Page 7

SARIAH

I wake with a start, heart pounding, throat tight.

At first, I think the tremors from the temple have followed me into these early morning hours, but the ground remains still.

My body, however, does not. Muscles protest with every shift, an unpleasant reminder of yesterday’s ordeal—tumbling through that ancient ruin, fleeing Drayveth, then stumbling straight into Kaelith’s path.

Now, I find myself shivering against the cold, curled beside the dying embers of a fire we managed to start the night before.

My gaze slides sideways. He stands at the mouth of the small rocky alcove, wings half-furled, tail coiling in slow arcs behind him.

His posture screams tension. Even from where I sit, I can read the anger brimming beneath his stony expression.

Kaelith is not a subtle gargoyle. The broad set of his shoulders, the carved planes of his chest—on which faint runes still glow—radiate power.

He’s every bit the dangerous figure I pictured when I studied old texts about gargoyles, only multiplied by the intensity that thrums in the air around him.

A flicker of primal memory surfaces: the moment in the temple when his eyes first snapped open, molten gold shards piercing the darkness.

I recall how his hand clamped around my arm as the floor collapsed.

Even then, in that life-and-death chaos, his strength was impossible to ignore.

Now, in the pale morning light, all of that power aims in my direction—because, in his mind, I am the reason everything he once sacrificed is undone.

I push upright, ignoring the pinch in my ribs.

My cloak slips off my shoulders, and I fumble to catch it.

The extra cloth he reluctantly lent me last night is still draped across my lap, stiff with dried dust. This small reminder of our forced cooperation draws an uneasy flush to my cheeks.

We’re bound by necessity more than trust.

He senses my movement and swivels to face me fully, leonine grace in every step.

When his eyes meet mine, my pulse stutters.

That blazing gold is merciless, with a faint ring of red-gold matching the lines that trace across his obsidian skin.

Standing there, he radiates an aura of seething aggression wrapped around something deeply wounded.

And I’m the unintentional cause of that pain.

His voice, low and rough, shatters the fragile hush. “You’re awake.” It’s not a question. It’s an accusation, somehow.

I swallow. “I am.” My words come out quieter than I intend, but I square my shoulders. If I’m going to survive with Kaelith, I can’t cower. Not after all I’ve been through with my coven—and not after tangling with Drayveth.

As if reading my reluctance, he closes the distance in two strides, looming over me.

The early sunlight streaming across the mountainside catches the silver threads in his black hair.

The lines across his chest pulse once, faint but insistent.

“You broke a seal that was never meant to be undone,” he rumbles, each syllable radiating condemnation. “Nerezza stirs because of you.”

Heat flares in my cheeks. I scramble to my feet, annoyed by how I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “I apologized,” I say, fighting to hold my composure. “What more do you want from me? It was an accident—one I regret. You think I wanted to release some ancient monster?”

He bares his teeth, a silent snarl that sets my nerves on edge. “Wanting has nothing to do with it,” he snaps. “The fact remains: you disrupted a centuries-old prison that I paid a steep price to maintain.”

My heart stutters at the raw edge in his words.

It reminds me that he once loved this Nerezza.

He sealed himself away to protect the world from her.

That kind of sacrifice isn’t made lightly.

But I’m too exhausted to coddle his wounded pride.

Yesterday was the worst day of my life, and the entire future now looms precariously— and it’s not exactly all my fault.

Drayveth pushed me here. My coven’s betrayal forced me to run.

I didn’t just waltz into that temple for fun.

I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the twinge in my shoulders. “I didn’t plan on unsealing anyone or anything. I was trying to protect myself from Drayveth. Either I used the glyphs, or he would’ve dragged me back to my coven—or killed me outright. So yes, I messed up, but I had no choice.”

He huffs, tail flicking in agitation. “No choice? That excuse might matter if the fate of this continent didn’t hang in the balance.”

Anger sparks in my veins. “Don’t talk to me about choices,” I counter, voice rising.

“You think I chose to become an exile? You think I chose to live in fear, always running from the only home I had? My mentor turned on me because I was too strong for his liking, or too unpredictable. My own coven—the people who were supposed to guide me—branded me, calling me a traitor for refusing to bend. If that’s not a lack of choices, I don’t know what is. ”

Something flickers across his face, a shadow of surprise.

He probably didn’t expect me to stand my ground.

His wings shift, feathers of tension rippling through them.

The pressure between us intensifies, two unstoppable forces glaring at one another.

I will not back down. I’ve come too far, lost too much, to let another figure of authority bully me.

Even if this gargoyle is monstrous in strength.

We stare at each other in seething silence. Finally, he mutters under his breath, turning away. The air around him crackles with suppressed fury. “If you think this changes what you’ve done?—”

“I’m not saying it does,” I cut in, tone clipped. “But maybe you could pause and realize I’m not your enemy. I didn’t set out to ruin your sacrifice or free your evil ex-lover. I have my own problems.” My breath quickens, heart racing from this confrontation.

He spins back, stepping so close that I can’t help but inhale the faint scent of ozone clinging to his skin.

Gargoyles, with their life-earth magic, often carry hints of stone, iron, even a tang like charged air.

The combination is unsettlingly potent. “You are still complicit,” he growls, each word measured.

“And now, we’re bound in ways neither of us wanted. You can’t deny it.”

My stomach clenches. The bond. I felt it last night, thrumming in my chest like a second heartbeat whenever he so much as glanced my way.

This morning, it’s no weaker. If anything, it’s grown more insistent, as though each passing hour cements its hold.

“I’m not denying anything,” I say, forcing calm into my voice.

“But raging at me won’t fix our predicament. ”

He bristles, but before he can retort, I take a half-step back. The sensation of his anger, combined with the whirling echoes of guilt and frustration, is nearly suffocating. I need space, if only to breathe.

My plan is to storm off a short distance—to prove I don’t have to stand here and endure his hostility.

But the moment I pivot, an acute weakness ripples through my legs, as though the ground beneath them vanishes.

My knee buckles, and I let out a sharp gasp, stumbling forward.

A wave of dizziness hits me so hard that black spots cloud my vision.

I’d topple face-first if Kaelith didn’t lunge, grasping my upper arm. The contact sends a jolt through the tether between us, an electric pulse of shared energy. I gasp, blinking away the sudden stars. He steadies me with far more gentleness than I expect.

“What—?” My voice breaks. “What’s happening?”

He exhales, a harsh sound that borders on a snarl. “You tried to leave.” He angles his body so I can see his own slight grimace, a tension that draws lines around his mouth. “I felt it too. We can’t stray too far from each other without suffering the consequences.”

A chill that has nothing to do with the Prazh winds seeps into me.

I recall hearing of accidental bonds in ancient purna texts—unique spells that entwine lifeforces, ensuring neither party can stray.

Some were used as punishments; others, as forced alliances in times of war.

“So if we separate,” I whisper, “we both weaken?”

He nods grimly. “Seems that way.” There’s bitterness in his gaze—he despises this just as much as I do.

“We discovered that last night, when you tried to distance yourself at the fire. It was mild then, so I thought it might be exhaustion. But now, it’s clear we can’t break the proximity limit.

Not without risking our own well-being.”

My mind reels, recalling the moment at the fire when I shifted a few feet to gather more twigs. I’d felt faint, and the ache in my chest had grown heavier. I assumed it was only hunger or the aftermath of the temple’s collapse. But apparently, it’s the result of this cursed tether.

“I—” I attempt to straighten, ignoring the wave of residual dizziness. His grip eases, though he stays close enough to catch me if I collapse again. “That means we’re stuck together.” My voice shakes. “At least until we find a way to undo this link.”

His jaw clenches, and I notice the muscle tighten under the faint glow of morning. “Yes,” he says tersely. “Which isn’t going to be easy.” A glimmer of guilt flickers in his eyes, as though he hates acknowledging we need each other. “But we have no choice.”