Page 24

KAELITH

T he sky churns with bruised clouds, roiling in dark swaths that blot out what little light remains of the day.

I can sense the building pressure in the air, a raw electric charge that tugs at the runes etched into my skin.

Snow—and perhaps something far more violent—will strike soon.

I glance at Sariah, who trudges beside me, cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders.

Despite the outward calm, I detect her own swirling anxiety through our bond.

We’ve been pushing through these ravines for hours, dogged by the specter of Drayveth and his rogue purna.

My side still aches from a glancing blow of necromantic magic, and her shoulder is heavily bandaged after that brutal ambush.

We shouldn’t keep moving in this condition, I think grimly, but shelter is scarce in this craggy wasteland.

Wind gusts across the barren slopes, pelting us with icy flecks that sting my face.

My wings bristle in protest. The temperature is dropping swiftly, and an unnatural hush settles over the land.

Lightning flickers in the distance, thunder rumbling close behind.

Sariah raises her eyes to the threatening sky.

I see the reflection of fear there, but also an unwavering resolve—a steel in her posture that continues to surprise me.

Even battered and exhausted, she marches onward, determined not to yield.

I shift closer, scanning the rock formations for any hint of a cave or outcropping that might shield us from the incoming tempest. My gargoyle senses prickle with the nearness of static, as if the atmosphere itself sizzles with latent magic. “Storm’s coming,” I say, voice rough.

Sariah’s lips quirk in a humorless half-smile. “I noticed.” She’s trembling—whether from cold or the aftermath of our battles, I’m not certain.

I press a clawed hand to her uninjured arm. Instantly, the tether twangs in my chest, a reminder that her presence is as integral to me now as my own flesh and blood. “We need cover.”

Her gaze meets mine, tension flickering in those storm-gray eyes.

Storm within and storm without. She nods.

“I think… I see something ahead.” She gestures toward a dark cleft in the rocks, partially obscured by fallen debris.

It might be a cave. Or it might be a dead-end. Either way, we have no real choice.

We move rapidly, bracing against the rising wind.

The sky deepens into a swirling cauldron of black and purple.

Lightning spears across the clouds, thunder shaking the earth.

My runes buzz, reacting to the sudden influx of chaotic energy.

When we reach the cleft, I help shift aside a slab of broken rock.

A narrow passage yawns beyond, leading into darkness.

She hesitates on the threshold, brow furrowed.

I sense her wariness. Caves can be traps.

But out here, with the storm intensifying, staying in the open is suicide.

I angle my body to slip inside first, wings folding tight.

I move with practiced caution, a faint glow from my chest runes illuminating jagged walls of stone.

The air smells damp, tinged with minerals.

Water drips somewhere, echoing in the cramped corridor.

I beckon for Sariah to follow. She ducks under the low entrance, cloak catching on a jut of rock.

With a curse, she tugs it free. Her exhalation clouds in the cold.

Further in, the corridor widens enough for me to stand at my full height, though the ceiling remains uncomfortably close to my horns.

We walk carefully, each step accompanied by the gritty crunch of gravel underfoot.

The tunnel branches left and right. We choose the left by unspoken agreement, the faint sound of wind funneling from that direction.

Soon, we emerge into a broader cavern, perhaps twice my wingspan across.

The walls bow inward like an ancient ribcage.

Boulders litter the floor, but the roof is intact.

Best of all, the air is less biting. We can make camp here, at least for the night.

A deafening peal of thunder reverberates outside, and Sariah flinches.

She presses her back to the wall, breathing raggedly.

Her face is pale, either from exhaustion or the toll of too many close calls.

I gasp at the sight, my chest tightening.

I want to ask if she’s all right, but the bond already provides me with an echo of her swirling turmoil.

Guilt, fear, anger, a throbbing sense of vulnerability.

And something else, an undercurrent of wanting that mirrors my own.

Tentatively, I lift a hand to her good shoulder. She doesn’t recoil—her eyes flick from my palm up to my face, and I catch the flicker of conflict there. “Let’s rest,” I say, voice gentler than usual. “I’ll see if the walls are stable.”

She nods mutely, letting me guide her to a relatively smooth patch of ground where she can sit.

Outside, the storm unleashes a barrage of hail, the clatter echoing through the corridors.

The temperature plummets further, wind howling.

I search around for any stray debris or dried vegetation that might serve as kindling.

There’s little to be found, but I scrape together enough to form a small mound. Better than nothing.

Sariah stirs, kneeling to touch the pile.

Her purna magic flickers at her fingertips, conjuring a spark.

The twigs glow, embers dancing to life, casting a shaky light across the cavern.

Warmth doesn’t truly radiate from the meager flame, but psychologically, it’s a lifeline.

We huddle around it, wings brushing shoulders, breath mingling in the gloom.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the entrance, momentarily revealing the swirling fury outside.

The wind shrieks with inhuman force, as if the gods themselves rage.

Our bond resonates with the environment’s chaotic energy, heightening every sensation.

My runes flare, responding to both the storm and her presence.

“You’re hurt,” she says suddenly, nodding to the red stain peeking through the tear in my side. I’d almost forgotten the wound inflicted by that rogue purna’s blade. A shallow cut, but it never had time to properly heal.

“I’ll manage,” I reply, forcing nonchalance. In truth, my side throbs fiercely.

She eyes me, then tears a strip from her cloak. “Let me bandage it. It’s bleeding again.”

I consider refusing, but the tether hums in a low, urgent manner. Accept help. She’s stronger than before, but I sense her guilt from that last confrontation with Drayveth’s faction. This small act might ease the tension.

“All right,” I concede. Slowly, I slide back a portion of my leathery wrap so she can reach the wound. The air stings as cloth peels away from dried blood. She inhales sharply, probably at the sight of dark rivulets. I keep my gaze fixed on the faint, flickering flame.

Her fingers press against my side, applying the cloth strip to stem the flow.

Instinctively, my wings bristle at the contact.

Her touch is careful, but the bond magnifies the sensation, sending an unexpected jolt of heat through me.

She’s kneeling close, each breath stirring the air around my face. Focus on the pain, not the pull.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, feeling me tense. “I’ll be gentle.”

My voice emerges gruffer than intended. “I know.” She focuses on the bandage, brow furrowed, lips parted in concentration.

Her face is pale with fatigue, but there’s a certain softness in her expression that banishes my usual wariness.

The brand on her wrist glows faintly, an echo of my runes.

Two currents of magic, forced to flow in tandem.

The storm’s energy crackles beyond these walls, fueling an undercurrent of raw power that swells in my veins.

At last, she ties off the makeshift bandage with trembling hands. “That should help,” she whispers. Her gaze flicks to mine. So close. The tension between us brims, poised on a knife’s edge. Thunder booms again, shaking loose a trickle of dust from the cavern ceiling.

She doesn’t pull away. Nor do I. The faint glow of the fire plays over her features, highlighting the silver strands in her hair, the parted curve of her lips.

My heart thrums in my chest. We nearly died.

Again. This knowledge tangles with the leftover adrenaline, fueling a surge of primal need.

Our eyes lock, and the bond roars to life, thickening the air with possibilities.

“Sariah,” I say, voice low.

She swallows, chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm. “Kaelith.”

A single moment. A single breath. Lightning flashes once more, painting her face in stark light. The brand pulses with an otherworldly glow. I realize I’m half-lifting my arm, drawn to her by a force I can’t resist. She leans in, eyes alight with the same restless craving that churns in my gut.

The distance collapses. Our mouths meet in a crushing kiss, the tether flaring.

It’s not the tentative brush from before.

This is raw, desperate, and hungry—born from too many close calls, from the swirl of our powers, from the need to confirm we’re still alive.

I groan into the kiss, hands sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against me.

She gasps, an edge of pain in that sound, probably from her injured shoulder, but she doesn’t stop.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp with heated urgency.

My runes blaze, responding to the closeness of her magic.

Sparks dance at the periphery of my vision, as if the storm outside has found a mirror in our union.