Page 2

Hours pass in an agonizing blur of flight.

The moon sets, replaced by the pallid glow of dawn.

When we crest the final hill, my heart nearly breaks at the sight of our battered vessels.

A line of wooden ships, sails patched with scraps of cloth, rest on the rocky shore.

Several purna already wait at the water’s edge, ward spells shimmering around them to hide from elven scouts.

We rush down to the beach, ignoring the sting of salt in the air. I wade into the shallows, checking each boat. Tensions run high. My sisters pant in exhaustion, hair matted with blood and sweat. We have lost so many. But we are alive. For now.

The moment we set foot on deck, relief and grief intermingle.

Some of the younger purna break into desperate sobs.

I allow them a moment. I close my eyes, letting my staff rest against the worn wood of the ship, and breathe in the tang of the sea.

The vessel rocks beneath me, but it’s the first sign of hope I’ve felt in days.

Before we cast off, I climb onto a crate so all can see me.

Lyris stands at my side, supporting Kalii.

“Sisters,” I say, voice husky from all I have witnessed.

“We have given blood and tears to defend ourselves. Our home on Oshta is lost, but we sail now to Prazh. There, we will carve out a future, hidden from these elves who wish to enslave us.”

Some purna cling to each other, tears in their eyes. Others manage firm nods, their resolve shining despite the heartbreak.

I sense fear. I sense desperation. But beneath that, there’s a flicker of defiance. A vow that we will rise anew, even after losing so much.

A faint shiver of magic stirs the ocean breeze. My gaze drifts to the horizon. I imagine that monstrous stone figure from hours before—his twisted face screaming in silent fury. The thought churns in my mind. I had only meant to stop him, not transmute his very being.

As the sails catch the wind, the entire vessel lurches forward.

We cut through the waves in a slow, cautious departure, scanning the shoreline for signs of pursuit.

The elves do not appear. Perhaps my desperate spell frightened them away—or perhaps they gather strength for an even darker retribution. I can’t be certain.

The day stretches. We row and harness the meager wind, leaving behind the battered coast of Oshta.

I drift between exhaustion and a hollow kind of determination, thoughts flickering back to the magic that went so horribly awry.

Something in that spell felt alive, as if the chaos itself claimed those elves, warping them into winged statues that know only hatred for us.

I press a hand to my chest, unsettled. Did I really conjure an entire new threat into existence? I cling to my staff, remembering the final expression on that soldier’s face. We have no choice but to keep going.

Night falls again, blanketing the sea with an inky hush. I stand at the bow, gazing back at the faint silhouette of Oshta. The coastline recedes into darkness, the spires of Orthani just a murky outline. My limbs ache, but I remain upright. Lyris moves quietly to my side, eyes downcast.

“Valyn,” she says, voice subdued. “I… I fear we might have damned them too.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “Our magic was never meant for war.”

She nods, and the hush of her breath suggests an unspoken question. Could we have done anything differently? The answer is meaningless now. Guilt claws at my insides, but I force down that bitter taste. We must survive. That is the only truth left to us.

Hours bleed into the next morning. Our ships sail for days across turbulent waters.

Some of my sisters struggle with sickness, retching over the side.

Others spend their time weaving protective wards into the hull.

Occasionally, I join them, murmuring spells to keep the gale from tearing our fragile sails to pieces.

My staff hums with leftover energy, but the more I use it, the more the chaos inside me awakens, reminding me of that monstrous transformation.

On the fourth dawn at sea, we finally spot the rugged peaks of Prazh.

Mountains thrust upward from a harsh, frozen landscape.

This place is bleak by rumor—far from the lush realms that the elves would covet.

We aim our ships toward a narrow cove where the water is calmer.

My heart stirs at the sight of land, no matter how desolate it might be.

A new home means the chance to breathe, regroup, and hide from the darkness hunting us.

We dock at a rocky shoreline coated in coarse gray sand. The air stings with cold, but that cold is a relief after the scorching battles we fled. I step onto land, boots sinking into the pebbly ground. Each of my sisters follows, arms wrapped around themselves for warmth.

Gathering a circle, we huddle together while Lyris lights a small flame using the last of her elemental sparks.

The glow illuminates our drawn faces. No one speaks for several beats—reality settles on our shoulders like an iron weight.

We are exiles. Survivors. But we exist, and that is victory enough for now.

I stand at the center, letting my gaze roam over each woman. So many are missing. So many lost, left behind on Oshta or perished in the fighting. I vow silently that we will honor them, that we will not allow the purna line to vanish.

“From here,” I say, voice low but resolute, “we rebuild. We will protect one another. We will remain hidden until we regain our strength. The dark elves may think they have crushed us, but we are not broken.”

My words stir faint sparks of hope. They shift closer to the flame, letting its warmth seep into their numb hands. Above us, the sky churns with thick clouds. Prazh’s mountains loom in the near distance, imposing and cold, yet offering a safe distance from Orthani’s nightmares.

A sudden image floods my mind: Orthani’s spires tinted crimson at dusk, and a single purna walking through those grand halls without fear. An impossible vision. Yet it seizes my chest, as if the Source itself is whispering that one day, something will change.

“Listen well,” I continue, swallowing hard. “We are purna. We were humans but no more. We come from a lineage older than any tyrant. Though we were forced to flee, the day may come when one of us, or a descendant of ours, returns to Orthani. Not to beg for mercy, but to command it.”

Lyris glances at me, brow furrowed in curiosity. The flame dances in her eyes. “You believe we’ll ever see Orthani again?”

“Not us,” I say, exhaling slowly. “But perhaps a future purna will rise within those walls and tear down the cruelty from inside. She will not flee or bow. She will… conquer.”

An undercurrent of disbelief flickers through the group.

We are weary, battered, uncertain if we even have the capacity to dream of conquest. But I feel it: a faint pulse in my soul, telling me that what has been done to us will not stand forever.

The chaos I unleashed hints that changes are coming, whether or not we desire them.

We stand in silence for a moment, letting that prophecy soak into the frigid air.

Then someone whispers a prayer to the Source, while others begin to gather supplies from the ships.

The swirl of activity resumes, survival overshadowing everything else.

Survival taking precedence over all other concerns.

As I watch them work, grief tugs at me. My staff trembles in my grip, the memory of that dark elf soldier—and the countless others—haunting me. One fateful incantation, and I may have birthed an abomination.

Yet I cannot change that now. In time, stories will spread of the stone-winged creatures prowling the night, minds scarred by an origin they cannot recall.

Perhaps they will fade into myth. Perhaps not.

All I know is that my sisters are here, breathing, able to hold each other on this desolate shore.

Our new home is not a paradise, but it is free from Orthani’s tyranny. For that, I give thanks to whatever cosmic mercy still heeds us.

As evening descends, I walk alone among the rocks, searching for a vantage point. There, on a small cliff, I stare out at the sea. Shadows lengthen across the waves. The wind bites my cheeks, and I sense the hush of an untamed wilderness behind me.

I whisper an oath to the murk beyond. “Source guide whoever comes after me. Let her find the strength to face Orthani—let her do what I could not.”

My voice falters, but I press on. “We have run. We had no choice. But someday, a purna will stand in that city not as a captive, but as something mightier than chains.”

The water roars below. My chest grows heavy with sorrow, but also with a stirring ember of faith. I allow the staff’s glow to fade, storing its energy for the days to come. We will make a life in these mountains, hidden from the elves’ grasp, forging a future no matter how bleak it seems.

I turn from the ocean and descend to where my sisters rest. The wind ripples through the meager campsite.

No one speaks of the horrors behind us; we don’t need to.

We all carry the memories like scars etched into bone.

Instead, we cling to the small solace that Prazh offers.

Above us, strange constellations shine in the sky—uncertain omens for an uncertain tomorrow.

One day, I think, staring into the dark. One day, Orthani will taste a purna’s wrath and bow before it. On that day, the war we lost will find its echo in another’s triumph. My breath hitches, and I muster a final whisper:

“Let her be the one who conquers.”

I rest my staff on a patch of cold earth and let myself sink onto a rock. Exhaustion drags at my eyelids, but the promise remains as a distant star in my mind, pulsing steadily. Tomorrow, we begin again. Tomorrow, we become exiles unbroken, survivors who will keep the embers of our power alive.

And someday—though I will be dust by then—my words will echo in Orthani, carried on the lips of a fearless purna who refuses to bend. Our line will endure, and the city that nearly annihilated us will see what it means to face a sorcery shaped not by despair, but by vengeance and unstoppable will.