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“Hold her!” the lead elf commands, wrenching my arms back. My entire body aches. Another elf clamps a metal cuff over my wrist, snapping it to the chain. They’re re-capturing me. My mind reels with horror, old nightmares flooding back.

Desperately, I crane my neck, searching for Korrin.

Through the swirl of bodies, I see him battered to one knee, blood streaking his chest and thigh.

He’s still fighting, lashing out with savage power, but he’s outnumbered, bolts peppering his wings, swords scraping his stony hide.

A strangled moan rips from my throat. I have to do something.

But the elves restrain me, forcing me backward.

Suddenly, Korrin manages one final surge, hurling an elf aside.

For a heartbeat, our eyes lock. In them, I see heartbreak, regret, and a desperate command to run.

But I can’t—two elves hold me pinned. He tries to lunge in my direction, but the gargoyle overhead dives, slamming him down.

The crack of impact echoes, and Korrin’s roar of pain sends ice through my veins.

“No!” I scream, tears streaming down my cheeks.

He collapses under the gargoyle’s weight, pinned against the rocky ground.

More elves rush in, swords raised. My entire being shrivels in horror.

I see blood soaking the dirt around him, his wings pinned awkwardly.

Then an elf slams a crossbow butt into the back of his skull, and he goes still.

Terror and grief tear me apart. “Korrin!” I shriek, fighting the elves with every ounce of strength. But they yank the chain tight, the metal collar biting into my flesh. My vision spots with black, breath caught in ragged sobs. He’s not moving.

An elf clamps a gag over my mouth, silencing my cries.

My limbs thrash, but their grip is unyielding.

Helpless, I watch as the gargoyle above lifts off, barking orders, and a cluster of dark elves gather around Korrin’s still form.

I see them prod him with a blade, then share terse words.

My entire body screams in silent protest. Is he dead?

Without mercy, the elves drag me away, half-choking me with the chain. My tears blur the world. Korrin… no. Please, no. My mind howls in despair. My greatest fear realized: I’m recaptured, and he might be gone forever.

The dark elves march me down the valley at a brutal pace, ignoring my limp from the chain’s constant yanking.

One of them, presumably the leader, keeps a crossbow trained on me, as if I might vanish into thin air.

My wrists are bound behind my back with iron cuffs, the collar chain looped to a belt at the leader’s waist. Every step sends agony through my shoulders. The gag muffles my sobs.

Night descends, a grim reflection of my heart.

They force me to camp in a small clearing surrounded by watchful sentries.

No sign of Korrin. I twist against my bonds, desperate for any clue of what happened after the ambush.

The elves say little, but from the odd snippet, I glean that they left him for dead.

Left him— My stomach roils. He can’t truly be…

Sleep is impossible. I lie on cold ground, wrists throbbing, the collar digging into my neck.

Memories of old enslavement crash over me—days of chains, nights of whippings.

The terror is so suffocating I struggle to breathe.

I was free, if only briefly. We found each other.

And now… it’s all undone. My mind replays Korrin’s final expression, the savage defiance overshadowed by heartbreak. My chest feels carved out.

When morning comes, they yank me to my feet, feed me scraps of stale bread, and keep me gagged.

My entire body aches. I’m half-numb from heartbreak and dread.

If Korrin is alive, how could he find me?

If he’s not… I can’t bear the thought. My throat tightens with grief, tears threatening constantly.

The elves set a grueling pace, presumably headed back to their fortress. They keep me near the front, the leader’s chain in his iron grip. Occasionally, I see him glance over his shoulder at me, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. My mouth floods with bitter saliva. Back to slavery, or worse.

We traverse rocky passes and descend into lower altitudes.

The air warms slightly, though the sun is lost behind swirling clouds.

My ankles bruise from stumbling on loose gravel, the chain jerked tight whenever I lag.

Each time, I recall Korrin’s gentler hand, how he’d help me navigate. The memory stabs my heart anew.

One afternoon, we pass a vantage that overlooks a wide swath of forest. The leader halts, scanning the horizon.

I glimpse the distant shape of the fortress I once served, a black silhouette marred by spires and cruelty.

My stomach lurches. They’re taking me there.

My pulse roars in my ears. No. I can’t go back.

But I’m powerless, wrists bound, the collar choking any hope of escape.

That night, I attempt to slip the gag in my sleep, hoping to glean information from the elves.

But a sentry catches my movement, delivering a harsh kick that leaves me gasping.

Another memory of old humiliations. I curl on the ground, tears silent.

The sense of finality crushes me: Korrin is gone, or dying, and I can’t fight alone.

The “All Is Lost” moment resonates with a brutality that steals my breath.

On the third day of forced marching, the gloom weighs so heavily on me I stop caring about bruises or thirst. I shuffle mechanically, battered feet scraping dust. The elves seem edgy, though.

They talk among themselves in sharp whispers, glancing behind us as if expecting pursuit. My heart flickers— Could it be Korrin?

As we crest a ridge, the leader orders a halt.

He scans the rear terrain, cursing. I squint, trying to see what unsettles him, but my vision is blurred by fatigue and tears.

Then he barks an order to speed up, like they fear someone’s on our trail.

My heart leaps. What if Korrin survived?

The thought is both thrilling and agonizing—our last memory of him was battered, pinned.

How could he survive that onslaught? But maybe he did.

My chest clenches with longing. I cling to that possibility, no matter how faint.

It’s dusk when we finally approach the outskirts of the dreaded fortress I once served.

My stomach convulses at the sight of those towering spires, the black iron gates that once caged me.

The leader confers with the gate sentries, producing some sort of token.

The gates groan open, and they drag me inside.

Torchlight flickers on stone walls, revealing a courtyard that roars with memory: whippings, forced labor, caged nights.

I’m back. My heart shrinks, despair surging.

The lead elf tugs the chain roughly, forcing me forward.

A gag stifles my protests, but tears drip from my eyes.

Dark silhouettes pass by—other elves, slaves scuttling in corners.

Some glance at me with pity or dread. They see the collar, realize I’m a captive.

My soul feels like it’s cracking. I had a taste of freedom, of love, and now…

They haul me to a side tower, up winding steps that scrape my knees as I stumble.

The corridor is lit by guttering torches.

I recognize the stench of rotting straw, the damp chill of these walls.

This is a prison tower. My mind reels with old terror.

They fling open a door to a small chamber—stone walls, no window.

A single ring hammered into the floor to secure a chain. My chain.

They push me inside, unfastening my wrists from their metal cuffs only to clamp them together in front. The chain from my collar loops through the ring in the floor, limiting my range to a few steps. Then they slam the door, the clang echoing like a death knell.

I collapse onto the cold stones, the gag still in place. My entire body trembles. The chain rattles in the hush. Back where I started. Darkness seeps into my soul, suffocating. Korrin… I can’t sense you. Are you alive?

I rock, hugging my cuffed arms to my chest. Memories swirl: Korrin’s protective stance, his fierce kisses, how he soared above me in the forest. Now, he might be rotting under a pile of rubble in that ambush site.

Grief and guilt crash like waves. If I’d fought harder, if I’d— Useless regrets.

I bury my head against my knees, silent tears coursing. I am alone again.

Time loses meaning in the cell’s darkness.

My captors rarely come, aside from a guard who brings stale water or scraps of food, shoving them under the door.

They remove my gag only to let me sip water, then force it back, presumably to keep me from shouting or using any potential purna power.

I remain chained like a hound, forced to sleep on cold stone, every muscle aching.

I slip into a haze of painful memories, drifting between nightmares and half-waking illusions.

Korrin’s face, contorted in pain, the moment the crossbow bolt struck him.

The fortress courtyard, where I once scrubbed bloodstains.

My mind cycles, searching for hope but finding only gloom.

He’s gone, a voice taunts. And even if he lived, how could he infiltrate this place alone?

A stubborn flicker remains, a memory of his unstoppable resolve, how he once tore through elves to rescue me.

Could he do it again? My chest tightens.

The fortress is heavily guarded; the dark elves likely anticipate a rescue attempt.

But I cling to that scrap of faith like a drowning soul clutches driftwood.