Page 35

SARIAH

I struggle to keep my balance as the wind whips past, sending loose gravel skittering across the rocky ledge.

Kaelith and I have been traveling nonstop since that harrowing encounter with Nerezza’s apparition, searching for a path through these twisting mountains that might lead us to Snowfall Glen.

Our nerves are frayed. Every distant echo in the ravines sets our hearts pounding, and every shadow overhead rouses fear that Nerezza’s warped gargoyles have found us.

The days blur: hunger gnaws, the chill stings, and the tension between Kaelith and me sometimes flares.

We skirt each other in awkward silence at times, weighed down by the memory of Nerezza’s taunts.

Yet we share fleeting moments of closeness when the fear overwhelms us—our tether humming with a quiet comfort that reminds me we’re in this fight together.

Now, as afternoon light slants across the jagged slopes, we pause near a narrow trail twisting upward between two sheer cliffs.

Scraggly pines cling to the rocky ground, their roots twisted around boulders in a desperate attempt to survive.

Kaelith crouches beside me, scanning the path with cautious eyes.

His wings remain folded tight, a sign of how tense he feels.

My brand itches beneath my glove, that constant dull ache telling me trouble lies close at hand.

“Do you sense anything?” I ask softly, trying not to disturb the hush. My voice comes out rough, laced with fatigue.

Kaelith exhales, the faintest trace of vapor drifting in the cool air.

“No illusions—yet,” he murmurs. “But something’s off.

The wind is carrying strange echoes.” He tilts his head, listening.

A pulse of protective anger flickers through our tether, hinting at how ready he is for a fight. “We should move carefully.”

I nod, standing. My entire body aches: bruises, half-healed cuts, and the constant anxiety eating at me.

But we can’t stop. Snowfall Glen, if we’re even on the right path, offers our only hope of finding allies to stand against Nerezza—and maybe gleaning how to break or manage this bond in a way that won’t destroy us.

We climb the twisting path, boots scraping on loose stone.

The sunlight overhead feels weak, as though the day itself has grown exhausted.

Kaelith paces just ahead, watchful, while I remain a step behind, scanning the cliffs overhead for ambush.

Each step takes concentration, the grade steep enough to threaten a tumble if I’m careless.

I catch glimpses of Kaelith’s runes glowing faintly whenever his muscles flex.

That subtle glow is strangely reassuring—like a beacon in hostile terrain.

We round a jagged bend in the trail, and my breath freezes in my throat.

Standing across the path, partially silhouetted by the angled sun, is a figure I’ve dreaded encountering again: Drayveth.

He blocks our way with calm arrogance, staff in hand.

My heart slams hard against my ribs. He’s here. Again. And this time, he isn’t alone.

Flanking him are at least six other purna, all bearing the same brand on their wrists I once shared with pride.

My old coven insignia, twisted by Drayveth’s authority.

They’re armed: some hold staves pulsing with low-level necromantic energy, others clutch daggers that flicker with pale greenish runes.

My palm goes sweaty around my own staff, which I’ve kept strapped to my back.

Kaelith halts, wings bristling. A silent wave of tension runs through our tether, locking us both in high alert.

Drayveth inclines his head in greeting, a mockery of courtesy.

He’s tall, robed in black embroidered with silver threads.

His once-kind face is now a mask of cold resolve and bitterness.

“Sariah,” he says, voice carrying easily through the thin mountain air.

“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble. ”

I can’t help but bristle. The man who raised me from a novice to an adept, now looking at me like I’m an enemy. “Drayveth,” I respond, forcing my voice not to tremble. “You won’t turn me in to Nerezza, I hope?” The quip rings hollow, but I cling to bravado.

He snorts, ignoring my jab. “You keep running, Sariah. You left our coven behind for… this. ” His gaze slices toward Kaelith, lips twisting in disgust. “A gargoyle, of all creatures? Have you truly sunk so low?”

Kaelith growls softly, tail scraping the rock in warning.

I sense the violent urge in him, to lash out and end this confrontation before Drayveth can spew more venom.

But Drayveth’s allies stand poised. If we fight now, we might be overrun.

And I refuse to see more bloodshed if it can be avoided.

My battered limbs twitch with dread. We’re outnumbered.

“What do you want?” I demand, trying to keep my voice steady. My pulse hammers. Drayveth and I share too much history—he was once my mentor, a figure I trusted. Now he hunts me like a rabid hound.

He lifts his chin. “I want you to do your duty. Return to the coven. Renounce this gargoyle. Kill him, if you must. You know what rumors swirl, Sariah—that you’re dabbling in forbidden magic, doomed to become another Nyxari.

That brand on your wrist is already tarnished.

” His eyes gleam with a sharp, dangerous light.

“If you come back to us, sever this bond, you might salvage your place among the purna. But if you persist… we’ll be forced to treat you as an abomination. ”

My stomach clenches painfully. He’s giving me an ultimatum.

Return and kill Kaelith, or face condemnation as a Nyxari.

The brand pulses in protest, as though the very notion of turning on Kaelith repels me.

“I can’t—” My voice cracks. “You can’t expect me to murder him because you’ve decided he’s unfit for me. ”

A sneer curls Drayveth’s mouth. “He’s a gargoyle. A monstrous relic that once warred with our kind. Don’t be naive, Sariah. This alliance you’ve forged? It’s unnatural. Proof enough you’re walking a dangerous path.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Kaelith’s claws tighten, runes glowing more fiercely.

Anger flares through our tether. He’s insulted, furious.

We both are. “My path is my own,” I snap.

“I left your coven because you tried to control me. Now you want me to kill someone who’s fought at my side, saved my life? No. I won’t.”

Drayveth exhales, as if dealing with a stubborn child.

“You foolish girl. Do you realize how precarious our situation is? Nerezza is rising. The world stands on the brink, and you’re aligning with an ancient threat from the gargoyle tribes?

You might as well sign a pact with chaos itself.

” His staff crackles with a swirl of necromantic energy, a demonstration of power that sends goosebumps skittering down my arms. “We’re here to ensure you don’t become the next abomination that devours Protheka. ”

I want to protest that Kaelith is not an ancient threat, but my voice fails me for a moment.

Fear squeezes my lungs. Drayveth’s purna allies shift, forming a loose semicircle around us.

We’re pinned: the rocky slope behind us, Drayveth’s band in front.

My mind races: Can we slip free? If we fight, can we survive?

Kaelith inches closer to me, wings flaring just enough to show he’ll fight if forced.

“She’s not the next Nyxari,” he growls. “Nerezza is out there, Drayveth— that’s your threat.

Not Sariah.” The rumble in his chest resonates, making the air vibrate.

“Focus your efforts on the real enemy, or you’ll doom yourselves. ”

Drayveth’s eyes glint with dark amusement.

“Ah, yes. Nerezza. We know she’s awakened, the seal undone.

One monstrosity unbound leads to another, it seems.” He gestures dismissively.

“But for all we know, you’re in league with her.

After all, you were once allied to a powerful purna who sought to reshape gargoyles.

History might be repeating. Perhaps Sariah is your new puppet, or you’re her puppet—does it matter?

In either case, you threaten the stability we fight to preserve. ”

Fury sears my chest. “That’s a lie!” I protest, voice echoing. “We want to stop Nerezza, not join her. She nearly destroyed Kaelith’s people. She’s already slaughtering innocent covens. How can you stand here accusing us of being the threat?”

Drayveth’s expression hardens. “In times of crisis, those who break from the coven must be dealt with. You refused to submit, Sariah. Your chaotic power is unregulated, your brand tarnished. The coven demands your loyalty—or your end. There’s no middle path.

” His staff glows brighter, and I hear a low chant ripple among his allies.

They’re preparing to cast something. My heart leaps in my throat.

Kaelith shifts his stance, runes flaring in response. “Don’t,” he warns, voice a deep rumble that sets my heart pounding. “We don’t want this fight—but we won’t surrender to you.”

One of Drayveth’s subordinates, a tall woman with a shaved head, snarls. “Sariah, you know what you risk by refusing. If you won’t kill the gargoyle, at least bind him. Bring him back in chains. The coven can decide his fate. Then maybe we can spare you from condemnation.”

The old pang of belonging tugs at me—my memories of training sessions, shared meals, late-night study with these same purna.

Once, they were my family. Now they talk of chaining Kaelith like a beast. I glance at him, the tension etched on his face.

He meets my eyes, wordless. The tether throbs with our shared anguish.

They see him as a monster. But I’ve grown to see him as…

I swallow. As something so much more than a reluctant partner.

As someone I trust, someone who, in the darkest moments, gave me reason to hope.