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She nods, tears shining. “I know. But it doesn’t erase the sorrow.” Her gaze drops, slender fingers fidgeting with the broken collar ring. “All those lives lost… not just the alpha.” She sniffles, pressing her lips together. “We can’t undo that, can we?”

I shake my head, chest aching. “We can’t. But maybe we can do better from here on.” My lips tremble with sorrow. I never wanted to slaughter my clan, only to save her from their cruelty.

Her expression softens, tears glistening. “Yes,” she whispers. “We’ll do better.”

Silence wraps us again. We are both weighed by consequences, battered by a war we never asked for.

But I sense a faint spark in her, something like hope.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, meeting my eyes with a tentative smile.

“At least we have each other,” she says, reaffirming the vow from the ridge. We truly are each other’s refuge.

The day crawls by in a haze of cautious rest. Elyria scrounges for water from a trickle at the cave’s back.

I doze on and off, fighting dizziness. She checks my bandages again, reapplying the pale blossoms. Every so often, I drift awake to find her humming softly, or reading a scrap of tattered parchment from my old kit—remnants of survival notes I carried.

A pang of nostalgia hits me: I used to be so certain of my gargoyle training. Now, those notes serve us in exile.

Hours later, I manage to stand without blacking out.

Elyria supports me, her slender frame deceptively strong.

She suggests we gather more wood or edible plants.

“We can’t stay in this cave indefinitely,” she says, brow knitted with worry.

“But until you can walk more steadily, it’s safe to linger. ”

I nod. “Agreed.” The thought of traveling far right now spikes fresh pain in my stumps, but I also know we can’t remain stationary for weeks. The memory of dark elves or roving gargoyles discovering us mid-healing lingers. At least a few days of rest might be possible.

We venture outside, me leaning on her and an improvised crutch. The sunlight feels too bright, stinging my eyes. Elyria scans the rocky surroundings, lips parted in concentration. “If we climb that slope, we might find pine nuts or small game,” she murmurs.

I recall my gargoyle senses—once sharp enough to spot prey from the sky. A wave of sorrow crashes over me. I can’t hunt from the air. She senses my heartbreak, pressing her forehead to my shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispers, eyes brimming with empathy. “We’ll figure a new way.”

I exhale shakily. “Yes. A new way.”

We gather what meager resources we can: a handful of pine cones that might yield edible seeds, a few hardy root vegetables discovered near a trickle of water.

Elyria’s purna magic flickers once when she tries to coax a small plant to grow, but it’s not her forte—she only manages to make the leaves glow faintly before exhaustion sets in.

We share a rueful laugh, pressing our brows together. At least we tried.

We go back to the cave, stirring a scant stew from foraged roots. The taste is bland, but we eat in silence, grateful for anything. My appetite is poor, but Elyria insists I finish a portion to keep up my strength. Afterward, we slip into a drowsy hush, each lost in swirling thoughts of the future.

She nestles beside me, the chain around her neck rattling softly. “Tomorrow, I want to search for an actual sheltered glade—somewhere deeper in the forest, away from the old fortress routes,” she says, voice soft. “We can build a better camp. Maybe stay until you’re fully healed.”

I rest my chin on her hair, inhaling the faint floral scent that lingers from the blossoms. “I’ll manage,” I say, though my chest twinges at the thought of extensive travel. But she’s right—staying near the battlefield invites danger.

She glances at me, tears reflecting in the firelight. “We can do it slowly,” she promises, voice trembling. “I won’t push you too hard.” A flicker of shame crosses her features. “I know you gave up flight… and I?—”

My heart clenches. I press a finger to her lips. “Stop,” I murmur, voice choked with emotion. “It was my choice. I’d sever my wings a thousand times if it meant saving you.”

Tears spill over her cheeks, and she nods, burying her face against my neck. The hush that follows wraps around us like a fragile shield, shutting out old regrets. I hold her, letting the exhaustion of the day seep into my bones.

At some point, I slip into a restless sleep and the stars start to flicker.

But nightmares dog me—visions of the alpha’s staff crackling, the severed wings flapping on the arena floor.

I jolt awake more than once, drenched in cold sweat.

Each time, Elyria soothes me, pressing a shaky hand to my chest, whispering reassurances.

Toward early morning, I jolt upright again, pain shooting through my back. Elyria stirs, blinking blearily. “Korrin?”

“Just a dream,” I rasp, chest tight. My wings—or stumps—throb, bandages sticky with sweat. Will this torment me forever?

She draws me close, tears in her eyes. “We’ll get through it,” she murmurs. “I promise.”

I nod, exhaling a trembling breath. The sense of loss roars in my head— No more flight. But her presence tempers the darkness. I have her. That must be enough.

Elyria rummages through our supplies, distributing the last of the dried meat and a few pine seeds she managed to coax free. The meal is sparse, but it staves off hunger pangs.

We speak in hushed tones, each word laced with the knowledge that we can’t return to our old lives.

I close my eyes, remembering the proud gargoyle spires, the daily rituals of executioners.

All turned to ash. Elyria sighs, recounting her memories of being a slave in the dark elf fortress, how she once believed she’d die with a collar around her neck.

Now, the broken metal dangles from her throat, a trophy of defiance.

When we finish eating, we pack our few belongings—a battered satchel with a strip of bandages, an extra dagger, scraps of food. The chain around Elyria’s neck clangs softly as she stands. “Ready?” she asks, giving me a questioning look.

I push to my feet with a low groan, ignoring the red-hot stab in my back. “As I’ll ever be,” I reply, voice tight. “Lead the way.”

We leave the cave behind. The early light illuminates the battered foothills, the silent testimony of war scattered across them.

But the morning air carries a faint sweetness, as if the land itself is relieved to see the conflict end.

We traverse rocky slopes until we find a game trail leading into denser forest. Elyria helps me keep pace, her purna senses pricking for any leftover threats. None appear.

We reach a secluded glen, surrounded by towering pines and a trickling stream.

Soft moss carpets the ground, the sun filtering through the canopy in golden spears.

Elyria draws a trembling breath. “This might be a good place to set camp for a while,” she suggests, scanning the area.

“Water, shelter from the wind, enough cover to hide.”

I nod, relief mingling with exhaustion. It’s perfect.

My entire body yearns for rest. She helps me settle near the stream, removing the makeshift bandages again to let my wounds breathe.

The fragrance of pine and damp soil soothes me, erasing the stench of carnage from memory. Nature reclaims what war discards.

She kneels by the stream, rinsing cloths, then returns to dab them against my seared flesh. A hiss escapes me, but I endure, letting her gentle care anchor me. She’s so tender, even though she’s battered herself.

After re-dressing my wounds, she casts a shy glance at me. “You should rest,” she says quietly. “Let me build a real firepit, gather food.”

A pang of guilt tugs at me, she’s doing everything while I can hardly stand. Yet I see the fierce glint in her eyes: She wants to protect me, as I once protected her. I manage a faint nod. “I’ll rest,” I promise, voice hoarse. “But be careful.”

She brushes a soft kiss across my forehead. “I will.” Then she leaves to gather stones for a fire ring, checking for edible plants or small game. I watch her go, heart thudding with pride and sorrow. She’s grown so strong, forging her own destiny beyond collars and chains.

Alone by the stream, I gaze at the reflection of my battered form in the water’s surface.

My face is lined with fresh scars, dark hair matted with sweat.

The stumps of my wings remain hidden by bandages, but the memory of them stings.

I’ll never fly. The thought stabs like a fresh blade.

But I steel myself. I did it to save her. That’s reason enough.

Elyria returns with a modest bounty: a few mushrooms, handfuls of edible leaves, and a small portion of wild berries.

She even managed to catch a squirrel, though tears shine in her eyes at the act of killing.

“It was so small,” she murmurs, voice trembling.

I press her hand gently, acknowledging the moral burden.

But we need protein. We share the meal quietly, hearts heavy yet grateful for sustenance.

Afterward, we nestle near the newly formed firepit. The forest hushes around us, crickets chirping in the undergrowth. The hush is thick with a cautious sense of hope. We’re exiles, yes, but we’re alive.

I shift, wincing at the pain in my back. Elyria notices, moving behind me to support my posture, letting me lean against her chest. Her warmth envelops me, and I rest my head on her shoulder, inhaling her faintly floral scent. “Does it help?” she asks softly, arms around my torso to steady me.

I let out a shaky breath. “Yes,” I reply, voice trailing off as I savor the comfort of her presence. The memories of war weigh on my soul, but her embrace reminds me we won the right to exist without the alpha’s shadow. “This helps a lot.”

She presses her cheek to the top of my head, tears in her voice. “We can’t go back—either of us,” she murmurs. “No clan for you, no human settlement for me. But maybe… we can learn to live free. Here, or somewhere new.”

My chest trembles with agreement. “We will,” I whisper, tears slipping down. “I never want to see the inside of that fortress again. Or any fortress.” The clan’s stronghold was my entire world, but also my prison.

Silence stretches, the flames casting dancing shadows across pine needles. The magnitude of our decision to remain exiles is daunting. We have no wings, no clan, no city. We have each other. That knowledge flutters in my chest, a mixture of sorrow and elation. A new life is possible.

As hours fly, our conversation shift to practicalities, heads bent close, voices low.

How to gather enough food, how to remain hidden if a dark elf patrol or renegade gargoyle stumbles upon us.

I recall old survival tactics: pitfalls, concealed fires, watch shifts.

Elyria’s eyes shine with resolve as she nods, absorbing each detail.

“I can hone my magic for more subtle uses,” she muses, biting her lip. “I can’t just blow everything up every time we’re threatened, or we’ll starve to death from scorched earth.” A wry laugh escapes her, though tears glisten in her eyes. We see the cost of raw destruction.

I rest a hand on hers, a gentle squeeze. “And I can still fight on the ground,” I say softly. “Wingless doesn’t mean helpless. My body remains strong enough to protect you if we meet small threats.”

She nods, pride flickering. “We protect each other.”

We fall silent, gazing at the fire. Yes, we do. The hush brims with unspoken acceptance: no old life remains. This is who we are now— vagabonds, nomads, forging a quiet existence away from cruel warlords.

My heart lifts at the prospect of building a new home with her, free of the alpha’s demands or elven tyranny.

Yes, maybe we can carve a place in these forests.

My mind drifts, imagining a small clearing by a stream, a simple shelter, nights spent telling stories under starlight.

My chest tightens with longing. We can find peace.

She senses my thoughts, leaning to kiss my cheeks softly. “I see the hope in your eyes,” she murmurs, tears shimmering. “I feel it too.”

I stroke her hair, voice trembling. “I just want you safe, want us both to breathe without fear.”

Her lips curl into a tender smile. “Then we do it. Step by step.”