging warriors who can fight off orcs, monstrous beasts, even rival gargoyles.

The purna approach is different—focused on spellcraft, cunning, and layered wards.

Yet Sariah stands in that intersection, needing to blend both worlds if she hopes to survive.

It might just be enough to tip the scales in our favor.

She exhales slowly, then stands again. “I’m ready,” she announces, sounding almost eager. There’s a determined gleam in her eyes.

I let a rare smile curve my lips. “Good. This time, we’ll practice close quarters. No spells unless absolutely necessary. Use your physical agility.”

She snorts. “I’m not exactly built like a gargoyle, you know.”

“I noticed,” I say drily. Indeed, her lean frame is a stark contrast to my heavy musculature and stone-hard skin. “But you can still dodge, parry, and redirect attacks. If you fight Drayveth or any purna trained in melee, you’ll need more than spells.”

She squares her shoulders. “All right. Let’s do it.”

I shift into a combative stance, legs braced.

My wings extend slightly for balance. When she draws near, I feint a blow at her upper arm—not enough to injure, but to test her reaction.

She yelps and ducks, stumbling a little.

I track her movement, tail thrashing behind me to keep balanced.

She glares, then tries to jab me in the side.

My stone-like skin barely registers the impact, but I appreciate her tenacity.

“Sweep the leg,” I instruct, blocking her next strike with my forearm. “Use your momentum.”

Her eyes narrow. “Fine.” She ducks low, swinging her leg in an arc.

It meets my calf with a surprising amount of force.

I barely budge, but she capitalizes on the moment to pivot around me, fists raised.

A flicker of admiration sparks in my chest—she’s quick.

If she had more practice, she could catch me off-guard.

We continue this dance: she attacks, I counter, occasionally letting her land a glancing blow to build her confidence. Yet her movements remain stiff, uncertain. She’s not used to grappling with an opponent who can’t be easily toppled.

Frustration colors her cheeks pink. “You’re barely moving,” she accuses, breath ragged.

My tail lashes against the snowy ground.

“Because your hits need more follow-through. Try shifting your weight.” I show her by example, sweeping my clawed hand low in a single fluid motion.

She jumps back, cursing under her breath.

The tether pulses in my chest, reflecting her heightened adrenaline.

“Again,” I order.

She squares off, and we clash once more.

This time, she uses a trick: chanting a swift incantation under her breath while faking a punch.

A burst of shimmering force collides with my shoulder—stronger than I expected.

I stagger, wings flaring to maintain balance.

She seizes the opportunity, hooking her foot behind my ankle, attempting to topple me.

It’s a bold move, one that might work on someone closer to her size.

I grunt in surprise as my foot slips on the icy ground.

For an instant, I lose traction. My tail whips around, but the slick snow thwarts me.

I crash onto my back with a jarring impact.

A whoosh of air leaves my lungs, and Sariah stumbles forward, momentum carrying her.

She ends up half sprawled across my chest, cloak tangling around her legs. By the Thirteen…

We remain there, momentarily stunned. My wings are pinned under me, the stone-like ridges scraping against the packed snow. She lifts her head, bracing her hands on my chest, eyes wide with a mix of triumph and shock. “I… I knocked you down?” she whispers, exhilaration leaking in her voice.

I blink, inhaling cold air. “So it would seem.” My chest rumbles with a grudging chuckle. Maybe I underestimated her cunning. The bond thrums, an intimate warmth that draws me too close to her racing heartbeat. Her breath mists in the frigid air, tangling with mine.

“Ha,” she exhales, her lips curved in a grin.

Then realization dawns that she’s practically draped over me.

Our gazes meet, and everything shifts. The teasing, combative tension morphs into something hotter, more potent.

I feel her pulse thrumming under the brand on her wrist, sense the quickening beat in her veins through our tether.

Heat coils in my core, and for an instant, I forget the cold altogether.

Her cheeks flush deeper. She tries to scramble off me, but her foot tangles in my tail. She squeaks, and I shift to help untangle us. Our limbs collide, and she ends up braced over me, face mere inches from mine.

I swallow, awareness roiling in my chest. Her hair, streaked with silver, drapes over her shoulder, nearly brushing my face.

The tether’s hum intensifies, filling my ears like the echo of my own pulse.

I can smell her skin—salt, a hint of a faint floral note that clings to her, and the unmistakable tang of magic.

She inhales sharply, eyes flicking to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean—” she stammers.

“It’s fine,” I rasp, voice rougher than usual.

My hands move instinctively to her waist, steadying her.

Beneath my palms, I feel her warm, lean frame.

A surge of conflicting emotions tangles in my chest: the part of me that yearns for closeness after centuries in stone sleep, and the part that remembers Nerezza—what it meant to be intimate with a purna and how devastatingly that ended.

Sariah’s breath hitches, her gaze locked with mine.

For a heartbeat, I almost lean closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of her presence.

The bond crackles, a current that begs to be acknowledged.

But a wave of caution douses the fire in my veins.

I cannot repeat the past. I forcibly clear my throat, shifting to break the moment.

She scrambles away, cheeks blazing. I sit up, ignoring the dull ache in my back from the fall. An awkward silence descends, broken only by our ragged breathing. I run a hand through my hair, dislodging bits of snow. She busies herself brushing ice from her cloak.

She mumbles, “So… that was, um… your demonstration in melee?”

I snort softly, half-laughing at her attempt to lighten the mood. “I’d say you demonstrated more than me, knocking me flat like that.” My tone is a touch gentler than before, grudgingly impressed.

She rubs her arms, probably from the cold but also from lingering embarrassment. “I took a risk. Didn’t think it would work.” A hesitant smile ghosts her lips. Her eyes flicker with a mix of pride and a leftover spark of that heated moment.

“You did well,” I acknowledge. “You combined a minor spell with a physical maneuver. That’s what I meant by synergy—using magic and body in tandem.”

Her expression brightens. “Really?”

I nod, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Yes. Keep practicing. Next time, I won’t go easy on you.”

She exhales a soft laugh, stepping back. “I’m almost afraid to see what not ‘going easy’ means for a gargoyle.” Then, sobering, she adds, “But thanks, I guess. For showing me how to push beyond what I learned in my coven.”

I grunt. “You’re welcome. Now let’s?—”

A sudden noise in the distance startles us both: a harsh caw, perhaps from a carrion bird, or maybe a raven. We both go still, scanning the horizon. I’m instantly on alert, wings half-raised. Sariah stands poised as well, the slight glow of magic flickering around her hands.

After a moment, the sound doesn’t repeat. I relax marginally, though my heart still pounds from the scare and that unexpected near-intimacy. “Probably just wildlife,” I murmur, though I remain vigilant. The bond’s tension has sharpened, as if reflecting our combined wariness.

Sariah looks at me, worry etched in her features. “We should do a perimeter check before we settle down. We don’t need a random predator or Drayveth’s scouts catching us off-guard.”

I incline my head. “Agreed.” Then, as we gather our cloaks and prepare to move, I add, “We’ll continue training tomorrow. For now, let’s be certain we’re safe.”

Her expression shifts to something approaching relief, though a trace of lingering heat remains in her eyes. “Sure. Tomorrow.” The word holds an undercurrent of promise—and wariness.

We leave the small clearing, trudging side by side across the snowy expanse to our makeshift campsite.

The earlier tension from our sparring still crackles in the air, though we keep our distance.

My back aches from where I hit the ground, but a faint sense of amusement underlies the pain.

Sariah might not realize it, but toppling a gargoyle is no small feat—even if my slip on the ice gave her an advantage.