Page 20

She glances at me occasionally, as though testing the waters of conversation.

The bond hums, making me hyper-aware of her presence.

I can sense her pulse calm as the minutes pass, the flush receding from her cheeks.

My own breathing steadies, yet my thoughts race with complicated feelings: Admiration, guilt, desire, caution.

After centuries sealed in stone, I didn’t expect to find myself in such a precarious alliance.

Nor did I expect to be so drawn to a mortal woman with a brand on her wrist and fearsome magic surging in her veins.

Before these reflections can trap me, I focus on the immediate task.

We circle the perimeter of our camp—a shallow depression behind a tangle of rocks—and find nothing amiss.

The wind picks up, sending swirling flurries of snow in our faces.

Sariah shivers, hugging her arms. I step ahead, letting my broad frame shield her from the worst gusts.

The bond thrums with subtle warmth, reminding me how closely our fates are entangled.

We return to our shelter, a crude arrangement of stone slabs and the remains of an old wall that we pieced together.

The sun hovers low, the sky awash with wan light, creating long shadows across the snow.

Evening will come soon, bringing colder temperatures.

My wings shift, tail flicking as I scan for anything we can use for firewood.

The environment is sparse, but we’ve managed to scrounge enough dry branches to keep a small flame alive each night.

Sariah helps arrange the kindling, her breath puffing in the cold.

She kneels, murmuring a soft incantation.

A spark of purna magic ignites the sticks, and flames crackle to life.

I settle on a flat rock opposite her, letting the heat wash over my stone-cold limbs.

My runes glow faintly, resonating with the comfort of open flame.

For a while, we sit in companionable silence.

The day’s training weighs on Sariah, I can tell—her eyelids occasionally droop, and she rubs her temples as though warding off a headache.

I wonder if the tether amplifies her fatigue, or if it’s the bruises forming on her arms from our sparring.

Guilt twists in my gut. I’m pushing her hard, but we have no choice.

We’re running out of time, out of safe spaces.

Better she be bruised in training than dead in a real fight.

Eventually, she clears her throat, looking at me over the fire. “You mentioned synergy. How exactly do we… use that?”

I arch a brow. “You felt it just now, didn’t you? When you combined your spell with your physical strike. My power responded, as if our energies recognized each other.”

She nods, eyes flicking to the runes etched on my chest. “Yeah, but it was fleeting. Do you know how to make it more… purposeful?”

I press my lips together, recalling a time long ago when I synchronized magic with a purna in battle.

“I have ideas,” I say cautiously, “but it requires deep trust. You must let me channel my gargoyle magic through you, while you weave your purna spells around it. If either of us hesitates or resists, it could backfire.”

She grimaces. “Trust is… complicated.” Her gaze falls to the brand on her wrist, the memory of betrayal flickering in her eyes.

I inhale slowly. “I know,” I murmur. My own baggage threatens to surge up, memories of Nerezza’s corruption and the way she used synergy to twist her magic into something monstrous.

“We’ll proceed carefully. But synergy can amplify your spells, make them stronger than you could manage alone.

That might be the edge we need if we ever face Drayveth… or worse.”

She stares into the flames, silent for a long moment. Then she nods, a tremor in her voice. “All right. I’m willing to try. If it means we stand a chance against what’s coming, I’ll do it.”

Her courage, tempered by apprehension, stirs a flash of admiration in me. “We’ll work toward it,” I promise. “Slowly.”

She smiles faintly. A swirl of gratitude and relief flows through the tether, and I can’t help but notice how the connection between us grows more tangible with every hour we spend together—combative or otherwise.

It’s as though our souls are learning each other’s rhythms, forging a reluctant harmony.

Dangerous, I remind myself, yet perhaps necessary.

Night descends, and the wind howls over the ridge, carrying the distant cries of wild creatures.

We stoke the fire to maintain warmth, sharing a pitiful ration of dried meat and brittle roots we scavenged.

The conversation dips into quieter territory: the potential route to Snowfall Glen, the possibility of forging alliances with purnas who might greet a gargoyle and an exiled purna with hostility.

We speak in hushed tones, acknowledging how precarious every step is.

At one point, she touches the brand on her wrist, gaze distant. “Drayveth said I was too reckless, that I’d become a threat like the Nyxari. You’ve seen me in combat now. Am I truly so dangerous?”

I watch her, recalling her raw bursts of energy, the fierce determination in her eyes, the thin line between control and chaos. “Dangerous?” I say softly. “Yes, you are. But that doesn’t mean you’ll become a Nyxari. Power doesn’t corrupt on its own. It’s how you wield it.”

She exhales, blinking. “Thanks… I think.”

I shift, wings flexing. “It’s a compliment. If you harness that power responsibly, you could do great things.” A slight pang accompanies those words, the memory of once believing the same about Nerezza. And that ended in tragedy. I clamp down on that thought.

Sariah’s expression softens, though uncertainty lingers in her eyes. “I never wanted to be a threat, just… free.”

I tilt my head, meeting her gaze across the fire. The tether pulsates gently, a shared heartbeat. “Freedom,” I echo, quietly. “That’s what we both want, isn’t it? From curses, from hunts, from old ghosts.” My runes pulse in time with the next breath, as though underscoring my meaning.

She nods. “Yes.”

Silence folds over us, a delicate hush, broken only by the crackling of flames.

The moment stretches, laden with unspoken confessions and the unmistakable hum of attraction that has plagued us since our forced bond first sparked.

My pulse quickens. I recall the warmth of her body against mine on the training ground, that fleeting, dangerous closeness.

No, I warn myself, I can’t let this become more. But the awareness doesn’t vanish.

Eventually, she looks away, rummaging in her pack for a spare cloak to drape around her shoulders. “We should sleep in shifts again,” she murmurs, voice subdued. “Just in case.”

I grunt, nodding. “I’ll take first watch.” My tail coils around my ankles, a habitual gesture of readiness.

She starts to protest but then thinks better of it. “All right,” she whispers. Gathering the cloak around her, she settles down beside the fire, exhaustion painting dark circles under her eyes. “Wake me if anything’s off.”

“I will,” I say, leaning back against a slab of rock.

As she drifts into a light doze, I let my gaze roam the edges of our camp, every sense sharpened.

The sky above is starless, heavy clouds reflecting the faint glow of moonlight.

Shadows stretch across the snow, flickering whenever the wind stirs the fire.

Time slips by, measured by the crackle of burning wood and the gentle rise and fall of Sariah’s breathing.

I remain vigilant, wings half-furled, attuned to any hint of an intruder.

My thoughts stray to the training session.

I recall the surge of pride I felt at her progress…

and the dizzying flush of desire when she landed on top of me.

My tail thuds lightly against the ground as I wrestle with the emotions that conjures.

The night grows deeper. My runes glimmer faintly, reflecting the subtle tension I can’t quite shake.

Finally, after hours of silent watch, I move to wake Sariah for her turn.

She stirs, blinking groggily as I crouch beside her.

Our gazes meet in the dim firelight, and for a moment, there’s a softness there that neither of us can deny.

“Your watch,” I say quietly.

She rubs her eyes, nodding. “All right.”

We switch places, and I slump against the rock, allowing a shallow doze to claim me. My body craves true stone sleep, but that would render me immobile, helpless. Not an option in these conditions. At least a partial rest might steady my nerves.

When I drift into half-sleep, memories swirl: the temple, Nerezza’s face twisted with power, Sariah’s triumphant expression as she topples me, the brand on her wrist glowing with a faint silver tinge. My heart tightens at the collision of past and present. I must not fail again.

Sometime later, Sariah wakes me gently, her hand on my shoulder.

Dawn’s pale light creeps across the snow.

We exchange a few tired words, gather what remains of the firewood, and prepare for the next leg of our journey.

Despite our fatigue, there’s a charged anticipation in the air—our training has shown that synergy is possible, that we can fight as a unit. A small victory.

We set off once more, the bond humming steadily, as if acknowledging our renewed determination.

The tension remains—both the friction of two very different people forced together and the subtler strain of an attraction neither of us wants to admit.

Yet beneath that friction, trust stirs: forged by the act of knocking each other around in the snow, the bruises we wear like badges of progress, the spark of magic we tested in tandem.

And so we walk, side by side, an exiled purna and a gargoyle warrior, both haunted by mistakes and longing for freedom.

Our footprints trail across the snowy plain, weaving a path toward uncertain horizons.

The morning wind is chill, biting at our exposed skin, but the ephemeral heat of shared purpose shields us from the worst of it.

In my chest, the runes glow softly, accompanied by a quieter glow in the place where Sariah’s magic touches mine through the bond. I sense her glancing at me with a mixture of caution and something else—something that sends a prickle of warmth through my veins. I don’t let it show on my face.

This is the strangest alliance I’ve ever formed, equal parts necessity and something that could become more if we let it.

But for now, we focus on survival and strengthening our defenses.

If I’m to ensure that Nerezza remains a dark legend rather than a living nightmare, I need Sariah at her best—fierce, controlled, and unafraid of her own power.

Let the old grudges and half-forgotten betrayals linger in the past. Let tomorrow’s threats come.

We’ll be ready. Or as ready as two outcasts can be.

A faint grin touches my mouth, invisible to anyone but the wind. You did well, purna. With each step, the tension of our tether morphs into a tenuous camaraderie, laced with the possibility of deeper synergy—both in battle and, perhaps, in the intangible space we share between heartbeats.