Page 22

ELYRIA

I feel the terrain shifting beneath my feet before I see any real change in the landscape.

The air grows thinner, carrying a crisp bite that hints we’re leaving the lower forests behind.

Here in the foothills, the pines stand taller, their silhouettes sharp against an early dusk sky.

My lungs tighten with each breath, not from the altitude—though that plays a part—but from the constant knot of worry that’s been lodged inside me since we discovered my High Purna lineage.

Korrin walks ahead, tense and watchful. His broad back is rigid, the harness securing his pack snug around his powerful shoulders.

He used to move with predatory grace, wings half-furled as if expecting a fight at any moment.

Now, I notice another dimension to his posture—he’s burdened, troubled.

His wings drag a little, the edges sometimes skimming the forest floor when he thinks I’m not watching.

Anxiety radiates off him in subtle ways.

We’ve been traveling for almost a week. Each morning, we press deeper into these rugged slopes, seeking safe passage away from gargoyle and dark elf territory.

Each night, we huddle around a small fire—if we dare risk the light—or burrow under rock ledges in cramped silence.

It’s a tenuous existence, haunted by the knowledge of who I might be and who he was trained to be.

I keep catching these moments, glimpses of Korrin’s expression, unguarded in the flicker of moonlight or the dim glow of embers.

I see guilt etched there, worry that twists his features as if he’s at war with himself.

I know part of his conflict revolves around the Thirteen and their edicts, around his betrayal of the Alpha, around me.

But I suspect more lies beneath that stony facade, things he won’t talk about.

Secrets, perhaps too raw or painful for him to name.

I want to demand answers. Another part is afraid of what I’ll hear.

We share fleeting touches and guarded conversations, but the tension between us grows thicker day by day.

It feels like a gulf I can’t cross, as if we’re perched on opposite ledges, each waiting for the other to reveal too much or step too far.

And then there’s the chain on my throat, a constant reminder that my freedom is still conditional.

He keeps insisting it’s for my safety—if any gargoyle sees me unbound, it’d confirm his treason—but it’s a bitter pill.

Sometimes I ache to tear it off, even if that invites danger.

But so far, I’ve yielded, trusting his judgment more than I ever thought I could.

Am I a fool? Or am I simply following a path none of us can escape?

By midday, clouds gather overhead, promising an afternoon shower.

We push ourselves hard, climbing a narrow ravine lined with slick stones.

Korrin goes first, testing each foothold before signaling it’s safe for me.

My ankle, mostly healed, still twinges when I strain it.

The chain occasionally snags on rough edges, forcing me to pause and free it with muttered curses.

Near the top, we reach a rocky outcrop that juts over the valley we left behind.

The view opens up: rolling hills, dark forests, and distant peaks capped with patches of lingering snow.

It’s majestic yet eerily silent. I can’t help scanning the skies for winged shapes—other gargoyles who might see us from afar. But the horizon is empty.

Korrin halts, breathing heavily, a sheen of perspiration on his gray skin.

He braces one hand on a boulder, wings quivering from the climb.

For a moment, I see raw exhaustion in his eyes.

He’s been driving himself past normal limits, barely sleeping, always alert.

Something in my chest tightens—a mix of concern and resentment. He’s so damn stubborn.

As I step beside him, he straightens, forcing that unreadable mask onto his face. “We should keep going,” he says, voice tight with strain. “Rain’s coming soon. We need to find a dry alcove.”

I want to argue that we should rest, but I bite my tongue. Instead, I nod, swallowing my frustration. The chain rattles quietly as I adjust my pack. “All right.”

We press on, cutting through a narrow pass.

The wind picks up, bringing the smell of ozone.

Gray clouds churn above. The path eventually widens, revealing a cluster of jagged rocks forming a natural shelter.

Korrin motions me there, and we slip inside just as the first drops of rain begin to patter against stone.

The alcove we find is shallow but high enough for Korrin to stand upright without folding his wings too tightly.

The floor is uneven, scattered with loose gravel and dead leaves.

Rain intensifies, creating a steady drumming on the rocky ledge outside.

A wave of relief washes over me—at least for one more night, we can keep the storm at bay.

I drop my pack with a sigh, rolling my shoulders.

Korrin scans the alcove’s corners, checking for animals or hidden threats.

It’s empty. Satisfied, he tosses his pack down and stretches his wings carefully.

I observe him, noticing how his tail flicks with nerves—he hates enclosed spaces, I recall, a remnant of the stone sleep that once confined him.

I kneel by the entrance, sliding a few stones together to form a makeshift ring for a small fire.

He joins me, gathering damp sticks from the edges of the alcove.

Neither of us speaks. Thunder rumbles outside, echoing in my chest. My heartbeat thrums with tension that has nothing to do with the weather.

Once we manage to coax a weak flame from soggy tinder, Korrin and I settle on opposite sides of the tiny blaze, letting its feeble warmth chase off the chill.

Water drips from my hair. I rub my arms, shivering a bit.

He notices, rummaging through his pack to hand me a spare scrap of cloth.

It’s not much, but I appreciate the gesture.

After a pause, I press my lips together. Enough. I can’t live in this half-light of secrets any longer. The day’s weariness, combined with the relentless worry about who’s hunting us, pushes me over the edge.

“Korrin,” I say, voice cutting the silence.

He glances up, molten gold eyes flickering with the fire’s reflection. “Yes?”

I inhale, steeling myself. “I need to know what’s going on inside your head. You’ve been… distant.” My fingers curl around the metal links near my throat, that hated chain. “Ever since we learned about my lineage, you’ve shut me out.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m… trying to protect you. All that matters is getting you to safety.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snap, frustration spiking.

“What about you ? You carry so much guilt— about defying your Alpha, about your past as an executioner. I can see it eating at you, and it’s creating this wall between us.

I’m sick of pretending everything’s fine when we’re both barely holding ourselves together. ”

He looks away, eyes narrowed at the flames. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” I retort, voice trembling with emotion I’m struggling to contain. “But I deserve to know, especially if we’re in this together. I can’t keep accepting your decisions blindly while you lock your pain behind a fortress.”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. He might lash out or stalk away. Instead, he exhales a harsh breath, wings dropping in a defeated slump. “Elyria… I carry more secrets than you realize.”

A spark of anger flares. “Then share them. Or else how can I trust—” I choke on the words. Trust you? I’ve trusted you with my life already. The chain rattles as I shift, pressing closer to the fire’s warmth. “Tell me,” I whisper.

He winces, as if my plea strikes a nerve. Silence stretches for an agonizing beat. Rain hammers outside, and the wind keens. Then he speaks, voice raw and low.

“I was… created,” he begins, each syllable forced.

“Not born the way normal gargoyles are. My clan used dark magic to craft a line of specialized executioners—beings made to obey unconditionally, to kill on command without hesitation. They carved out our instincts, honed them to a single purpose. That’s why it was so easy for me to slaughter.

I never questioned it, not until I saw you. ”

My breath catches. I recall how merciless he seemed at first, a blade honed to perfection. The thought that he was made that way, stripped of choice, churns my stomach. “So you had no say?”

He shakes his head, bitterness etched in his face.

“We believed it was our highest calling— that the Thirteen anointed us to keep the gargoyle race pure from threats like the purna. But deep down, I always felt… empty. As if something was missing. And when the Alpha commanded I kill you, something in me fractured. I couldn’t do it. ”

I stare at him, heart pounding. “That’s when you kidnapped me instead,” I say softly. “You’d never disobeyed before.”

He nods, throat working. “It was the first time I acted on my own will. And now I’m branded a traitor, an abomination among my kin. But I can’t regret it. Even if it dooms me.”

Emotion swells in my chest. I set aside the chain, leaning forward. “You carry that alone?” My voice quivers with sympathy and lingering anger. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because…” His gaze flickers with shame. “I was afraid you’d see me as a monster—another puppet of the Alpha. Or worse, that you’d pity me.”

A trembling laugh escapes my lips, half bitter, half relieved. “I already saw you as a monster. Then you saved me, more than once. As for pity… I know what it means to be robbed of choice. At least now I understand more about you.”

He exhales, wings drooping further. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”