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VAELIN

I stand in a nameless clearing, my breath misting in the cold, early-morning air.

The ache in my side flares with each inhale, reminding me of the monstrous creatures I battled with Elira hours ago.

Another reminder: the memory of her pressed against me, equal parts desperation and heat.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to drive away the images of that stolen intimacy.

My loyalty should be unshakeable, my duty unmuddled.

Yet everything feels fractured.

I discovered this tiny field during my restless night of half-sleep, searching for a place to regroup.

A cluster of old oaks encircles the clearing, their trunks gnarled with age, branches draped in moss that sways in the breeze.

My zalkir stands nearby, scratching at the ground.

The beast senses my turmoil and snorts, as though scolding me for my indecision.

She’s gone. I let her go.

I can almost taste her name on my tongue, that flicker of regret rising in my chest. Every second that passes widens the distance between us—Elira, the Overlord’s prized target, and me, the one fool enough to let her slip away.

Overlord Rython won’t forgive this misstep lightly.

A pang of conscience grips me.

If the Overlord discovers what I did—worse, if he learns of that impulsive, raw intimacy—I’ll pay dearly.

Still, I can’t muster the energy to regret my decision.

Letting her live feels…

right, in a way my cold training never prepared me for.

I approach my zalkir, pressing a palm to its scaled flank.

It regards me with a slitted gaze, a reminder of the savage world I live in.

I’m no stranger to brutality; my entire existence has been shaped by the Overlord’s methods.

Usually, I unthinkingly do as commanded.

But now… I’m no longer certain I can.

My side twinges again.

When I lift my shirt to inspect the bandage, dried blood flakes away.

The wound remains a raw slash across my ribs, courtesy of last night’s chaos.

The dressing is passable but not ideal; if I had a real healer, I’d fare better.

Instead, I have only a battered kit from Orthani, plus my meager chaos magic, which can do little to mend flesh.

I grunt, retying the bandage.

Then I hear a rustle behind me—light footsteps in the undergrowth.

My sword is free in an instant, heart thudding.

For a terrifying heartbeat, I expect to see Elira, illusions swirling.

Instead, a lone figure emerges from the shadowed tree line, wearing drab brown clothing.

Human, by the look of it.

“Ho there,” he calls softly, hands raised to show no threat.

“You’re the Dark Elf soldier traveling alone, yes? I’ve… I’ve messages.”

His trembling voice suggests fear, though he’s masking it behind forced calm.

Wariness thrums through me.

“Messages from whom?” I demand, voice harsh.

My mind churns: The Overlord?

A local informant?

He halts a yard away, eyes darting to my sword.

“From… a woman in red robes. She and a group of witches, or rather, Purnas, stopped me on the road. They forced me to carry this scroll and promised me silver if I found the Overlord’s enforcer.” His knuckles whiten around a parchment tube.

“Said I’d meet a obsidian-skinned Dark Elf. That’s you, I guess.”

My stomach clenches.

Red robes. The Red Purnas.

My grip tightens on the sword hilt.

“Give me the scroll,” I say curtly.

He complies, inching forward until he’s close enough to hand me the battered tube.

Then he steps back, clearly eager to flee.

“I don’t want trouble,” he mutters, eyes flicking between my sword and the zalkir’s looming shape.

“I just… wanted to earn my coin.”

I flick him a dismissive nod.

The second he sees the gesture, he flees into the woods, twigs snapping underfoot as he vanishes into the gloom.

A chill snakes through me.

The Red Purnas are a radical group of purnas, rumored to be stirring rebellion not just against Dark Elves, but also within their own coven.

They thirst for power.

Possibly, they want Elira even more than the Overlord does.

This cannot be good.

I pop open the parchment tube and ease the scroll out.

The message is penned in crisp, bold script:

Overlord’s Enforcer,

We know you hunt the same prize we do.

We also know she slipped through your grasp.

How unfortunate.

Should you wish to correct your failure, we invite you to an accord.

Meet us in the old orchard near Riverbend by the next moonrise.

We share a common goal: capturing Elira Vex.

Come alone, or we’ll consider you an enemy as well.

— Nerissa, Red Purna Matron

I exhale a harsh breath, re-reading the lines.

They think I might align with them against Elira.

Fools. But do I have a choice?

If the Red Purnas intensify their pursuit, they might snatch Elira first. What the Overlord wants from her is dire enough, but something about the Red Purnas and their rumored viciousness unsettles me even more.

They’re known for pushing boundaries, prepared to sacrifice their own if it secures a route to power.

Frustration roils in my gut.

My entire body tenses with the memory of that single night in the ruined temple—Elira’s trembling exhale, her parted lips.

Letting her go was a betrayal of my duty.

But if these Red Purnas capture her, the consequences could be equally catastrophic.

She belongs to no one.

The thought flares in my mind, surprising me with its vehemence.

I tuck the scroll away, uncertain how to respond.

The Overlord demands results, but forging an alliance with a rogue faction of purnas is precarious.

They might lure me into a trap.

Or maybe they truly want a deal.

Either way, I can’t ignore them; leaving the Red Purnas to run rampant could doom Elira.

And why should that matter, Vaelin?

a mocking voice inside me murmurs.

Because you’ve developed a conscience?

Or something worse—a fondness?

Fighting the swirl of confusion, I mount my zalkir.

The beast shifts under me, keen to move.

“We’ll see if the Overlord has new orders,” I mutter, spurring the reptile forward.

My plan forms in fragments: I’ll ride east until I find a vantage point with some semblance of privacy, then use the Overlord’s scry-stone to report.

Typically, I only contact him at set intervals, but after recent events, I can’t hide my failure.

Better to deliver the truth myself than wait for word to reach him from some other source.

I push the zalkir into a brisk trot, ignoring the protest in my side.

The forest thins into rolling hills after a short distance, each slope dotted with hardy shrubs and the occasional twisted pine.

The sky brightens as dawn solidifies, painting the horizon in pinkish gold.

Villages are sparser here—mostly farmland with scattered homesteads.

Good. Fewer prying eyes.

When I reach a small hill crowned by a lone oak, I halt.

The vantage is decent; I can spot any traveler from half a mile away.

Dismounting, I tether the zalkir to a sturdy branch, letting it graze on sparse grass.

Then I retrieve the scry-stone from my pouch.

It’s a polished orb of black crystal, small enough to fit in my palm, etched with runic lines that allow communication with Orthani’s courtiers—and occasionally the Overlord himself.

The Overlord provided it for urgent matters.

My stomach twists with the knowledge that summoning him might end poorly, yet I must. I settle against the oak trunk, pressing the orb’s smooth surface, murmuring the trigger incantation.

The runes glow a subtle violet, swirling with ephemeral light.

Seconds later, a hazy image appears in the orb’s depths—a gaunt, silver-haired elf with a pinched expression, one of the Overlord’s favored advisors.

Charon Verthis. He arches a brow, clearly disconcerted at my unscheduled contact.

“Vaelin Duskbane,” he says, voice echoing from the orb’s enchantment.

“This is unusual. Report.”

I inhale slowly, wrestling my confusion into measured speech.

“I have news for the Overlord. It’s urgent.”

Charon’s lip curls.

“He’s indisposed at the moment. Give me your report.”

A spike of irritation flares.

Charon’s presence is always grating—too smug and too close to the Overlord’s ear.

Nonetheless, I quell the urge to snarl at him.

“I engaged the Purna, Elira. She escaped,” I say briskly.

“I suspect other factions—like the Red Purnas—may be moving in.”

A sneer stretches across Charon’s thin mouth.

“Escaped? I thought you were unstoppable, Vaelin.” The sarcasm drips like venom.

“The Overlord won’t be pleased.”

My jaw tightens.

“Her power is… formidable. Also, I’ve been approached by the Red Purnas. They sent a messenger demanding a meeting.” I produce the scroll, waving it before the scry-stone’s surface.

“They claim they want an alliance to capture her.”

Charon’s gaze sharpens.

“The Red Purnas. That’s an unexpected complication.” He rubs his chin, feigning concern.

“But perhaps an opportunity. If they can lead you to Elira, you might correct your failure.”

Rage simmers under my skin at the word failure, but I keep my composure.

“So what are the Overlord’s orders?”

Charon tilts his head, a cruel twist at the corner of his lips.

“You wish me to speak for him? Very well, I know his mind. The Overlord demands you do whatever it takes to secure Elira, including forging temporary alliances. The end result is all that matters.”

I nod, though the thought of working with the Red Purnas churns my stomach.

“Understood. And if I succeed in capturing her? Where shall I deliver her?”

His grin widens, hungry.

“Return her to Orthani immediately. The Overlord wants her power harnessed. The entire realm trembles at the possibility of controlling gargoyles. He can’t allow that power to slip away.”

I grit my teeth at the mention of harnessing.

The image of Elira bound, her magic subdued by monstrous spells, sets my teeth on edge.

“Yes,” I say tightly.

“I’ll see it done.”

Charon’s eyes narrow.

“Vaelin, do not disappoint him again. He’s been patient with you because your skill is unmatched. But patience runs thin. If you fail…” He doesn’t finish, letting the threat dangle.

“I’ll relay your message. Keep the scry-stone at hand. Farewell.”

With that, the orb’s glow fades, and I’m left staring at my reflection in the glossy surface.

My expression is taut, eyes shadowed by guilt.

I pocket the scry-stone.

So the Overlord wants me to play along with the Red Purnas.

A wry laugh escapes me.

If only he knew how my resolve crumbled last night.

If only he understood that I can’t simply drag Elira back in chains.

I slump against the oak, letting the bark press into my spine.

The morning sun climbs higher, warming my face.

Deep inside, a quiet voice urges me to defy the Overlord altogether, to protect Elira from whatever sadistic fate awaits her in Orthani.

But the Overlord’s reach is vast, his wrath lethal.

I’d be labeled a traitor.

Orthani would hunt me down, and with it, half the Dark Elf kingdom.

Do I care? My chest tightens.

Perhaps a month ago, I would have scoffed at the notion of betraying everything I knew.

Now, I’m not so sure.

With a groan, I push away from the tree and secure my gear.

The next steps are clear, however unwanted: meet these Red Purnas in the orchard near Riverbend.

Play the role of a dutiful enforcer seeking an alliance.

Learn their intentions, see how they plan to corner Elira.

Then… decide whether to hand her over or find another path.

Am I truly considering betraying the Overlord?

The question echoes in my head, sending a ripple of terror and faint hope through me.

No. I’m just buying time.

My mantra rings hollow.

I mount the zalkir again, urging it into a steady canter.

The ache in my ribs grinds with every jostle, but I cling to discipline.

The orchard they mentioned sits a day’s ride away, near a wide bend in the local river.

The road ahead is seldom traveled, dotted with farmland and occasional stands of twisted willows.

Clouds shift overhead, painting shadows across the rolling terrain.

Gradually, the farmland gives way to rougher ground, dotted with shallow ravines.

About midday, I pause in a small hamlet to water the zalkir.

The locals cower at my approach, edging away without a word.

I’m used to their fear, but now it pricks at me.

I recall Elira’s condemnation, how the Dark Elves brutally subjugate humankind.

My loyalty cracks further.

After watering the beast at the hamlet’s well, I resume my journey.

By late afternoon, the land softens again, meadows stretching out on either side.

The whiff of orchard blossoms reaches me on the breeze—pear trees, perhaps, or apples.

Soon, I spot the orchard: lines of fruit trees in neat rows, though many appear overgrown, with drooping branches tangling together.

The sweet fragrance mingles with the rank odor of rotting fruit on the ground.

I slow my mount, scanning for movement.

The Red Purnas demanded I come alone.

My skin prickles with distrust. They might have archers waiting.

They might spawn illusions to corner me.

Stay alert.

A soft voice calls from behind a row of pear trees.

“Welcome, Overlord’s hound.” I tense, recognizing the venom-laced tone that must belong to Nerissa, the Red Purna leader.

She steps out, clad in crimson robes that cling to her tall form.

Her hair is braided close to her scalp, accentuating sharp cheekbones and a cruel twist to her mouth.

Behind her, at least half a dozen purnas fan out, all wearing some variant of red-trimmed attire.

Their gazes glint with hostility.

I note with a jolt that some brandish staves or swirling orbs of energy.

They’re poised to attack if I make a wrong move.

I force my expression into practiced aloofness.

“Nerissa,” I say, dismounting carefully.

“You’re a bold one, summoning me. Let’s keep this civilized.”

She snorts, crossing her arms. “Civilized? A Dark Elf enforcer preaching civility. Amusing.” Her gaze flits to my bandaged side.

“Wounded, are we? Let me guess: Elira did that?”

Anger flushes my chest. “We encountered monstrous creatures in a Wildspont. That’s enough detail.”

“Mm.” She gestures for the others to remain alert.

Then she steps closer, eyeing me with a predatory glint.

“We know you want Elira as badly as we do. The difference is, you serve that vile Overlord. We serve a grander cause.”

I arch a brow.

“Grander cause? You mean overthrowing your own coven? Or toppling the Dark Elf kingdoms? Rumors vary.”

A smirk tugs at her lips.

“Our vision is broader. The Purna hide in the mountains, cowering from your kind. We say enough. We’ll harness Elira’s power for ourselves, eradicate your Overlord’s rule, and reshape Protheka. We only need her power to unify the purnas.” Her eyes flash with fervor.

“We can’t let her vanish with that potential.”

I keep my tone neutral.

“And you think I’ll hand her over to you? That’s naive, even for a fanatic.”

She bristles, flicking a hand.

“Spare me your insults. We know you lost her. She’s elusive, yes, but we have… ways of drawing her out. We merely offer you a chance to stand on the winning side. If we capture her, your Overlord can’t blame you for failing, can he? You’ll have delivered Elira, albeit indirectly.”

I suppress a grimace.

My mind conjures an image of Elira trapped under Nerissa’s magic, possibly forced to wage war on both Dark Elves and her own coven.

The thought churns my stomach.

“Tell me your plan,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“I can’t commit to anything blindly.”

Nerissa’s eyes gleam with satisfaction.

She inclines her head, beckoning me to follow her among the trees.

We move between rows of pear trees drooping with blossoms, the Red Purnas fanning out to form a loose perimeter.

The orchard’s sweet scent clashes with the tension crackling in the air.

As we walk, Nerissa speaks in a low voice.

“We know that Elira once belonged to a certain coven in Prazh. That coven is fractured right now, thanks to our efforts. The Matriarch can’t protect Elira indefinitely. If we force her to return—perhaps by endangering innocents or by controlling her former allies—she’ll appear.”

A chill slithers down my spine.

“You plan to use innocents as bait?”

Her shrug is dismissive.

“They’re lesser Purnas, loyal to a dying ideal. If we threaten them, Elira’s conscience will drive her out of hiding. She’s soft, from what I hear. Then we’ll strike. Swift, unstoppable. She won’t escape this time.”

I grind my teeth.

The callous disregard for her own kind is galling.

“And how exactly do you expect me to help?”

She stops, turning to face me with a cunning smile.

“Simple. You bring Dark Elf muscle. We can’t defeat the entire coven alone. But if you lure them into thinking your Overlord’s forces are seizing them, we’ll swoop in from another angle. Elira won’t know where to turn. Once we have her pinned, your part is done. We’ll figure out the rest.”

The orchard rustles around us, a hush that feels unnaturally thick.

My thoughts churn. This plan is monstrous.

I imagine entire covens attacked from two sides, purnas scapegoated, humans caught in the crossfire.

And Elira—she’d stand no chance.

My chest constricts.

I used to take pride in orchestrating cunning strategies, but now revulsion roils in me.

I force a neutral expression.

“It’s an interesting scheme.”

Nerissa’s brow arches, waiting for a real answer.

I sense the other Red Purnas shifting closer, suspecting duplicity.

If I balk too obviously, they might lash out.

My gut warns me to proceed carefully.

I clear my throat. “I’ll need time to coordinate with the Overlord’s foot soldiers. We must ensure our approach remains secret. If Elira suspects a trap, she’ll vanish again.”

Nerissa studies me, lips pursed.

“Time is one thing we can’t waste. She grows stronger each day. The prophecy says she could seal or unleash the gargoyles.” Her voice drips with disgust. “We refuse to let her squander that power. We’ll harness it, shape it to tear down the old ways.”

I swallow.

My heart hammers with conflicting impulses.

“Give me two days. I can gather a discreet squad of Miou soldiers, men loyal to the Overlord, who won’t question my orders. Then we’ll meet again.”

She narrows her eyes, suspecting half-truths.

“You’d better not toy with us, Vaelin. We know how to punish traitors.” Her power crackles in the air, a faint red shimmer weaving around her fingers.

“Where should we meet?”

I pretend to ponder, ignoring the chill down my spine.

“There’s a hillside west of the Reyston River, overshadowed by a large oak with lightning-scorched bark. We can gather there, finalizing details on how to corner Elira’s coven.”

Nerissa’s lips curl.

“Fine. Two days. Don’t be late.”

She turns, striding back toward her fellow purnas.

They eye me with disdain, making no secret of their willingness to burn me alive if I cross them.

I mount my zalkir again, chest tight, and ride out of the orchard without looking back.

My instincts prickle, convinced they’ll watch my every move.

Once I’m certain I’m far enough from their vantage, I release a pent-up breath.

The orchard’s sweet fragrance lingers on my clothes, clashing with the bitter taste in my mouth.

They want a trap. I told them I’d comply.

But in truth, I can’t bring myself to orchestrate such cruelty, especially not after what I shared with Elira.

I head north, unsure where to go.

The Overlord expects results, the Red Purnas demand collusion, and my conscience demands a third path.

Perhaps I can warn Elira somehow.

But how would I find her again?

She vanished into the wilds.

My shoulder tenses, recalling her desperate eyes, the press of her body against mine, the jolt of recognition that turned everything I believed upside down.

Lost in thought, I nearly miss the small caravan traveling the adjacent road.

Their wagons creak with wear, pulled by mules.

I slow the zalkir, eying them warily.

A group of humans escorting battered carts, presumably merchants.

They spot me, expressions twisting with dread.

I raise a hand—an attempt at a nonthreatening gesture.

They hesitate but keep moving forward.

As our paths intersect, one of the humans, a woman with sun-worn skin and tattered clothing, steps aside, clearly afraid.

Another older man tries to quell her panic by whispering reassurances.

Guilt gnaws at me. We’re not all monsters, I want to say.

But they have every reason to fear a Dark Elf enforcer.

“Have you encountered any purnas on the road?” I ask, voice calm.

“Red robes, perhaps?”

They exchange uneasy glances.

The older man steps forward, trembling.

“We saw some red-clad purnas near the orchard. Heard rumors they attacked a small farmstead upriver. Terrible things… The place was left in flames.” He swallows hard, gaze flicking to my sword.

“We… we didn’t linger.”

My pulse quickens.

The Red Purnas are already escalating.

That might be part of their strategy to draw Elira out.

Anger flares. They’re hurting innocents—witch or human alike—to forward their goals.

I recall my own orders from the Overlord, equally merciless.

The lines between friend and foe blur.

“Travel safely,” I manage, voice grim.

“Avoid those Purnas if you can.”

He nods, a spark of confusion flitting across his features.

Perhaps he expected cruelty, not a warning.

Then the caravan trundles on, leaving me in the swirling dust of the road.

My chest heaves with frustration.

This conflict is spiraling.

Elira’s not the only target; the Red Purnas are unhinged.

Spurring the zalkir, I continue northward, fighting the tangle of my thoughts.

Late in the day, storm clouds gather on the horizon, grumbling with distant thunder.

Rain threatens to drench the land.

I find a shallow cave among the rocky hills, tucking the zalkir inside to wait out the weather.

The wind picks up, howling across the stones.

I huddle by a small fire I conjure with a tinderbox and scraps of kindling.

The flickering flames provide scant warmth.

My mind circles back to the Overlord’s demand for results, the Red Purnas’ vile plan, and Elira’s precarious place in all of it.

I recall that stolen moment: her lips parted in a soft gasp, her breath mingling with mine.

The memory aches in my chest, a contradiction to everything I was taught.

Rubbing my temples, I murmur, “What am I supposed to do?” The cave walls offer no answer.

The zalkir shifts restlessly behind me, tail swishing.

Outside, the wind rises, and the first droplets of rain splatter on stone.

I sense a deeper question thrumming beneath my confusion: Am I truly bound to Orthani’s leash, or can I break free for her sake?

The very thought feels heretical.

But the Overlord’s cruelty, the Red Purnas’ ambition—both cast a harsh light on the path I’ve always followed.

If I remain loyal, I’ll deliver Elira to a fate worse than death.

If I betray the Overlord, I’ll be hunted relentlessly.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the cave mouth.

The rain intensifies, sheets of water sluicing down.

I stare into the storm, my heart pounding.

Elira’s name pulses through my mind like a half-remembered promise.

She’s out there, alone, possibly in the path of both the Overlord’s wrath and the Red Purnas’ trap.

A surge of protective instinct swells inside me.

My loyalty tears in two.

On one side, decades of service, the Overlord’s conditioning, and fear of his merciless retribution.

On the other, a spark of something dangerously akin to devotion for the witch I should be capturing.

The more I struggle, the clearer it becomes: I cannot simply hand her over.

The Overlord might break me, but I can’t throw her to the wolves.

Not after that night in the ruin, not after feeling her heartbeat against mine.

I realize the fire has burned low, casting dancing shadows.

My side throbs, an echo of last night’s battle.

In the flickering light, my reflection glistens on a damp patch of rock: obsidian skin, hollow eyes, a man poised on the brink of treason.

The Overlord’s enforcer, undone by a single act of compassion and an undeniable surge of longing.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I breathe, voice shaking.

Thunder answers, a low rumble over the hills.

My heart hammers at the admission.

This is the moment I realize I might never be the same obedient blade.

Something inside me has cracked, letting in a shard of empathy I can’t banish.

At length, I stand, tossing aside the last bit of kindling onto the dying flames.

Water drips from the cave ceiling, forming a shallow puddle near the entrance.

The storm rages outside, but I can’t remain idle.

I must act, even if I’m uncertain how.

Elira is in danger, from both the Overlord and the Red Purnas.

I can’t watch from the sidelines.

I approach my zalkir, stroking its scaled neck.

The beast nuzzles my hand, exhaling a hot breath that smells faintly of sulfur.

My ribs protest as I pull myself into the saddle, but the pain scarcely registers now.

The storm outside is fierce, rain lashing in sheets, but I steer the zalkir into it without hesitation.

Lightning rips across the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

I hunker against the beast’s neck, letting my cloak shield me as best it can.

Mud splashes under the zalkir’s claws, and the world seems to blur beneath the deluge.

My lungs burn with every breath of wet, cold air.

Yet a fierce determination surges within me.

I don’t have a perfect plan, but I know I must find Elira first—warn her, protect her, do something to keep the Red Purnas from caging her or the Overlord from twisting her gifts.

She might not trust me, but after last night, maybe she’ll listen.

Maybe there’s a path forward that doesn’t end in more bloodshed.

My side flares with renewed pain, but I ignore it, spurring the zalkir onward.

The storm’s fury howls around us, wind whipping branches and flattening tall grass.

My soaked cloak slaps against my back with each stride.

Every muscle in my body screams for rest, yet I press on, driven by a fractured loyalty that’s begun to realign around a single truth: Elira’s fate matters more to me than my own survival.

That realization both terrifies and emboldens me.

I ride into the night, the thunder and lightning serving as my only companions.

Each flash illuminates the drenched landscape—hills, twisted trees, streams overflowing with rain.

My mind runs with the question: Where to find her?

The last time I saw her, she was heading east, possibly skirting farmland and avoiding major roads.

If the Red Purnas are escalating, they might also guess that route.

A new dread blossoms: what if the Red Purnas corner her before I do?

The image of Nerissa’s triumphant sneer churns my stomach.

The memory of Elira’s exhausted face after the monstrous battle, the brush of her lips against mine, spurs me onward.

Stay safe. Please.

Time becomes a blur, measured only by the lightning’s erratic intervals.

Eventually, my zalkir staggers, nearly slipping on a waterlogged slope.

I rein it in, panting.

The poor beast can’t go on much longer without rest, and neither can I.

The storm rages unabated.

Gritting my teeth, I guide it toward a copse of willows, hoping the hanging branches provide minimal shelter.

We slip beneath them, rainwater streaming off the leaves in rivulets.

Dismounting, I sink against the trunk of a willow, breath ragged.

My side throbs. The bandage is soaked and useless, blood and rain mingling in a sticky mess.

Yet I cling to the flicker of resolve.

Tomorrow, when the storm dies, I’ll search again.

For now, we must endure the night’s onslaught.

Lightning crackles overhead, painting the night in stark white.

My eyes close against the glare.

In the darkness behind my lids, I picture Elira’s determined gaze.

The Overlord’s face looms too, sneering at my weakness.

Between them stands the Red Purnas, ready to exploit any opening.

The chaos of it all weighs on me, pressing against my ribs with a suffocating force.

A tremor courses through me, part chill, part apprehension.

My once ironclad loyalty is in ruins, and I’m forging a path that might end with my own death.

But I cannot stop now.

Everything changed the moment I chose not to deliver her to Orthani.

If I’m doomed, I’ll at least try to protect her from the darkest impulses of both my people and her own.

Thunder rattles the ground.

I curl a hand around the hilt of my sword, half for reassurance, half to remind myself I still have a role to play.

The storm’s fury washes away the last vestiges of the Overlord’s illusions about my unwavering obedience.

I’m no longer sure if I serve Orthani or my own conscience.

In the hush between lightning strikes, I whisper into the rain, “Elira, hold on.” My words vanish in the howling wind, but they anchor me nonetheless.

The road ahead is steeped in betrayal and conflict, but I can’t turn back.

Tomorrow, I’ll ride again, battered but resolute, guided by the fragile hope of finding her first—and forging a new destiny that might spare us both from the cruelty that hunts us.

The storm thrashes around me as I slump against the willow trunk.

My eyelids drift shut, weariness finally compelling me to snatch what sleep I can in the deluge.

Echoes of guilt and longing swirl in my thoughts, yet one truth remains clear: I cannot simply turn her over now.

My loyalty to the Overlord is fractured, replaced by a loyalty to something I never expected—Elira’s survival and the faint promise of something beyond the darkness.