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A cruel smile flickers across his obsidian features.

“The purna. The one you call Elyria. She is in the custody of the dark elves. They will deliver her to us soon, in exchange for certain… considerations. Her existence spares them from further gargoyle raids.” He leans in, voice dropping to a rumble.

“I will give you a chance to atone. You will kill her yourself, Korrin, in the presence of the entire clan. Show us your loyalty still burns, and we might forgive your transgressions. Fail, and you both die slowly.”

My mind reels. They have her? They plan to exchange her with the clan? Or is she still with the elves? Either way, they intend to force me to kill her. A horrifying numbness seeps through me. “That’s… monstrous,” I whisper, shaking. “We can’t— She’s done nothing?—”

He snarls, a brutal backhand striking my jaw.

The shock knocks me half off my feet, the shackles biting my wrists.

I taste blood again. “You dare question me?” the Alpha bellows.

“I have given you a path to redemption. A single kill. She means less than nothing. A trifling sacrifice to keep the clan safe.”

A flood of anguish roils. My stomach churns.

Kill Elyria? The woman who awakened my heart, who I bled for?

The very idea is so vile I can hardly breathe.

Yet the alternative is unthinkable —my own slow torture, and she likely slaughtered anyway.

No matter which path, it ends in her death if I follow the Alpha’s logic.

Unless… My mind whirls, frantic for an out.

He sees my hesitation, a cold triumph flickering in his gaze. The entire hall waits, silent, for my response. Elders murmur, some snarling curses at me, others wearing guarded expressions. They want me to break.

I swallow, forcing myself to speak around the agony in my chest. “If I do this… you’ll spare me?” My words taste like ash.

A cruel grin spreads across the Alpha’s face. “We spare you, yes—if you complete your duty in front of all. Kill her, and your clan forgives. Refuse, and you both perish.” He steps back, wings flaring in finality. “The choice is yours.”

Despair crushes me. What can I do? Every fiber of my being screams to protect Elyria.

The memory of her tears, her chain rattling, her gentle hand on my cheek…

I can’t betray that. I can’t kill her. But the Alpha corners me.

Even if I choose to let them kill me, they’d likely murder her as well.

She’s powerless in the clan’s eyes, a purna to be culled.

All is lost indeed. My soul feels like a gaping wound.

Varzak sneers, stepping forward. “The Alpha will announce the ceremony once the elves deliver her. Until then, you remain in the lower keep. Don’t think of escaping. We’ll watch your every breath.”

My head spins with horror. They plan to publicly execute her.

The alpha wants me to carry it out as a twisted show of loyalty.

My only hope is to find a way to sabotage that plan, to free her.

But I’m chained, battered, and alone against the entire clan.

Is there any path that ends with us both alive?

They drag me from the throne hall, returning me to a narrower passage that leads deeper underground.

My wings ache with every jolt, the bandage on my side torn away, fresh blood trickling.

A wave of dizziness nearly topples me. The gargoyles—Varzak chief among them—escort me to a cell much like the first, but larger, fitted with heavier chains that loop around my torso to pin my wings tight.

The sense of imprisonment crushes me. I’m as helpless as Elyria now.

A savage guilt tears at me: She must be terrified. Possibly tortured. My heart rages.

Varzak lingers as the lesser guards lock the irons.

He smirks, delivering a final blow to my gut that drives the air from my lungs.

“I never did like you, Korrin,” he murmurs, leaning close.

“The Alpha’s golden pup, so perfect in your kills.

But you’re not so special now.” He twirls a small blade in his claws, eyes gleaming.

“When the time comes, if you hesitate, I’ll finish her off myself.

Perhaps I’ll do it anyway, just to see your face. ”

I seethe, choking on fury. But my body is too battered to fight back. He laughs at my impotent rage, then stalks out, leaving me shackled in gloom. The heavy cell door slams, the clang echoing in my chest.

I sag against the wall, breath shuddering.

My entire being throbs with pain. I can barely move my arms or wings.

Every shift of the chain scrapes the raw flesh around my shoulders.

Yet the physical agony is nothing compared to the roiling torment in my mind.

Kill Elyria. Or watch her slaughtered while I die too. The Alpha offers no alternative.

“What do I do?” I whisper to the empty cell, voice cracking.

My thoughts spiral. If she’s delivered to the clan, I’ll be forced to stand before the entire host, weapons in hand, eyes on her terrified face.

I cannot. My whole being aches at the very image.

Better to die. But if I simply refuse, they’ll kill her anyway, likely in a more brutal fashion.

No matter the choice, the clan wins. We lose. My throat tightens with grief.

Memories flood me: her laughter in quiet moments, her unwavering gaze when we overcame each crisis together, the feel of her soft warmth in my arms during that final night we truly had each other. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, though she can’t hear. “I promised to protect you. And now I can do nothing.”

Hours crawl by in that cell, torchlight flickering across the corridor outside.

Occasionally, a guard passes, sneering or spitting in my direction.

Once, Varzak returns to hurl insults, goading me to rage.

I close my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

My mind rummages for some desperate plan—escape?

But how can I break these chains alone? Allies in the clan?

I doubt any would defy the Alpha for my sake. I’m truly alone.

Still, a faint ember of defiance lingers. I recall Elyria’s courage, how she never succumbed to despair even when shackled by dark elves. If there’s any chance to free her, I must keep faith. I will not hurt or kill her. I’d rather die. The question is how to ensure she survives.

On the second day of my imprisonment, judging by the changing torches—someone unexpected visits.

The cell door creaks open, and an older gargoyle steps in, his wings dusty with age.

Rhyzgran, once a trainer of novices, stands with a troubled expression.

He waves away the guard, who stands outside to give us a measure of privacy.

Rhyzgran was never cruel, as some trainers were.

He always believed in harnessing a gargoyle’s mind as much as its body. My chest twists with memory.

“Korrin,” he murmurs, voice tinged with sadness. “You truly strayed this far?” He glances at my shackles.

I glare, though a flicker of respect remains. “I strayed from mindless slaughter, if that’s what you mean.”

He sighs. “The clan is in uproar. The Alpha demands your execution if you fail to kill the purna, but some wonder if you might yet atone.”

“There’s no atonement in murder,” I snap, words biting. “She’s not the monster they claim. You know how we were taught to fear and hate purnas without question.” My breath catches in a ragged sob. “I found truth outside this lair—some are not evil.”

Rhyzgran’s gaze shifts, torn. “The clan lost hundreds to purna curses. Old wounds shape our laws. But I always suspected we oversimplified. The Alpha’s decree is absolute, though. Disobeying is… suicide.”

“Then I choose that,” I hiss, though tears sting my eyes. “I won’t kill her.”

His shoulders slump, wings drooping. “Korrin… if you won’t do it, others will. And you’ll die, painfully.” He drags a hand down his face. “I can’t watch that happen, but what can I do? The Alpha’s word is law. If I intervene, I share your fate.”

A bitter laugh spills from my lips. “I ask for no help. Let me face it. Perhaps it’s the only path left.”

Silence stretches. He looks at me with genuine sorrow, a paternal softness I once admired. “I wish it were different,” he whispers. “You were our brightest executioner, unstoppable. Now… you’ve undone it all for a human.”

I swallow. “She’s more than that. She’s everything.” The confession burns my throat. I love her.

He nods, eyes glassy. “I’ll pray to the old stones for your mercy, Korrin. That is all I can offer.” With that, he turns away, footsteps echoing in the corridor. The cell door slams, leaving me alone again.

I languish another day, wracked by pain and fear for Elyria. Each moment crawls, each breath a reminder that time runs short. Then, abruptly, on the third day (or fourth—hard to tell), Varzak reappears with a sinister gleam in his eyes.

“Rise, traitor,” he snarls, unlocking the chains at my ankles but keeping my wrists manacled. “The Alpha summons you. Your precious purna is on her way to the fortress. The dark elves deliver her soon.”

My stomach plummets, heart slamming. She’s alive. Relief and dread meld in a sickening wave. They truly plan to force me to kill her in a public spectacle. My limbs shake as I stand, wings cramped from disuse. Varzak smirks, jabbing me toward the corridor. I can’t let them see how terrified I am.

They march me through the labyrinthine passages, up and up, until we reach an antechamber outside the Alpha’s throne hall.

Elders gather in hushed conversation, eyes flicking to me with contempt.

Varzak announces my arrival, shoving me forward.

A hush settles. Gargoyles on either side sneer or mutter curses. All want my blood.

The Alpha’s voice booms from within the hall. “Bring him,” he commands.