Page 8

8

DAIN

T he purna artifact hums.

I feel it like a pressure in my skull, something sharp and invasive, pressing against the edges of my magic like grasping fingers. The closer I focus, the stronger it gets—a foreign pulse, something meant to seek, meant to track.

They're hunting me.

Liora hasn’t noticed.

She’s too distracted.

I watch her—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch against her sides. The way her breath changes as she looks at the slaves.

She’s not thinking.

She’s feeling.

A mistake.

I step closer, keeping my voice low. “We leave.”

Her head jerks toward me, her expression snapping from raw emotion to hard resistance.

“You can’t be serious.”

I exhale through my teeth. I am not in the mood for this.

“We are two people, against an encampment of dark elves and whatever else they’ve bred in this pit.” My claws flex at my sides. “They will kill you. They will kill me. And if we’re lucky, they’ll make it quick.”

She shakes her head, refusing to look away from the mine, from the chains, from the broken people bent beneath their cages.

“You want to leave them here?” she whispers.

“Yes.”

The word lands like a slap.

Her jaw tightens.

“Of course you do,” she says, and it isn’t just anger. It’s disappointment.

It grates against my nerves.

I step in closer, forcing her to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me instead of them.

“You think you’re strong enough for this?” I murmur. “To save them? To fight for them? You couldn’t even stand on your own an hour ago.”

She stiffens. I feel her blazing anger, the way it coils tight inside her, simmering beneath the fragile thread of her control.

I lean closer. “You want to die for them?”

She doesn’t flinch.

That angers me more than it should.

“They’re just like me,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “How can you stand here and just?—”

My hand moves before I think.

Fingers wrapping around her jaw, tilting her face up further, forcing her to see me, not them, not anyone else.

“You aren’t them.” My voice is lower now, something sharper beneath it. Something dangerous.

Her pulse stutters beneath my touch.

Her eyes flicker—not just with fear. With defiance. With something that slams against me, pushes back, refuses to be overpowered.

It infuriates me. It pulls at me.

I feel it again—that slow, possessive thing in my gut, curling too deep, wrapping around my instincts like a sickness.

The artifact hums louder.

My head jerks toward the camp, toward the source.

It’s buried inside one of the elf-wrought structures, pulsing in tandem with whatever dark thing is being dragged from the depths of the mine.

The elves are digging for something old.

Something wrong.

It’s in my magic—an interference, an unnatural pull.

It’s messing with my body, my senses, my control.

Something about this place is more than just rock and chains.

Liora feels it, too. I see the way she shifts, the way her breath hitches, the way her fingers flex as if something inside her recognizes it.

She doesn’t understand what it is.

Neither do I.

But I don’t like it.

“They have a purna artifact,” I murmur.

Her brow furrows.

I tilt my head toward the largest structure, where the unnatural pulse comes from. “In there. They’re using it.”

“To find you?”

“Yes.”

A slow exhale. I don’t like that she looks at me with understanding.

“How?” she whispers. “Purna artifacts are…I’ve heard of the whispers, not much though...” She trails off.

Rare. Sacred.

Not meant to be in dark elf hands.

I don’t have an answer.

Movement stirs at the edge of the encampment, a shift of bodies, a ripple of alertness.

They feel me.

Liora notices it too. Her breath quickens. “They’re looking for something.”

“No.” My grip on her tightens. “They’re looking for me.”

Before we can move, before we can decide anything.

The artifact’s pulse explodes.

A shockwave rips through the cavern, a violent burst of energy that sends dust crashing from the ceiling, tremors rumbling through the rock.

Magic surges. Old magic.

The elves react instantly.

They turn toward us.

Recognition slams into their expressions.

My chest burns.

Liora’s fingers dig into my arm. “Dain?—”

Too late.

The dark elves see us.

One of them lifts his hand toward the artifact.

I feel it move.

A snarl rips through my throat. “We run.”

Liora hesitates for a fraction of a breath.

That is too long.

A voice shouts. The elves are coming.

And the mine starts to awaken.

Not just the artifact.

The ground beneath us.

Something beneath the rock stirs.

Something worse than dark elves.