Page 47

He notices my face contorting in sorrow, brows knitting. “Elyria,” he murmurs, brushing trembling fingers over my cheek. “Don’t cry. I chose this.”

I nod, tears unstoppable. “I know,” I whisper. “I just… I wish it didn’t cost you everything.”

His eyes brim with an emotion so tender it steals my breath. “You’re everything,” he says, voice thick. “I’d do it a thousand times more.”

A sob escapes me, a mixture of heartbreak and love.

I lean in, pressing a shaky kiss to his mouth.

He responds with a soft moan, the simple act laced with shared mourning and relief.

My entire chest aches with longing for a world where he didn’t have to sever his wings.

But I accept that no such world existed.

We remain huddled for a time, letting our tears subside into quiet acceptance.

The ridge remains overshadowed by the day’s haze, the battlefield below us littered with the remnants of gargoyle armor and dark elf crossbows.

No one lingers. Korrin tries to rise again, and this time I help him gently, mindful of the newly lessened bleeding.

He leans heavily on me, arms looped around my shoulder, each step a test of his endurance.

We pick a path down the slope, avoiding the main route that once led to the fortress.

The air crackles with a sense of finality.

I see scattered gargoyle corpses in the distance, torn or scorched—remnants of that savage war.

My stomach twists, but I push forward, guiding Korrin around the bodies.

He spares them a sorrowful glance, yet his jaw remains set.

They chose the alpha’s cruelty; we did what we had to do.

As midday heat builds, we pause near a rocky outcropping overshadowed by a lone pine.

Korrin sinks down with a choked groan. I kneel beside him, brushing sweat from his brow.

“Rest,” I murmur. “We’re safe enough for now.

Gargoyles scattered, dark elves withdrew.

No one wants to face us after that final stand.

” My lips quirk in a humorless half-smile, remembering how my magic flared violently.

He exhales, tension draining. “I never imagined… we’d see them flee,” he says, exhaustion slurring his words. Then his gaze flicks to me, eyes brimming with devotion. “Thank you.”

I frown, wiping tears from my cheeks. “For what?”

He attempts a faint grin. “For staying. For dragging me from the fortress, from the cave. For healing me just now.” His expression darkens with memories of the arena. “You saved me from a fate worse than death: carrying out the alpha’s command to kill you.”

My chest tightens painfully. I recall the hush before he severed his wings, that savage choice overshadowing the forced blade at my throat. He truly freed us both that day.

I lean in, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead, savoring the taste of salt and tears. “We saved each other,” I whisper, voice cracking. “From them. From ourselves.” He closes his eyes, tears leaking from the corners.

A gentle hush settles. Despite the heartbreak of his lost wings, or maybe because of it, I feel a surge of quiet love that begs to be expressed.

We embrace, ignoring the dusty ground, ignoring the stench of spent magic.

Our lips brush in a tender exploration, slow and comforting, an affirmation that we’re not alone in this shattered world.

He shudders, arms winding around my waist. “Elyria,” he breathes, longing raw in his tone.

A wave of desire, gentle yet fierce, flares within me.

Not the desperate coupling from before war, but a reaffirmation of life after so much death.

My tears slip down as I deepen the kiss, letting the tension unravel from both our bodies.

We’re alive, we must celebrate every breath.

Slowly, carefully, we let the moment unfold.

He’s too injured for anything rough or frantic, but we find a slow, tender rhythm that merges our hearts.

My breath catches as his hands slide along my sides, each touch a promise that no clan decree can separate us.

I unfasten what remains of his tattered tunic, mindful of the bandages.

He flinches slightly, so I ease up, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper, voice shaking.

He holds my gaze, agony and need swirling in his gold irises.

“Your touch never hurts me,” he rasps. The sincerity in his tone undoes me.

A tear falls from my cheek to his chest, and I lean in, lips grazing his neck.

Our bodies entwine with gentle caution, a slow dance of healing hands and tearful kisses.

My heart thunders, recalling how close we are to losing this forever.

We find a position that doesn’t strain his stumps, me half-laying against him, the pine’s shade cooling our skin.

Each quiet gasp, each press of our lips, breathes life back into the wounds left by betrayal and war.

My tears flow unashamedly, matching the emotional tears on his cheeks.

This union is not just physical; it’s a reclamation of what the alpha tried to steal—our bond, our ability to choose love over violence.

Amid this soft, intimate moment, a subtle warmth stirs beneath my skin, the purna spark responding to joy rather than fear.

I channel it gently, letting it caress him, not in a destructive wave, but in a subtle glow that tangles with our shared breath.

Korrin groans softly, a new sense of relief crossing his features.

It’s not full healing, but it eases his pain, bridging our hearts deeper.

When the pleasure crests over us, it comes in a hushed sob, tears mixing with husky moans.

We cling to each other, bodies trembling, minds swirling with relief and sorrow, love and loss.

The oppressive gloom that overshadowed our hearts recedes under the testament of our unity. We do not face this world alone.

We linger in the aftermath, pressed chest to chest, tears still glistening.

He strokes my hair absently, eyes distant.

I sense a fresh wave of sorrow in him, deeper than the immediate pain.

“I miss them,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“My wings. I’ll never fly again. That was part of who I was.

” A tear slips from the corner of his eye, and my chest aches.

I cradle his cheek, matching his tears with my own. “I know,” I murmur, softly kissing his head. “I wish I could give them back to you.” The raw emptiness in his face is heartbreak incarnate. No magic can regrow limbs, at least not with my meager skill.

He closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. “I don’t regret it, but… sometimes it hits me that I’m a crippled gargoyle now.” His lips twist in self-derision. He was once unstoppable, soared above foes. Now that identity is shattered.

I rest my forehead on his, tears sliding down. “You are more than your wings,” I say fiercely. “You’re the bravest soul I’ve ever known. And if you can’t fly, I’ll stand with you on the ground. Always.”

He exhales, tears streaming. Our foreheads press, hearts beating in shared grief.

Eventually, the tension in him eases, replaced by gratitude.

He kisses me again, a slow, trembling press of lips, as though reaffirming his vow to exist, wingless or not, as long as we’re together.

I cling to him, breath shuddering. One day, perhaps he’ll accept his new reality fully.

We dress again in our threadbare clothes.

The day drifts into late afternoon. Above, the sky remains free of gargoyles—at least none approach us with hostility.

It seems the clan has truly broken, each gargoyle scattering to find a new path or lair.

My chest tightens with an odd pity for them.

They lost their alpha, their illusions. But they nearly destroyed us, so I stifle the pity. We owe them nothing except caution.

With renewed determination, we set off from the ridge.

Korrin limps heavily, leaning on me. The synergy from our intimate moment lingers, fueling my purna magic with gentle warmth.

Enough to keep him from collapsing outright.

We cross the slope, stepping over scattered debris—remnants of crossbow bolts, shards of gargoyle armor.

Each piece tells a story of the final war that ended here.

In the distance, I spot a few dark elves straggling away, carrying wounded.

They glance our way, fear flickering in their eyes, then hurry on.

I suspect rumors of my unleashed power or Korrin’s unstoppable devotion swirl among them, enough to dissuade further pursuit.

A surge of relief washes over me. We can pass unchallenged.

Eventually, we find a small waterfall trickling from a rocky ledge, forming a shallow pool.

The water sparkles in the late sunlight, surrounded by a cluster of hardy shrubs.

My pulse leaps— Fresh water. Perfect for cleaning Korrin’s wounds, for rinsing the sweat and blood from our battered bodies.

We approach, hearts lifting at the simple promise of nature’s solace.

I help him settle on a broad stone near the pool’s edge. The waterfall’s gentle splash soothes my raw nerves. He closes his eyes, tension draining. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs. I wipe tears from my cheeks, marveling that we can still appreciate beauty after so much horror.

We peel away torn clothing, boots soaked in dried blood.

I gaze at the stumps on his back, each swathed in soiled bandages.

My heart seizes again, but I steel myself.

We must keep them clean. Gently, I ease the bandages off, discarding them.

The wounds look angry, but less lethal thanks to my partial healing.

He flinches, breath hissing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears in my eyes.

He grimaces, but manages a small nod. “Do what you must.”