Page 49

KORRIN

M y first sensation is the texture of cold stone pressed against my back—unforgiving, with a faint grit that scratches the raw, bandaged stumps where my wings once were.

That jolt of pain sends a quiver through me, drawing a ragged gasp from between my teeth.

My head feels sluggish, as though I’m emerging from a deep, drugged sleep.

Then I catch a swirl of gentle warmth at my side—a small body, a familiar scent. Elyria.

I try to swallow, and my throat burns. My lips part in a rasped exhalation, the first movement in what seems like ages.

Darkness presses at the edges of my vision, but there’s enough ambient light flickering from a makeshift fire to let me see the shape of her, perched close to me.

“Korrin?” she whispers, voice thick with relief and lingering fear.

My heart stutters. She’s here. I blink, forcing my eyes to adjust. The faint orange glow of a small fire reveals a shallow cave. Rocks frame a narrow entrance, letting in the cool swirl of mountain wind. I try to lift my head, but nausea surges, and I let out a choked groan.

“Shh,” Elyria murmurs, pressing a small cup to my lips. I taste water, cool and slightly metallic from whatever container she’s scrounged. The liquid soothes my parched throat. “Drink slowly,” she instructs, her voice low yet commanding in its tenderness.

I obey, each swallow stinging. After a few sips, I manage to catch my breath. My stomach flips, but the water stays down. “How long…” I mumble, my words slurred.

She brushes hair from my forehead, her touch feather-light. “You slept through most of yesterday,” she says. “And into the night. It’s nearing dawn again.” Her gaze flicks over my face, tears shining in her eyes. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake.”

A lump forms in my throat. I’ve been unconscious for nearly a full day.

My chest seizes with the memory of the last thing I recall: slaying the Alpha, gargoyles scattering, my body giving out from blood loss.

But here I am. My heart thuds, a reminder that I’m alive—and that I owe that life to Elyria.

She guides my gaze gently with her hand, her eyes searching mine. “You’re running a fever, but the worst has passed,” she says, voice trembling. “I’ve cleaned your wounds again. The bleeding has mostly stopped. But you’re still… fragile.”

I let out a shaky laugh that dissolves into a cough. My entire torso hurts. “Fragile,” I echo. “A strange fate for a gargoyle who once soared above it all.”

Her expression twists in sympathy. I sense a pang of guilt in her eyes—she blames herself for my shattered wings. But I muster a weak smile, fingers twitching for her hand. She grasps it, pressing it close to her chest. “I told you,” I croak, “I don’t regret anything.”

Tears slip down her cheeks, glistening in the firelight. “I know,” she whispers, voice thick. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish…” Her gaze flicks to my bandaged stumps, a wave of sorrow roiling behind her eyes. She wishes I hadn’t needed to sacrifice them.

I draw in a slow breath. “We’re alive,” I say, as though reminding us both. “We’re free. That’s enough.” My mind flits to the memory of the Alpha’s final snarl, how our unstoppable bond cut him down. No more commands, no more clan tyranny.

She exhales a ragged sound that’s half sob, half laugh. “Yes,” she murmurs. “We are.”

Elyria tends the small fire, stirring it with a makeshift poker—a branch stripped of bark.

I watch her, half-propped against a rock.

Each flicker of the flames paints dancing shadows across the cave walls, revealing the hollows under her eyes and the fresh bruises along her arms. She’s as battered as I am, though she hides it behind gentle determination.

When she finishes adjusting the fire, she kneels back at my side, pressing a damp cloth to my forehead.

I flinch at the coolness, but the contact soothes my fever.

“I gathered more of those pale blossoms,” she explains softly.

“The ones you showed me. I’ve tried to apply them as an antiseptic. I think it’s helping.”

My throat tightens with a swirl of gratitude. She’s learning from me, from our desperate lessons in survival. I recall how, once upon a time, she was the captive and I the enforcer. Now, she’s my caretaker, my savior. “Thank you,” I manage, voice husky.

She bows her head, tears slipping. “I’d do anything for you,” she says, quiet but resolute. “You’ve done so much more for me.”

For a moment, I can’t respond. A wave of emotion closes my throat.

Instead, I squeeze her hand. We sit in silence, the hush broken by the crackle of flames and the faint drip of water from somewhere deeper in the cave.

My body screams with fatigue, but my heart thrums with an unsteady calm.

We made it to this moment. That’s enough.

After a while, I shift, ignoring the pain, and gesture at the cave entrance. “I need to see… the outside,” I say, though every muscle protests. “Need fresh air.”

Elyria frowns, worry etched on her face. “Are you sure you’re strong enough?”

My jaw sets. “I won’t go far.” My eyes flick to the shards of daylight creeping across the cave floor. “I just want to feel the sun.”

She nods, pressing her lips together. With great care, she slips her arm around my waist, easing me upright. My vision swims, black spots dancing. I nearly collapse. She holds me, shoulders taut with tension. She’s smaller than me, but her purna strength thrums beneath that fragile frame.

We shuffle toward the entrance. The morning air greets us, crisp and tinged with pine.

I inhale slowly, wincing as my battered ribs protest. But the wind’s coolness is a balm to my feverish skin.

Elyria helps me settle on a flat rock outside the cave’s mouth.

The vantage overlooks a wide swath of foothills that gave birth to our final battle.

My chest clenches at the sight of scattered debris—broken gargoyle armor, the faint outlines of footprints worn into the earth.

At some distance, a column of smoke spirals from what might be the fortress region.

Or maybe it’s just leftover from campfires.

I scan the horizon, half-expecting to see a gargoyle silhouette. None appears. They’re gone.

Elyria stands behind me, resting her hand on my shoulder. A gentle warmth radiates from her touch. “I scouted a bit earlier,” she says softly. “No one remains except the dead. The living fled. The dark elves retreated south, as far as I can tell.”

A shaky sigh escapes me. “So… it’s truly over.”

She moves around to face me, kneeling so our eyes meet.

“Yes,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with equal parts relief and sorrow.

“We’re free of them, but—” She hesitates, biting her lip.

“We can’t go back. Not to the clan, not to the fortress, not even to any human settlement, since they might fear my purna lineage or your gargoyle heritage. ”

A heavy silence descends. She’s right. We’re exiles in every sense.

I parted ways with my clan in the most final manner possible, murdering the alpha and shedding my wings in the process.

She’s a purna witch who singlehandedly decimated a fortress alliance, leaving terror in her wake.

We have no place in the old order. The entire world might see us as monstrous.

A pang of grief tugs at me. I once soared among gargoyles, believed in their mission.

Now, not only do I have no wings, but I have no clan.

She has no human family either. We’re alone.

My throat works, tears threatening. Then I meet her gaze, and in her eyes, I see unwavering love.

A soft conviction stirs: We have each other. That must suffice.

She takes my hand, pressing it to her chest so I can feel her heartbeat. “We’ll forge our own path,” she says, as though reading my thoughts. “We have nowhere to go but forward. If we must stay hidden in the mountains, we will. If we roam to unknown lands, we’ll face it together.”

The warmth in her eyes humbles me. My heart lurches with gratitude. “Elyria,” I whisper, voice thick. “I’m no longer who I was, but I… I want to live beside you, no matter how that looks. Even if it means wandering these hills forever.”

She bows her head, tears slipping. “I can’t return to human lands,” she murmurs. “They’d fear my magic, possibly hand me back to dark elves. I… I only want you.”

My chest squeezes. The finality of it scalds me with both sadness and relief.

We accept it: exiles, forging a life from the ashes.

I gather her close, ignoring the pain that flares in my shoulders.

Her arms loop around my waist. We stay like that, inhaling each other’s presence, letting the morning sun wash over us.

Eventually, Elyria helps me back inside the cave, mindful that I’m still weak.

We settle near the fire, which she stokes with a few branches.

The warmth coaxes me out of my trembling.

I notice her eyes flicking to my wing stumps with pained concern.

Even with partial healing, the damage is permanent.

My flight, my clan identity—gone forever.

She sits across from me, knees drawn up.

The chain around her neck rattles faintly, though the collar itself is half-melted.

Her expression is haunted. “I keep thinking about what we did,” she says, voice subdued.

“About how we destroyed everything they built. Their fortress, their alliances. Guilt… it tugs at me.”

I swallow. I feel it too. Some gargoyles were my kin, trained with me, soared at my side. Now they scatter in shame or fear. “The alpha gave us no choice,” I say, voice rough. “He demanded your death or my unwavering loyalty. We had to stand.”