Page 21

My mind races. The fortress kept her alive, probably wanting to harness her potential.

Now she’s free… with me. If the Alpha learns she’s the final scion of a High Purna line, the entire gargoyle host will descend on her.

Letting her live is an act of open rebellion.

“This is bigger than we knew,” I mutter.

Her gaze darts to me, fear and defiance swirling in equal measure. “So what? Are you going to—” She cuts off, tears threatening. “You said you wouldn’t kill me.”

The question stabs me like a blade. My duty as an executioner was absolute. Kill any purna. And she’s not just a purna; she’s from the most feared line in living memory. My entire body tenses. “Elyria, I…” My voice shakes. “I can’t— I won’t kill you.”

She exhales in shaky relief, though tears brim in her eyes. “Then what do we do? The dark elves… if they find out. Your kin… if they learn I’m this… High Purna. ” Her voice breaks. “We’re doomed.”

I gather her shoulders, drawing her close so she won’t collapse under the weight of this revelation.

The old me might have delivered a merciful strike, ended her life swiftly to spare my race potential destruction.

But the new me, the me forged in the ruin, bound by an indescribable connection to her, can’t even contemplate that.

“We keep going,” I say, forcing conviction into my voice.

“We go deeper into the mountains, far from all who might harm you.”

She trembles, tears slipping free. “But you’re risking everything. This is…” She gulps, voice quiet. “This is treason, right?”

I swallow hard. High treason. The Alpha’s edict is crystal clear: any gargoyle who defies the kill order is a traitor. “Yes,” I murmur. “But I made my choice when I first spared you.”

We stand in silence, our breath mingling in the dusty air. The scroll on the slab is a testament to the forces that shaped our world: purna magic that once nearly destroyed gargoyles, leaving a scar still raw after centuries. And now, that magic rests in her blood, dormant but lethal if awakened.

Elyria pulls away, wiping her cheeks. Her face is resolute. “We should get rid of this place. Or at least hide these scrolls. If the dark elves or gargoyles find them, it’ll confirm who I am.”

I nod, forcing my mind into action. “Agreed.”

We gather the more intact scrolls referencing the High Purna lineage.

My heart hammers with each mention of a cataclysmic prophecy, each reference to a last scion.

It feels like a noose tightening around our necks.

In the end, we set them in a corner and pile rubble over them.

A crude job, but it’ll obscure them from a casual search.

Then we slip out of the archive chamber, returning to the main hall. The mosaic stares up at us with silent judgment. Moon phases, swirling vines, and at the center, that symbolic female figure. I almost feel it watching Elyria. She averts her gaze, hugging herself.

By the time we exit into the outside air, the storm has broken.

Rain slashes through the trees, thunder rolling overhead.

We find shelter in a small alcove near the monastery’s entrance, at least enough to keep us from getting drenched.

Water drips off the stone pillars, and lightning flashes beyond the forest canopy.

Elyria collapses onto a broad step, burying her face in her hands.

I hover nearby, wings shifting in agitation.

The chain rattles as she rocks slightly, struggling to process.

My own thoughts reel, a storm within a storm.

She’s the last of a High Purna bloodline.

If I were the gargoyle I was raised to be, I’d end her life right now. The idea makes me nauseated.

I sink down beside her, careful not to crowd her. Rain mists the air around us, turning the monastery courtyard into a hazy dreamscape. My heart thuds with a mixture of dread and fierce protectiveness.

Elyria lifts her head, eyes red. “So… all these nightmares about me having a dangerous lineage—they were all real,” she whispers. “I spent my life denying it, thinking I was just a worthless slave with no power.”

I swallow. “You still might not awaken anything. Some purna never do. And… even if you did, it’s not fated to destroy everything. You have control.” My voice trembles on the last word. I want to believe it, but I recall the stories of High Purna unstoppable storms of magic. Fear gnaws at me.

She lets out a bitter laugh. “Control? I can’t even keep my own freedom without being chained.” She tugs at the metal around her neck, a furious gesture. Then she sighs, deflated. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying.”

Guilt courses through me. “I wish I could remove it now. But if we cross paths with gargoyles, they’ll suspect everything.” My eyes drift to the swirling rain. “They might suspect anyway. I’m gone too long from the stronghold.”

She wraps her arms around herself, shivering from cold or emotion. “You’re risking your life for me, Korrin. I’m… grateful, even if I don’t always show it.” Her voice softens, sending an ache through my chest.

I shift closer, the chain lying between us like a serpent. “I’m risking more than my life,” I admit, voice low. “I’m defying the Alpha, betraying the executioner’s oath. If the clan finds me, they won’t just kill me. They’ll make an example out of me.”

She flinches. “I never wanted that for you.”

A wry smile tugs at my lips. “I never wanted it for myself, either.” Then my gaze drops to her hands, clenched in her lap.

I hesitate before covering them with my larger palm.

Her fingers spasm beneath my touch, but she doesn’t pull away.

“But I can’t be what I was anymore,” I say, voice raspy with emotion. “Not after everything.”

She nods, tears gleaming. Then, almost impulsively, she leans into my side, resting her head against my shoulder.

The chain clinks. I freeze, wings tensing, but an overwhelming tenderness surges beneath my fear.

I lift an arm, curling it around her protectively.

She exhales shakily, letting me hold her in the rain-drenched gloom.

We sit like that for a time, two fugitives from a war that might reignite the moment her magic stirs.

The thunder overhead resonates with the conflict in my own heart.

I recall the old, prideful lesson that gargoyles are unstoppable apex predators.

We’re unstoppable, except by purna magic, I realize grimly.

That’s the impetus for centuries of hatred.

And ironically, I’ve bound my fate to the most feared purna line of all.

When the storm lessens, we start making preparations.

We’ll use the partial shelter of the monastery for the night, then move on at first light.

While Elyria checks for a dry corner to sleep in, I stand by a broken window, letting the dripping vines brush my arms. Dusk is settling fast. Another night in unknown territory.

I try to keep watch, scanning the tree line for any sign of movement.

My mind churns with images of the scroll. The last scion. If that rumor spreads… No, I decide. I won’t let it. I clench my fists, recalling how easily I can dispatch enemies with claws and winged strength. I’ll kill any gargoyle or dark elf that threatens her. But what if dozens come? Hundreds?

Elyria returns, cheeks flushed from rummaging around. “There’s a half-dry room near the library. The roof didn’t collapse there.” She hesitates, glancing at me. “It might be safer than the courtyard.”

I nod curtly. “Lead the way.”

She does, and soon we settle into a small nook lined by crumbled shelves.

Water drips through cracks, forming shallow puddles on the flagstones.

We gather old planks to lay on the ground, draping them with our traveling cloak for insulation.

There’s no place to safely build a fire, so we’ll have to endure the damp chill.

My gargoyle blood shrugs off most cold, but Elyria is only human.

I’ll keep her warm if she lets me, I tell myself.

Night descends fully. My instincts scream to remain awake, but exhaustion weighs heavy after the day’s turmoil.

Elyria curls against the corner, hugging her knees.

Her chain clinks whenever she shifts. My heart aches at the audible symbol of her captivity.

I vow to free her once it’s safe. The vow resonates in me like a stubborn lifeline.

Tentative, I move to sit beside her. She glances up. Worry lines her face. “I should keep watch,” she offers, but her eyes droop with fatigue.

“You’re exhausted,” I say. “Rest for a bit. I won’t sleep deeply anyway.”

She hesitates, then nods. I drape a corner of my worn cloak around her.

She stiffens briefly at my touch, but then exhales, leaning into the warmth.

Our shoulders press together, a small sign of fragile trust. Despite the swirling threat of discovery, the moment feels strangely peaceful—a lull in the storm of our reality.

Time drifts. We speak little. My thoughts circle back to the revelation in the archive. I watch her doze off, the tension in her features easing. I wonder what will become of us if we truly find the hidden valleys in the mountains. Is a peaceful life even possible? My soul churns with doubt.

At some point, I slip into a half-doze, waking with a start when my wing twitches. Elyria stirs beside me, blinking in confusion. My chest tightens with guilt. I should be fully on guard. But no threat has shown itself.

She rubs her eyes. “Anything out there?”

I shake my head. “No. Quiet.”

She exhales in relief, and presses and hand to her chest. Her collar catches the dim light, reflecting back at me like an accusation. If they only knew you’re a High Purna, I muse, they’d try to kill you… or worship you… or harness you. A swirl of protective anger roils in my gut.

Elyria clears her throat, noticing my stare. “What is it?”

I consider lying, brushing off her concern. But I’m too wound up. “I just… can’t shake the thought that once the clan learns I’ve spared you, especially after learning who you really are…” I trail off, uncertain how to phrase the next part without scaring her.

She understands anyway. Her shoulders slump. “It’d be a bloodbath, wouldn’t it? The Alpha and the others would hunt us down.”

My voice comes out rough. “Yes. They’ll see it as the gravest treason.”

A silence thickens, heavy with unspoken dread. Then she reaches out, fingers brushing my forearm. The chain rattles. I still, heart throbbing. She locks eyes with me, fear and gratitude warring in her gaze. “Thank you for not following that order,” she murmurs.

My throat constricts. “I—” The words catch. I want to say I’d do it again, no matter the cost, but that implies a finality I haven’t fully grappled with. “I can’t kill you, Elyria,” I manage, voice low. “I won’t. I’m not that creature anymore.”

She nods slowly, tears threatening to pool in her eyes.

The vulnerability in her expression sears me.

I lift a trembling hand, wanting to comfort her, but uncertain if it’s welcome.

After a beat, I settle it lightly on her shoulder.

She doesn’t recoil. Instead, she leans in, pressing her forehead to my neck.

The contact jolts through me, a blend of solace and heartbreak.

We remain like that for a moment, two refugees from a war that might reignite at any second. My mind drifts to the vow I made: I’ll see her free, collar removed, far from the reach of gargoyle or dark elf. I can only hope we have the strength to survive until then.

Dawn breaks eventually, gilding the ruined monastery with pale light. Rain still drips from the rafters, echoing through the corridor. Elyria and I pack up quietly, neither of us speaking of the revelations that now shape our course. But the unspoken tension looms larger than ever.

When we emerge into the soggy courtyard, I notice a faint breeze carrying the scent of pine and damp earth from the north. The mountains beckon in the distance, their peaks lost in cloud. Danger and sanctuary, all at once.

Elyria stands beside me, arms wrapped around herself.

Her eyes trace the horizon, as if seeking a path.

The chain at her collar glints in the early sun, and a surge of protective urgency courses through my veins.

We must keep moving. The High Purna knowledge rests in my mind like a brand, fueling my determination.

She sighs, turning to me. “Ready?”

I adjust my pack, nodding. “Yes. Let’s go.”

We share one last glance at the ancient shrine behind us. In another time, we might have lingered to uncover its secrets, but we can’t afford that luxury now. Danger stalks us from all sides—my own gargoyle kin, the dark elves who suspect her existence, even the wild beasts that roam these lands.

Elyria sets off, chain in hand to keep it from rattling. I fall in step, scanning the trees, wings tense. Overhead, gulls or hawks circle in wide arcs, free to soar where they will. I can’t risk flight unless absolutely necessary, I remind myself. Keeping to the ground is safer for hiding tracks.

As we head deeper into the forest, the hush between us vibrates with new understanding.

She is the last scion of a lineage that might rival the gods in raw power—if awakened.

I’m the gargoyle sworn to exterminate such threats.

Yet here we are, bound by necessity and something more tender that neither of us can name.

Each step northward feels like walking a knife’s edge, but we press on. My heart beats with fierce resolve, ignoring the shadow of treason that hangs over me. Sparing her was my first true act of freedom, and I refuse to abandon that choice now.

And so we continue, two outcasts forging a path through uncertain wilderness—haunted by revelations that threaten everything we once believed, yet clinging to each other as we navigate a world that hunts us both.