Page 39
Story: Claimed by the Stone Beast
ELYRIA
I wake to the thin breath of dawn brushing across my cheek, the air cold enough to make me shiver despite the ragged cloak draped over my shoulders.
The rocky hollow where we’ve sheltered is cramped and uneven, barely shielded by a leaning slab of granite.
Even so, it’s a haven compared to the horror we left behind.
The events of last night weigh on me like a millstone: the gargoyle arena, Korrin’s wings sheared by his own blade, my magic erupting in a tempest of silver-white flame.
My entire body aches, remnants of that surge still coursing through my veins, leaving them raw and oversensitive.
I adjust, careful not to jostle Korrin, who lies propped against the rock behind me.
He’s asleep, or something close to it—his face pulled tight in pain, breath shallow.
My gaze flickers to the bandaged stumps where his wings used to be, each wound blackened at the edges from my frantic cauterization.
Even in the dim gray light, I see his flesh is tender and swollen.
My chest constricts at the memory of him lifting that sword with trembling arms and hacking his own wings off rather than kill me.
A wave of guilt and fierce love tangles in my throat.
You gave up flight for me. I can’t ever repay that.
My tear ducts sting, and I blink rapidly to keep them at bay.
Over the past hours, we dozed fitfully, half expecting gargoyles to descend at any moment, drawn by the reek of blood or the raw magic that might still cling to me.
Each time the wind howled, my heart hammered, imagining a patrol’s wings overhead.
But so far, no one’s found us. Maybe the fortress is still reeling from the chaos we unleashed.
The entire clan was in an uproar, and the Alpha lay half-buried under collapsed rubble.
Another pang: Will he survive? And what about the dark elves who allied with them?
At the thought of the dark elves, a fresh wave of panic seizes me.
They once enslaved me, then nearly recaptured me.
They’ll not stop just because we escaped the fortress.
My hands shake around the half-broken collar that remains fused to my neck, a harsh reminder of how close they came to reclaiming me.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat. Don’t lose yourself again. We got out. For now, that’s enough.
Korrin stirs behind me, exhaling a low groan. My chest aches at how weak his voice sounds. “Elyria,” he murmurs. I twist carefully to face him, placing my palm on his feverish brow. His eyes half-open, gold irises dulled with pain, yet relief flickers there when he sees me.
“Good morning,” I say softly, fighting the urge to weep. “How do you feel?”
A bitter laugh rasps past his lips. “Like I fought the entire clan,” he mutters, wincing.
Then his gaze drops to the bandages. The sorrow in his expression is so raw it steals my breath.
He’ll never fly again. I brush my forehead to his, letting him sense my support without words.
He closes his eyes, tears glistening on his dark lashes.
I brush my fingertips over his temple. “You’re alive,” I whisper, voice trembling.
“And free from them. We both are.” My mind returns to the desperate moments in the arena when he raised the blade, me kneeling in chains.
He chose me. He shattered everything he was for me.
What feels like a tidal wave of love surges through my chest, almost painful in its intensity.
He nods, breathing ragged. “I’d make the same choice again,” he says, as if reading my thoughts.
A tear slips down his cheek, raw honesty shining in his eyes.
“Though… I’d prefer not to lose quite so much blood next time.
” A shaky attempt at humor. My throat tightens, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
He can still smile, even with the world against us.
I stroke his hair gently. “No more losing blood,” I manage in a wobbly voice. “We have to survive. The clan might still hunt us. The dark elves too.” My words taste of dread, but it’s the truth.
His jaw tightens. “We’ll manage,” he murmurs.
Then, with effort, he forces himself upright.
He stifles a cry as the motion aggravates his wounds, fresh blood staining the bandages.
My entire body tenses, wanting to lay him back down, but I see the determination in his face.
He refuses to remain helpless. A pang of guilty pride tugs at me.
He’s unstoppable in spirit, even wingless and half-dead.
When he’s seated against the rock, breath rasping, I inspect the bandages carefully.
They need changing, but we have limited supplies.
My cloak is already ripped to tatters from the frantic flight.
The memory of searing his wounds with my half-controlled magic still haunts me: the stench of burnt flesh, his tortured screams. My eyes prick with tears again.
But I swallow them. Now is not the time for despair.
I rewrap the cloth as best I can, ignoring his soft groans.
Each muffled cry pierces my heart. I will not let him die here.
“Korrin,” I say, voice low yet urgent, “I need to find water, maybe some herbs. Something to help with infection.” We have no healing magic, no potions, just the faint scraps of knowledge gleaned from survival.
The memory of the monastery’s texts flits through my mind, but the fortress destroyed that chance to learn more. We’re on our own.
He nods, though worry shadows his features. “I’ll be all right,” he murmurs, but the tremor in his voice betrays his pain. “I’ll stay put… watch for trouble.” His lips twist in a rueful smile. “Not that I can chase them off easily.”
My heart breaks at the resignation in his tone, but I nod, kissing his forehead softly. “I’ll be back soon,” I promise. “Stay hidden.”
He closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. I wait a moment, reluctant to leave him alone, but necessity drives me. If we don’t address those wounds, he could succumb to fever. And if we can’t move soon, the clan or dark elves might find us unprepared.
Rising, I test my own battered limbs. My ankles ache from the shackles, my wrists chafe raw.
The half-melted collar still clings to my neck, runes flickering dead—thank the gods.
My hair is matted with soot and sweat. But physically, I can walk, at least. The arcs of magic that once danced under my skin remain dormant now, leaving me trembling from the memory.
I used unimaginable force. Could I do so again if pressed?
I have no clue. Fear ripples through me: Magic that wild might kill me or Korrin as easily as any foe.
But I push the thought aside, focusing on the moment.
I slip from our rocky alcove, scanning the rugged foothills for signs of movement.
Dawn’s light reveals a valley studded with boulders, sparse trees, and patches of grass.
No gargoyle silhouettes mar the sky. No dark elf squads roam in sight.
My shoulders sag in relief. At least for now, we’re alone.
A biting wind stirs dust devils, stinging my eyes.
I set off, hoping to find a stream or edible plants.
As I traverse the rocky slope, I catch fleeting memories of Korrin’s final stand in the arena—the savage grace of him swinging that sword, the heartbreak in his eyes when he realized he couldn’t do what they demanded.
My chest tightens again, tears threatening.
He gave everything for me—his wings, his clan, his place in the world.
I vow, right then, to protect him from the next onslaught.
If the clan or dark elves come, I’ll stand between them and him.
I can’t let them take him again or punish him further.
I find a narrow stream trickling between the rocks, half-choked with sediment but still yielding fresh water.
Kneeling, I cup my hands to drink, the cold liquid shocking my system.
A faint tingle runs through me—perhaps the remnants of purna magic.
Or just the chill. I fill a battered tin can I salvaged from Korrin’s pack earlier, sealing it with cloth.
Next, I scour the rocky outcrops for any sign of herbs.
My knowledge is limited, gleaned from old tales or half-remembered lessons.
Still, I spot a cluster of small, pale blossoms that I think might be moon-kiss, known for its antiseptic sap.
Carefully, I harvest a handful, ignoring the small nicks on my fingers.
All the while, I remain alert for any patrol. The wind moans across the desolate stones, but no wings beat overhead. A hush lingers, as though even predators avoid this cursed land. My heart flutters with gratitude. Let them keep their distance. We need time to recover.
With water and a meager stash of questionable herbs, I head back, scanning the horizon each time I crest a boulder.
Every step rattles my half-burned collar, a metallic jingle that makes my whole being on edge.
One day I’ll pry this thing off for good.
But for now, I push onward, determined to return to Korrin as quickly as possible.
Reaching the alcove, I find him slumped in a half-doze, lips parted in silent pain. My heart clenches with fresh worry. I took too long. At the scuff of my boots, he startles, wincing as the movement jars his injuries.
“You’re back,” he breathes, relief flooding his voice. “No trouble?”
I kneel beside him, setting the water and herbs aside, pressing my palm to his forehead. He’s still feverish, but not as hot as before. “No trouble,” I confirm, voice soft. “We’re alone for now.”
He exhales, tension draining from his shoulders. Then he notices the herbs and tin can. “You found something.”
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