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SARIAH

I taste blood on my lips as I scramble over fractured rock, lungs burning from the uphill sprint.

Dusk bleeds across the sky in violent shades of crimson and purple, painting the rugged terrain in ominous hues.

Cold wind whips past, carrying the stench of something foul—rotting flesh and the sharp tang of alien magic.

Every nerve in my body screams that we’re out of time.

Behind me, Kaelith’s ragged breathing hitches, telling me he’s in pain.

I feel it too through the tether, a dull throb echoing in my core, intensifying with every jarring footstep.

Fear flares; he’s hurt, badly. My brand pulses on my wrist, fueling a surge of desperate adrenaline that keeps me moving.

A roar echoes off the cliffs—one of the lesser gargoyles awakened by Nerezza’s twisted magic.

So far, these new spawn aren’t as powerful as the brood that attacked Drayveth’s group, but they’re numerous and vicious, driven by a gnawing hunger and an unnatural devotion to the Nyxari.

There must be at least five or six of them circling behind us, clawing at the rocks, howling for blood.

I’m not certain how many we’ve already fought off, and I’m terrified to discover how many more lurk out here.

“Sariah,” Kaelith growls my name, voice breaking.

He lags a step, wings half-extended as though he considered taking flight but thought better of it.

His onyx skin gleams in the waning light, runes flickering erratically.

A deep gash slashes across his right thigh, crusted with dark blood, and his breathing is ragged in a way that scares me more than the gargoyles. He’s not regenerating fast enough.

“Just a little further,” I say, heart pounding.

We crest another rise in the barren slope and find ourselves gazing down at a narrow gorge.

Low, twisted trees cling to the rocky sides, branches heavy with an early, bitter frost. Beyond, a partial cave opening appears— just large enough for us to shelter.

My spirits lift. If we can reach that hollow, we might stand a chance of regrouping.

Or at least catching our breath before we face them again.

Kaelith’s tail lashes, scattering loose gravel.

“I sense them closing in,” he mutters, golden eyes scanning the gloom.

My own senses prickle, the brand on my wrist stinging with each step.

A half-dozen monstrous silhouettes scurry over the boulders behind us, shrieking in that guttural, unnatural language.

The entire slope quakes with their approach.

My stomach churns. “Run!” I yell, grabbing Kaelith’s arm to haul him forward.

He lets out a pained grunt but manages to match my stumbling pace.

Together, we half-slide, half-jump down the ravine, dislodging small avalanches of stone that cascade after us.

One slip, and we’ll be easy prey for the lesser gargoyles. Goddess, please, no more missteps.

Lightning arcs overhead—no, not lightning; it’s a bolt of corrupted magic from one of the gargoyles.

They shouldn’t have the ability to cast spells, but Nerezza’s influence has apparently gifted them rudimentary chaos power.

The searing red bolt blasts a chunk of rock behind us, throwing up a shower of debris that pings off my staff and sends Kaelith reeling.

A scream lodges in my throat as we both hit the ground in a painful tumble, dust choking our lungs.

I scramble up first, coughing, reaching for him. He’s half-propped on an elbow, runes flaring in disarray. “Kaelith,” I gasp, voice raw. He groans, wings twitching, face contorted in pain. My brand practically throbs with alarm, mirroring his agony. No, no, no. Don’t you dare die on me now.

The gargoyles shriek again, bounding closer.

I can hear the scrape of their claws on stone.

My heart roars in my ears. We have to move.

Summoning the last dregs of strength, I hook my arm under Kaelith’s, ignoring the burning protest in my battered shoulder.

He’s huge, easily capable of pressing three times my weight overhead when uninjured.

But now he’s nearly dead weight, leaning heavily on me.

The tether hums in frantic alarm at our combined distress.

I half-drag him down the last stretch of slope, stumbling across the scree. The cave mouth is no more than a dozen strides away. “Just… hold on,” I choke out, tears stinging my eyes. “We’re nearly there.”

We lurch the final distance, collapsing through the narrow opening.

Inside, the cavern narrows into a small chamber, walls slick with moisture.

A trickle of water drips from stalactites overhead.

Dim light filters through an overhead fissure, barely enough to see by.

But it’s cover—and maybe it’ll conceal us. If the gargoyles follow…

“Get back,” Kaelith rasps. He twists, forcing me behind him as if preparing to shield me from any immediate onslaught. My brand flares with frustration; he’s in no condition to fight, and I’m half-spent from days of running and fighting.

A thunderous shriek echoes outside, accompanied by the scrape of claws.

I tense, gripping my staff, ready to hurl the last of my magic if they appear.

For a moment, I imagine fangs and claws tearing through the darkness, but the lesser gargoyles halt at the cave mouth, sniffing.

Maybe they sense the wards or the weird geometry of the cavern that makes it difficult for them to squeeze inside in large numbers.

A hiss slices through the air, then recedes.

We wait, panting, for what feels like an eternity.

My entire body trembles from adrenaline.

My brand’s ache pulses with every labored breath.

At last, the hissing and scrabbling fade.

They’ve slunk away, perhaps waiting outside for an easier chance.

We’re trapped. But at least we’ve gained a fleeting reprieve.

“Sariah…” Kaelith groans, voice dropping.

His entire torso sags against the cold stone.

My panic spikes. In the thin, gloomy light, I see blood pooling from his thigh wound, dripping a steady trickle onto the cavern floor.

Another slash carves across his side, staining his leathers dark.

My heart clenches. He’s losing too much blood.

I kneel beside him, staff forgotten. “Kaelith, hey, stay with me.” My voice trembles. I press a hand to the gash on his thigh, trying to stem the bleeding. He shudders, runes flickering weakly. This is bad.

He exhales, eyes fluttering. “Stone sleep… I need it,” he manages.

Gargoyles can slip into stone sleep to heal, but that process makes them vulnerable, essentially immobile rock.

If those lesser gargoyles break in while he’s petrified, they’ll tear him apart.

Or if his injuries are too severe, even stone sleep might fail.

My brand stings, as if echoing the threat.

Fear surges, tears pricking my eyes. “We can’t risk full stone sleep with them out there.

” My mind races. Unless… I recall that synergy we’ve discovered.

If I feed him purna magic while he’s partially sleeping, maybe we can accelerate his healing.

My brand pulses, hinting at a more intimate approach.

The memory of our last desperate union floods my mind—how merging our bodies and magic stabilized him for a while.

It’s dangerous, but what choice do we have?

“I—” I swallow, adrenaline spiking. “We can do the synergy, like before. Skin-to-skin. I can funnel my power into you, help your stone sleep regenerate faster.” My cheeks burn, recalling the last time we tried anything like that, when we ended up crossing the boundary into fierce, overwhelming intimacy.

This time, he’s far more gravely wounded.

The magnitude of what we need might be double. And the tether has grown stronger.

He grimaces, eyes half-lidded with pain. “That… might kill you,” he warns, voice slurred. “Or twist your magic too far. But…” A tremor racks him. “I’m dying anyway. Better we try.”

A sob threatens to choke me. I can’t lose him. “We’ll be careful,” I promise, though my insides quake with uncertainty. The tether hums, urging me to save him, no matter the cost. “If things get too intense, I’ll pull back.”

He nods faintly, fresh blood leaking from the wound on his side. “Do it,” he breathes.

I force my panic down, focusing on what must be done.

My brand stings like it’s been seared with hot iron.

It’s now or never. Gently, I strip away the torn remnants of Kaelith’s leathers around his thigh and side, exposing the raw, ugly wounds.

The sight makes my stomach twist. Bruises darken his obsidian skin, runes flickering erratically like a sputtering flame.

A gargoyle’s normally robust vitality is draining away with each heartbeat.

“Sariah,” he murmurs, eyes meeting mine. They shine with a mixture of pain, trust, and desire. He’s letting me see him at his most vulnerable. My heart clenches.

I nod, tears gathering. “I won’t let you die.

” My voice shakes, but my resolve hardens.

I push aside my cloak, fumbling with the fastenings of my tunic to expose more skin.

The tether thrums at the prospect of close contact, recalling how our synergy soared last time. We have no time for embarrassment.

He tries to shift into a comfortable position, but pain contorts his face. “Hurry,” he rasps.