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NARANUS

T he sky is still bruised with the colors of night when I leave the sanctuary. The world is quiet, hushed in a way that feels unnatural, as if the very land is holding its breath, waiting.

I don’t say goodbye.

I can’t.

Not when her scent is still on my skin, still woven into the fabric of my being. Not when every part of me wants to stay, to hold onto the impossible thing we created last night.

Weak.

The word slithers through me like a curse, an accusation.

I let her in. I let her touch something inside me I swore would never be touched.

But I can’t allow her to change my course. She refuses to kill me, so I will find another way. If she won’t be my executioner, war will. It will be the same outcome, right? My death, regardless of how it happened, will free her magic.

I force my body forward, each step sending a sharp lance of pain through my limbs. The curse is accelerating, spreading like wildfire beneath my stone skin. My body is cracking apart, magic fraying at the edges.

And still, I move.

I find more of them in the ruins of an old outpost, a fraction of what remains of my warriors. Some of my warriors follow me, once that reached the sanctuary. They’re ready to go to war.

They are wounded, broken, but standing.

Their eyes flick toward me as I approach, their gazes filled with grim understanding. They can see it, the curse eating away at me, just as it is to them.

“We thought you were dead,” Rhyzek, a broad-shouldered warrior with cracked wings, says. His voice is hoarse, as if he hasn’t spoken in days. “The stronghold fell.”

“I don’t die that easily,” I rasp, stepping into the ruined structure. “And neither do you.”

Another gargoyle, younger, more fragile, shudders where he stands. “Not for long. We can’t fight like this, Lord Naranus. We’re weakening. Our magic is unstable because of the purnas. We?—”

“You will fight,” I cut him off, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “You will stand, even if it’s the last damn thing you do. I did not crawl out of the wreckage of our home to hear defeat.”

The words are cruel. Necessary.

Rhyzek grits his teeth, nodding once.

A third warrior steps forward, his stance wary. “We’ve gathered intel.”

I lift my chin, motioning for him to speak.

“The Purna Elders have declared you a Target of Elimination,” he says grimly. “They won’t wait for Eryss to act.”

The world narrows.

“Explain.”

“They sent an elite faction of Purna Assassins after you.” His voice is flat, emotionless, but there’s a shadow of concern in his gaze. “If they reach you first, there will be no saving Eryss. They’ll kill her for failing her mission.”

Something inside me fractures.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, locking away the rage that surges up like a beast from the abyss.

Eryss.

They’ll kill her for sparing me.

I force the words through clenched teeth. “How long before they arrive?”

The warrior shakes his head. “Hours. Maybe less.”

A slow, sharp smile curves my lips. “Then we will greet them properly.”

The outpost is barely standing, but there’s something left behind. Something that wasn’t here before.

Carved into the ruins, written in streaks of dark, dried blood, is a message.

THE STONE BEAST WILL DIE BY HER HAND OR OURS.

The words claw into me, hook deep beneath my ribs.

I stare at them, something dark and simmering curling in my gut.

My warriors shift behind me, uneasy.

“It’s a warning,” Rhyzek mutters. “They want her to do it. Or they’ll do it for her.”

I let out a slow breath, turning away. The words shouldn’t affect me. I’ve always expected this ending. I was never meant to survive. None of us were.

But something does affect me. The idea of her being forced to choose.

She was supposed to be my executioner, and yet she refuses. Again and again.

Now, she’s in danger because of it.

I curl my hands into fists. She will not die because of me.

If I end this now, I save her.

I glance toward my warriors, the few that remain. They deserve to know.

But what can I tell them? That the war is already lost? That they are doomed to fall because of something none of us could control?

No.

I will not tell them anything.

I will not let them see my bones fracturing, my skin splitting apart, my magic slipping through the cracks.

Instead, I turn, voice firm. “We leave. Now.”

As we move, a strange sense of finality settles into my bones.

There is no avoiding what comes next.

I will fight. I will bleed.

I will end this.

But the curse is eating away at me, magic slipping between the cracks of my form. The pain is dull now, a background ache that never truly leaves.

It won’t be long before my body gives out entirely.

It’s inevitable.

My warriors march beside me, silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Each knows what’s coming.

Yet, they follow me.

Loyalty. Honor. Duty. These things have kept us alive.

And they will see us to our end.

I glance at the sky, at the stars that still burn despite the coming war.

The next time I see her, it will be for the last time.