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14

VAELIN

I guide Elira through the narrow crevice, one arm braced against slick stone, the other supporting her weary steps.

We’ve traveled the better part of the day—shrouded by illusions whenever we dared cross open ground—and now the last rays of dusk fade across the mountains.

The wind’s chill seeps into my muscles, aggravating my half-healed injuries.

My mind churns with jumbled thoughts, but I force my body onward.

We need shelter.

At last, the crevice broadens into a shadowy cavern.

Its yawning mouth gapes beneath an overhang of jagged rock, half-concealed by a tumble of boulders.

Inside, the air tastes of damp earth and lingering darkness.

It’s not cozy or welcoming, but it’ll offer cover for the night.

My breath hitches as I recall what the Overlord did to me—what he revealed about my gargoyle blood.

A pang of self-loathing mixes with an odd yearning that stirs whenever I’m near Elira.

I am a walking contradiction.

She leans against me, shoulder pressing into my side, quiet exhaustion marking her every movement.

My chest constricts at how her body trembles, still recovering from the intense magic she unleashed to free me from the Overlord’s control.

I haven’t forgotten the closeness we shared, the merging of minds and hearts that still blazes in my memory.

But after all that, can I truly stand beside her?

I’m part monster.

We pause in the cavern’s entrance.

The meager light from the clouded moon trickles inside, enough for my keen Dark Elf sight to discern a wide rocky chamber sloping downward.

Loose rubble litters the floor, hinting at ancient collapses.

“Careful,” I murmur, voice raw.

“Stay behind me in case the ground’s unstable.”

Elira nods, the faint shimmer of her illusions flickering around us.

“I’ll conjure a bit of light,” she says softly.

Even that small act seems to strain her.

She raises her hand, summoning a pale orb that glows with a mellow warmth.

The cavern’s walls come into focus—streaked with mineral deposits, glistening with trickles of moisture.

I help her settle onto a low shelf of rock, then let go, stepping back to confirm the cave is empty.

My side aches at the slightest shift, a dull reminder of every violent confrontation, every ill-advised mission to corner her.

Or rescue her? The lines blur.

I exhale, scanning for signs of animals or hidden threats.

The echoes of dripping water and a faint scuttling from deeper within suggest bats or harmless rodents, nothing more.

“We can rest here,” I say quietly, returning to her side.

“It’s out of sight, and it doesn’t reek of predators.”

She nods, brushing damp hair from her cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, meeting my gaze for a heartbeat before looking away.

Our eyes carry the weight of unspoken tension.

We’ve been so close, yet so much remains uncertain.

I crouch, rummaging through the satchel I grabbed during our hasty escape.

Most of my supplies vanished in Orthani’s fortress, but I managed to salvage a few scraps of dried rations, plus a small flint for sparks.

My movements feel mechanical, yet my mind is a roiling storm.

The Overlord’s experiments.

The cursed orb. My monstrous lineage.

Elira shifts on the rock ledge, wincing as she massages her shoulder.

Guilt seizes my gut.

“Is the wound from earlier bothering you?” I ask, forcing gentleness into my tone.

She gives a tired half-smile.

“It aches, but I’ll manage. You’re the one who endured that blasted orb’s torment.” Her voice quivers with concern.

I swallow. Her compassion stings me in ways I can’t articulate.

“I’m—” My words catch in my throat.

I’m fine? I’m not fine at all.

“I’ll survive.” I stare at the rough ground, an uncomfortable heaviness settling over my heart.

The silence stretches, broken only by dripping water.

Finally, I gather the courage to speak.

“Elira,” I say, almost a whisper.

She turns her head, luminous eyes reflecting the orb’s glow.

“You risked everything to save me,” I continue, my voice trembling with unmasked gratitude.

“I… don’t understand why.”

She inhales slowly, as though centering herself.

“Because it felt… necessary,” she admits.

“I couldn’t just leave you there, not after—” She cuts herself off, her cheeks flushing at the memory of our frantic closeness.

That single, unfinished sentence ignites confusing emotions in my chest. Tenderness, guilt, fear.

I am undeserving of her rescue.

I’m half-gargoyle, a creature the Overlord molded into a lethal weapon.

The revelations churn anew, fueling my self-loathing.

She picks at a loose thread on her sleeve, teeth worrying her lower lip.

“I can sense you pulling away, Vaelin. Please… talk to me.”

I clench my fists, gaze dropping to the floor.

“I’m trying,” I admit, voice hoarse.

“But everything I thought I knew about myself is a lie. The Overlord… he told me how I was created, that my blood is tainted with gargoyle essence. I’m not fully Dark Elf. I’m a… monster.” I let the final word hang, bitterness lacing every syllable.

She flinches as if slapped.

“You’re not?—”

“How can you say that?” I snap, rising to my feet in a sudden surge of frustration.

My wounded side protests, but I ignore the pain.

“You haven’t seen what lies beneath my skin. The Overlord has a leash on me, Elira. He can yank that power any time he chooses, turn me into a mindless beast that obeys his will. If not for you, I’d already be lost. I left the city days ago, but they caught me while I was in the watch tower.”

She pushes off the rock ledge, illusions flickering around her as though they share her agitation.

“But you fought back,” she insists, stepping closer.

“You risked everything to break free of him. And you wouldn’t be here if you were a monster.”

My jaw tightens, resentment tangling with shame.

“That’s the problem. I am a monster who wants to be something else. But wanting doesn’t change the reality.” My voice echoes, the cavern amplifying the bitter edge.

Her gaze flickers over me, heartbreak visible in her eyes.

She lifts a hand, hesitates, then carefully touches my forearm.

“Vaelin… maybe you carry gargoyle blood, but what I’ve witnessed in you is more than that. Compassion. Courage. You saved me from the Red Purnas, from monstrous beasts. You let me go when you could have dragged me to Orthani.”

I swallow a lump in my throat, mind drifting to the memory of letting her slip through my grasp instead of delivering her to the Overlord.

“That was… I didn’t want to see you hurt,” I admit, voice raw.

“I care about you more than I care about obeying him.”

A subtle warmth fills her expression.

“Then hold onto that,” she says softly.

“Because this gargoyle aspect doesn’t define you. Maybe it grants you strength, but your choices shape who you are.”

Emotions swirl, too big to contain.

The urge to close the distance between us wars with the instinct to recoil for her safety.

I want to wrap her in my arms, bury my face in her hair, surrender to the comfort her presence offers.

Yet the memory of that cursed orb, the Overlord’s savage grin, the echoes of monstrous roars in my head remind me how dangerous I could become.

Before I can respond, a low rumble resonates through the cavern walls.

My heart lurches, dread coiling in my gut.

Elira’s illusions flicker with alarm.

“What was that?” she whispers, eyes darting to the cavern’s mouth.

I strain my hearing.

Another sound follows: a distant roar, deep and resonant, unlike any normal creature.

My blood chills. The gargoyles.

Elira’s face pales. “They’re waking,” she murmurs, voice tight.

“My coven feared this moment. I prayed we had more time.”

A sickening knot forms in my stomach.

We’ve heard rumors for weeks, but now the evidence seems undeniable.

Gargoyles stirring in the depths, their stony sleep cracking.

A new roar reverberates, closer this time, echoing across the mountain ridges.

My gargoyle blood roils in response—like a dark chord thrumming at the core of my being.

Nausea twists my insides.

Elira curses under her breath.

“If they break free…” She doesn’t finish.

We both know the devastation that might follow.

They were once unstoppable.

Only a lethal spell sealed them away.

The tension in the cave thickens.

We’re battered, uncertain, and the gargoyles might be on the verge of rampaging across Protheka.

I sense the same grim realization in Elira’s eyes: we can’t remain hidden for long.

She steps back, running a hand through her hair, illusions flickering again in ragged pulses.

“We can’t handle an entire gargoyle horde in our condition.”

I nod, trying to steady my breathing.

“Your coven is searching for a way to seal them again, right? The old rituals?”

She sighs.

“Yes, but the magic is… dangerous. It requires insane synergy, massive power, and a willingness to sacrifice. I’m not even sure my coven fully trusts me after all that’s happened. Let alone harnessing your help, a half-gargoyle enforcer.”

Her words sting, though I know she isn’t insulting me.

She’s just voicing the truth.

“If it’s the only way, we’ll find a path. Or we risk letting them roam free, destroying everything.” My mind reels with images of gargoyles unleashing their ancient fury upon villages, enslaving or slaughtering innocent lives.

Isn’t that exactly how the Overlord sees me?

A living weapon?

Elira crosses her arms, gaze distant.

“But first, we have to regroup. Maybe contact my coven anyway, prove you’re not under the Overlord’s control.” She offers a hesitant smile.

“It won’t be easy, but… they might listen if we show up together.”

“Show up… together,” I echo, tasting the meaning behind the words.

A swirl of both hope and fear surges in my chest. Could we possibly stand as allies, not just fleeting partners bound by crisis?

She steps nearer, the orb’s faint glow illuminating her delicate features.

The memory of our shared closeness in the fortress corridor returns, stirring a wave of longing I can’t tamp down.

Her brow furrows with concern.

“Vaelin, are you with me in this? Truly? I need to know, or we might as well part ways.”

My throat tightens.

My gargoyle side stirs in the darkest corner of my mind, whispering that I’m unfit for anything but violence.

But I can’t deny the surge of devotion for her that’s grown like a stubborn weed in my heart.

“I’m with you,” I manage, voice catching.

“No matter how broken I am.”

She exhales a trembling breath, relief mingling with lingering uncertainty.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says, almost to herself.

Then her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining.

Our gazes meet. The moment stretches, weighted by tension and quiet yearning.

I want to cradle her against me, to forget the Overlord and gargoyles.

But guilt rears its head.

Do I deserve her warmth when part of me is monstrous?

Elira senses my hesitation.

She touches the side of my face, palm warm on my cheek.

“I see you struggling,” she murmurs.

“I won’t pretend I understand exactly what’s inside you, but… you’re not alone.”

The tenderness in her voice breaks something inside me.

My composure cracks.

Before I realize it, my arms slide around her shoulders, drawing her close.

She stiffens for a split second, then melts into the embrace.

We stand there in the flickering gloom, bodies pressed together.

Her heartbeat drums against my chest, a steady rhythm that soothes my ragged nerves.

For a moment, everything else fades.

But in the distance, another gargoyle roar echoes, rattling me to the core.

I jerk slightly, inhaling a sharp breath.

My gargoyle blood stirs again, responding to the sound like a faint call.

Fear knots in me. “Did you hear that?” I whisper.

She nods, leaning back just enough to meet my eyes.

“They’re close. Possibly awakened in some ruined keep or a hidden lair. The world is shifting under our feet, Vaelin.”

I grit my teeth.

“Then we must shift with it.” I release her slowly, hating the loss of contact, yet determined.

“We can’t remain here. If the gargoyles roam, if the Overlord hunts us, if the Red Purnas lurk, we must move swiftly.”

She nods, though fatigue etches her features.

“Agreed. But tonight, we rest. We have no other choice. Dawn might bring clarity.”

I glance deeper into the cavern.

There’s a slight recess at the far wall, partially shielded from the main entrance.

“Let’s settle there. We can stay hidden until sunrise.”

She follows me, illusions swirling in faint eddies around her ankles.

The orb of light shifts, revealing a smooth stretch of rock wide enough for us to share.

It’s not luxurious, but it’s better than the open wind.

We lower ourselves onto the cool stone, side by side, half-leaning against the cavern wall.

A hush descends as we adjust. The intimate space draws attention to every breath, every beat of our hearts.

The tension of the day’s flight lingers in my muscles, making them ache.

I want to hold her again, but do I have that right?

She breaks the silence first, voice soft.

“Vaelin… earlier, you said you feel undeserving. As if your gargoyle blood means you can’t be… with me. Is that what keeps you from meeting my eyes?”

Heat flushes my cheeks at her perceptiveness.

I force myself to look at her, noticing the gentle curve of her face in the faint glow.

“I struggle to see how you could… want me, after everything. I was shaped for violence, part of me thirsts for it. The Overlord twisted me, and I—” My breath hitches with bitterness.

“I let him, for years.”

She reaches out, fingertips brushing mine.

“You had no choice. And you’ve shown me a different side of yourself—someone capable of mercy and compassion.”

My heart clenches.

“But what if that savage part overwhelms me again? If he recaptures me, or if my gargoyle instincts awaken fully? I might hurt you.” My voice trembles with the admission.

“That thought terrifies me.”

Her hand shifts, tangling with mine.

“Fear can guide us or paralyze us,” she whispers, eyes shimmering with empathy.

“I’m afraid too—of the prophecy, of the Red Purnas, of losing myself to forced obligations. But if we let terror dictate every choice, we’ve already surrendered.”

Our fingers lace together, a hesitant yet powerful gesture.

The warmth of her hand feels like an anchor in a raging storm.

My gargoyle side still churns in my veins, but I sense it as something that can be tempered, not necessarily unleashed in brutality.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I can be more than a tool.

She inches closer, the soft rustle of fabric echoing in the hush.

“We only have one night to breathe before we face everything again,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my jaw.

“Stay with me, just for these hours, while the world holds its breath. Let’s gather strength from each other.”

Tears prick my eyes.

I nod, my throat too tight for words.

My arm slides around her shoulders, drawing her against my chest, and she comes willingly, her body molding to mine.

Her hair brushes beneath my chin, that maddening floral scent wrapping around me like a spell.

My heart hammers—part fear, part need, all of it raw.

“Alright,” I rasp. “I’ll try. To be… present. Not hide behind my shame.”

Her fingers trace the line of my collarbone, featherlight, before she lifts her face.

Lips parted, eyes dark with unspoken hunger.

When our mouths meet this time, there’s no hesitation.

Just heat. Her tongue slides against mine, slow and deliberate, and a groan tears from my throat.

I pull her tighter, one hand fisting in the fabric at her back, the other cupping the nape of her neck.

She shifts, straddling my thighs, and the sudden press of her weight against my cock makes me hiss.

Her hips roll, deliberate, and I swear my vision whites out for a second.

“Elira?—”

“I know,” she whispers, dragging her mouth along my stubbled jaw.

“I feel it too.” Her hands push under my tunic, palms scorching against my skin.

“Let me see you. All of you.”

I help her peel the fabric away, the cool cavern air a shock against my fevered flesh.

Her gaze rakes over me—the scars, the tension in my muscles, the way my cock strains against my trousers.

Her fingers follow, tracing every ridge and mark, as if memorizing me.

When she leans down to lick a stripe up my chest, I nearly come undone.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, and the words land like a blow.

No one’s ever called me that.

Not like this.

My hands find the ties of her tunic, trembling.

“Can I?—?”

“Yes.”

Fabric falls away, revealing the smooth expanse of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts.

I map her with my mouth, nipping at the pulse in her throat, sucking a bruise just above her collarbone.

She gasps when my teeth graze her nipple, her back arching.

“Vaelin?—”

I silence her with a kiss, my hand sliding down her stomach, lower, until my fingers brush the damp heat between her thighs.

She’s slick, aching, and the sound she makes when I stroke her pussy is fucking devastating.

I do it again, slower, watching her face as she unravels.

“Inside,” she demands, rocking against my hand.

“Now.”

I don’t need telling twice.

My fingers fumble with the laces of my trousers, desperation making me clumsy, but the moment I free myself, her hands are there—steady, sure.

Elira rises onto her knees, her body a silhouette of curves and strength in the flickering glow of her illusions.

The sight of her like this, bare and unguarded, steals my breath.

Gods, she’s beautiful.

Her thighs bracket mine, and she guides me to her entrance with a slow, deliberate press.

The first push is exquisite—a searing heat, tight and wet and perfect.

A groan tears from my throat as she sinks down, taking me to the hilt in one fluid motion.

Her body clenches around me like a vise, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Just breathing. Just feeling.

Her lips part on a shattered moan, her head tipping back, exposing the delicate column of her throat.

I can’t resist leaning forward to drag my mouth along it, tasting salt and the faintest hint of lavender from her skin.

“Elira,” I rasp, my voice rough with need.

“Look into my eyes.”

Her lashes flutter open, revealing eyes dark with desire.

The way she watches me—like I’m something worth savoring, not a monster—sends a fresh wave of heat through my veins.

“Vaelin… oh…” she gasps, opening her mouth a fraction.

Then she rolls her hips, and I lose all sense of restraint.

“Yes,” I groan, feeling her softness against my body.

My hands grip her waist, fingers digging into the softness there, helping her ride me with slow, deliberate strokes.

Each thrust goes deeper than the last, each one drawing another broken sound from her lips.

Her nails bite into my shoulders, her breath coming in ragged bursts as her pace quickens.

The cavern echoes with the sounds of our coupling—skin slapping, moans bouncing off stone, my name on her lips like a prayer.

“Vaelin—ah—please—” Her voice is a wrecked whisper, and it undoes me.

I’ve wanted her since the first moment I saw her—since she stood in front of me, defiance in her gaze and power crackling at her fingertips.

I denied it, but can’t stop myself.

Even then, dishiveled and probably half-starved, she was the most radiant thing I’d ever seen.

Now, with her body arching above me, her breasts flushed and heaving, I worship her with every touch.

My hands slide up her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she gasps.

“You’re stunning,” I growl, dragging my palms over her nipples, relishing the way they pebble under my touch.

“Every inch of you.”

She shudders, her rhythm faltering, and I take over, lifting her slightly before pulling her back down onto me with a snap of my hips.

Her cry is loud enough to stir the shadows, and I swallow it with a kiss, our teeth clashing in our haste.

“Vaelin!”

I can feel her tightening around me, her cunt fluttering like she’s already close.

Needing to see her come apart, I snake a hand between us, finding her clit with practiced fingers.

The moment I circle it, her whole body jerks.

“Yes—right there?—”

Her pleasure is a living thing, pulsing through her, through me.

I watch, mesmerized, as her face contorts in ecstasy, her lips parting around a silent scream before her voice returns in a cry.

Her body bows, her inner walls clamping down on me like a fist, and the sight of her unraveling drags me under.

I come inside her with a groan, my forehead dropping to her shoulder as waves of pleasure crash over me.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the feel of her, the scent of her sweat and arousal, the sound of our ragged breaths mingling in the air.

We collapse together, limbs tangled, sweat-slicked and spent.

Her fingers card through my hair, slow and soothing, as our breathing steadies.

Outside, the world still teeters on the edge of ruin—gargoyles roam, the Overlord hunts, and dawn will bring fresh terrors.

But here, in this stolen moment, we are nothing but flesh and need and the fragile hope of tomorrow.

Her lips brush my temple, feather-light.

“Stay with me,” she murmurs.

I tighten my arms around her, pressing a kiss to the frantic pulse at her throat.

“Yes.”

Eventually, we break apart, foreheads touching, breath unsteady.

She closes her eyes, brow furrowed.

“I won’t ask you to forget your past,” she whispers, “but please remember you can forge a future beyond it.”

A lump swells in my throat.

I kiss her brow in a silent reply, hearts pounding in the stillness.

If only this night could last. But I know dawn will bring fresh trials.

The gargoyles’ roars echo in my memory, a potent reminder that destiny looms.

Exhaustion drapes us both, so we settle against the cavern wall, huddling close for warmth.

Our entwined hands rest in my lap, each of us too drained for further conversation.

My eyes flick shut, listening to the slow pulse of her breath.

I can’t fight the Overlord alone, nor can she resist the Red Purnas or gargoyles by herself.

Maybe together we can hold back the tide.

Sometime in the restless hours, a distant roar once again filters into the cavern, rattling the stone.

Elira stirs, illusions flaring with momentary alarm, but we remain pressed together.

I cling to her presence, determined not to let fear drive me away.

If I do, I’ll slip back into the Overlord’s shadow, a gargoyle puppet with no heart or future.

As the night drags on, my mind drifts.

Shadows of old memories swirl—harsh training in Orthani’s citadel, the Overlord’s pitiless gaze.

Yet over those images, new recollections layer themselves: Elira’s defiance, her laughter in fleeting moments of calm, the protective way she held me when I was broken.

Am I allowed to want more?

Finally, sleep claims me in broken fragments.

I dream of soaring winged shapes, their stone hides cracking open to reveal luminous eyes.

I see the Overlord’s orb, gleaming with red malevolence.

My gargoyle instincts scream at me to destroy everything in sight.

But then Elira’s voice resonates in the dream, calling me back from the brink.

I cling to that voice like a lifeline.

I wake to a faint gray light seeping through the cavern’s entrance.

Elira shifts beside me, arms still around my waist, illusions flickering out as she stirs.

My muscles ache, but I draw a shaky breath.

The memory of that second gargoyle roar lodges in my mind.

The day is here. We must move.

She opens her eyes, offering a small smile.

“Morning,” she murmurs, though her tone suggests we’re far from comfort.

The bleak set of her features affirms that the gargoyle threat weighs heavily on her soul.

I brush a knuckle over her cheek, voice raspy.

“We should get going soon. If the gargoyles truly roam, we can’t remain idle.”

She nods, inhaling to summon her strength.

“Let’s find my coven, or at least send a message. If we can muster allies, we might stand a chance at sealing the gargoyles again. Or at least warn the innocent villages in their path.”

I stand, helping her to her feet.

A rush of dizziness hits me, but I swallow it back, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side.

My eyes linger on her slender form, bruises and exhaustion marking her, yet fierce determination glowing in her gaze.

She’s strong enough to challenge entire armies of monstrous spawn, and still, she spares compassion for me.

We gather what meager belongings we have—some ration scraps, a battered cloak.

Before we head out, Elira places a hand on my chest, expression solemn.

“Vaelin… whatever your blood may be, you’re not alone.”

Her words tighten my throat.

I press my palm over hers, a wordless agreement.

Then we step into the early light, the world chilled and still damp from the night’s storms. The mountain ridges loom, and the wind carries faint echoes.

My gargoyle side tpurnas, sensing distant roars.

My jaw clenches. We have to hurry.

Leading her out of the cavern, I scan the horizon.

The Overlord’s domain sprawls behind us, shrouded in haze.

No sign of immediate pursuit, though I suspect their search parties comb the region.

I turn my attention to the rugged terrain ahead—a path that might lead us closer to the Purna coven.

Our new day of travel begins in quiet tension.

She occasionally lifts illusions to cloak us, especially when we traverse open slopes.

We speak in hushed voices, mindful of watchers.

The memory of our intimate closeness lingers in each unspoken moment, forging a bond that unsettles and comforts me all at once.

While we pick our way across a rocky defile, a distant rumble cracks through the sky.

At first, I think it’s thunder, but then I realize it echoes from the deep valleys—a guttural roar that makes me anxious.

Elira curses, illusions flaring.

“They’re truly awake, Vaelin,” she hisses.

“Not just one or two. That sounded like multiple gargoyles.”

My gargoyle essence stirs again, a nauseating swirl that leaves me gasping.

The Overlord wove that essence into me.

If these beasts roam free, will they sense me as kin?

Or as prey? The thought makes my stomach knot.

Elira sees my distress.

She wraps an arm around me, illusions flickering around our combined forms. We press against a boulder to avoid detection from overhead.

The sky is overcast, but I swear I see large shapes flitting at the edge of vision.

Could gargoyles fly again after centuries of stone slumber?

My blood chills.

“We have to keep moving,” she says firmly.

“We’re close to the pass leading to my coven’s territory. If we can reach them, we’ll stand a chance at forming a plan. Possibly alert other allied purnas or any sympathetic humans.”

I nod, reining in my fear.

“Lead the way,” I manage, voice tight.

Hour by hour, we push on, weaving through narrow trails and hidden valleys.

The tension in my head builds, each distant roar or echo setting my gargoyle side on edge.

My mind reels with conflicting impulses: a feral urge to climb the mountains and greet my monstrous kin, and the rational part that recoils in horror.

Elira’s presence is the only thing keeping me anchored.

Her illusions occasionally ripple across my vision, reminding me of the fragile hope we share.

By late afternoon, we crest a ridge that overlooks a wide valley.

She halts abruptly, staring in silent horror.

I follow her gaze, breath catching at the sight of massive winged silhouettes moving among the cliffs in the distance.

Even from here, I see them loping around a cluster of crumbled ruins, huge forms with stony skin glinting in what remains of sunlight.

Real gargoyles.

Elira’s hand tightens on mine.

“We’re out of time,” she whispers.

“They’ve begun claiming territory, or searching for something. My coven is to the north of this region. If the Red Purnas or the Overlord’s forces clash with gargoyles, it’ll be chaos.”

Fear thrums in my veins.

I recall the Overlord’s dogma about controlling all power in Protheka.

He’ll attempt to enslave or destroy these gargoyles if they cross his path.

Meanwhile, the Red Purnas might try to harness them.

The idea of a three-way war makes my gut twist.

Elira stands stiffly, lips pressed.

Then, slowly, her eyes flick to mine.

“Vaelin,” she says, low and urgent, “I know you’re grappling with your own battles, but I need you. My coven won’t trust you easily, but if we show them we’re united, maybe we can rally a defense that doesn’t rely on bloodshed alone.”

A wave of doubt claws at me.

My monstrous half churns, wanting to recoil from the world, but the memory of her unwavering acceptance bolsters me.

If I refuse, she’ll face gargoyles, Red Purnas, and the Overlord alone.

I can’t allow that.

I square my shoulders.

“I’ll stand with you,” I say, voice steady despite the storm inside me.

“We’ll find a way to stop this—whether it’s sealing the gargoyles or forging alliances with those who see reason.”

Her tense expression softens, relief evident.

She reaches out, lightly brushing her fingers across my cheek.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

Heat flushes my skin at her touch.

The sense of being an undeserving creature lingers, but I push it down, focusing on the resolve she inspires.

As we descend the ridge, stepping carefully to avoid tumbling into a gorge, another gargoyle roar ripples across the sky.

We exchange grim looks.

The world is changing faster than we can adapt.

Once again, we seek a hidden hollow to rest as dusk settles, mindful of the roars echoing in the far distance.

My side pulses with renewed pain.

Each step forward reaffirms that I can’t revert to the Overlord’s pawn.

My feelings for Elira might be my only compass in this chaos.

When we finally set up a tiny camp at the base of a scraggly pine, night has fallen.

We share the last scraps of rations, chewing in silence.

The distant howls of gargoyles never quite fade, sending intermittent chills up my spine.

I suspect Elira’s illusions cloak us from prying eyes above.

I don’t question her, simply trusting her skill.

We rest again in a precarious hush.

As we settle side by side in the gloom, I sense her gaze on me.

When I meet her eyes, a subtle warmth passes between us.

The events of the day—my turmoil, her unwavering belief, the roars in the distance—press down, but so does the memory of our closeness.

I long to hold her again, to find solace in her arms. Yet guilt tugs me back, reminding me of the beast beneath my skin.

She notices my hesitation.

“It’s all right,” she whispers, shifting closer.

Her illusions swirl, forming a faint glow that cradles us in a private world.

“We don’t have to figure out everything tonight.”

I exhale a shaky breath, letting her head rest on my shoulder.

My arm hesitantly loops around her waist, drawing her near.

It’s a small comfort in the face of monstrous forces, but it’s enough to steady the ragged edges of my soul.

For now, we cling to each other as a shield against the darkness.

The night drags on, gargoyle roars occasionally breaking the silence.

Each time, dread flickers in Elira’s eyes, and the gargoyle essence in me stirs uncomfortably.

But we remain together, hearts pounding in uneasy unity.

I don’t know if I can truly cast off the Overlord’s hold forever or subdue my gargoyle instincts, but in the warmth of Elira’s presence, hope flickers.

It might be enough.

And so we endure, battered and unsure, haunted by roars from newly awakened horrors, yet bound by a fragile bond.

A bond we both need more than we dare admit.

I drift into restless half-sleep, Elira’s gentle heartbeat echoing in my ears, the only lullaby in this desolate wilderness.

Come morning, we’ll trek onward, battered hearts braced against the oncoming storm.

But tonight, in the cavern’s hush, I allow myself the sliver of belief that perhaps, despite my monstrous blood, I can stand at her side, not as a hound of Orthani but as a man forging his own destiny.

Even if that destiny leads me into the jaws of slumbering gargoyles, I’ll face it with Elira’s hand in mine.