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MALPHAS

I pace at the edge of the catacombs, my claws scraping along damp limestone as every muscle in my body tenses with restless energy.

The gloom down here is thick and suffocating—far deeper and more oppressive than the ruined halls above.

Tangles of roots puncture the walls, and rivulets of water slip from cracks overhead.

The air reeks of old decay and stagnant pools.

If not for the faint arc of magical flame dancing at my fingertips, we’d be lost in absolute darkness.

Valentina stands a short distance away, arms folded across her chest. She traces a half-faded carving in the wall, a sign that once belonged to an ancient priesthood.

Her silhouette is lean and weary; the soft illumination from my black flame highlights every bruise on her skin and the haunted gleam in her eyes.

I should be the one comforting her, but I don’t know how to mend what is broken between us.

We discovered this network of catacombs beneath the ruined temple by accident.

Right when we thought we’d leave that battered structure behind, we stumbled on a hidden flight of stairs leading underground.

Now we linger, half-hoping the monarchy’s hunters won’t think to search so deep.

But the oppressive hush grinds on my nerves.

We’re trapped here as effectively as if we’d been locked in a cage.

My side still aches from the gash I took in the fight days ago, the scabs reopening every time we scramble over debris. Yet it’s not physical pain that gnaws at me most. It’s the knowledge that if Valentina enacts the ritual to free me, she’ll die. That, more than any cut or burn, devours my peace.

I run a hand over the spines of my horns, an old gesture of agitation. The damaged stump near the top twinges, a phantom reminder of every vow that’s chained me to the monarchy. I can’t let her trade her life for mine.

Exhaling sharply, I crouch beside a broken statue that must have crashed down here centuries ago.

Algae crawls over its features, turning the stone face into a grim mask.

Shadows flick in the periphery of my visio.

Usually, I can shape them with precision.

Now, they flicker like anxious phantoms, reflecting my ragged emotions.

Valentina’s footsteps echo against the crypt walls.

She moves quietly, always scanning for danger.

Despite her exhaustion, she remains vigilant.

The lines in her face deepen each day, and guilt knots my chest. She was never meant to carry this burden.

My contract was mine to bear, my war with the King was personal, yet I pulled her into it and demanded more than I had any right to ask.

We found minimal supplies, a dusty jug that once held water, a moldy scrap of cloth we used to rebind her scratched arms. Not enough for the battles looming.

My illusions are in tatters, the monarchy’s arcane wrath scalding me every time I resist their call.

If we stay, we risk discovery. If we leave, we’re back in the open, vulnerable to the next ambush.

Darkness weighs on me, a heavy cloak I can’t shed.

Each breath draws in the stench of rotting textiles and worm-riddled wood.

Even the lesser demons that once followed me have scattered, leaving no possible reinforcements.

I grit my teeth, the vow’s silent punishment wrapping around my heart.

The monarchy’s compulsion never truly relents, but it sharpens whenever I dwell on rebellion.

“Malphas?” Valentina’s voice is soft, trembling at the edges. She stands near the statue, her posture rigid. “We should try to find a way out. We can’t stay hidden underground forever.”

I rise, forcing my battered wings to fold tight against my back. “I know,” I say, trying to sound calm. My voice emerges rough, like shattered glass. “But I can’t walk into the open while my illusions are so fragile. If the monarchy spots us, they’ll pounce.”

She nods, stepping closer. Even smeared with dust and half-starved, she moves with a fierce grace. Her eyes, a silver hue, hold complicated emotions like anger, sorrow, and fear. She’s changed so much from the day I first saw her, bound and defiant in the ritual chamber.

A hush stretches between us, charged with an unspoken weight. She glances away, tension in her shoulders. “It’s not just about illusions,” she mutters. “You’re… not yourself lately.”

A laugh escapes my throat, humorless and sharp. “I lost my fortress. I’m branded a traitor. I have an oath that could kill me at any moment. And if you enact the ritual, you’ll die.”

She flinches at the bluntness of my words. My own chest tightens. I don’t want to wound her, but the truth is a blade I can’t sheathe.

She drags a hand through her hair, expression pained. “So we’re at an impasse. If I do nothing, you remain enslaved, forced to endure the monarchy’s punishments until you break or they recapture you. If I proceed with the ritual, I—” Her voice falters. “I can’t do it, Malphas. I’m sorry.”

My heart lurches, hammered by guilt. “I never wanted you to do it,” I say, raw sincerity coloring my tone. “I would never accept your death as my freedom.”

She blinks, tears glistening. “But you risked everything to protect me. Because you needed me alive for the contract’s unraveling, right?”

I swallow, recalling how I told her I wouldn’t let them kill her because it jeopardized my chance at freedom. That was only half-true. Now, the thought of losing her sears me in ways I can’t articulate.

“I said that,” I admit, voice ragged. “But it changed. You changed me.” The confession tastes foreign. “You’re not just my key to survival. You’re… I don’t know. A partner? An ally I can’t bear to lose?”

She inhales sharply, arms hugging herself. “Then why do we feel so hopeless?”

I can’t answer immediately. The tension in the catacombs is as thick as the muck under our boots. A trickle of water drips near my ear, forming a tiny puddle that reflects the glow from my black flame. My illusions swirl—bleak shapes that vanish the moment I focus.

Despair coils in my gut. I see no future except her death or my eternal servitude.

I can’t let either happen, but the prophecy offers no third path.

“The monarchy is relentless,” I murmur at last, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

“They’ll never stop. We can keep running, but eventually, we’ll slip. ”

She crouches, brushing dust from a chunk of carved stone. “The archivist’s text said there might be variations—ways to interpret the prophecy differently.”

A hollow snort leaves my nose. “Most prophecies can be twisted, but that rarely alters the outcome. I’ve scoured ancient tomes for centuries. They all lead back to this notion of ‘blood for blood.’”

She rubs her forehead, strain etched across her features. “So we’re damned either way.”

Silence descends again, a black pit of hopelessness.

My mind churns with memories—the fortress’s final stand, the illusions that crumbled around me, the monarchy branding me a traitor for refusing to kill her.

For centuries, I obeyed, shaped illusions, crushed rebellions. Now I’m the rebellion. And I’m losing.

“Maybe,” I say, voice hollow. “But I refuse to die in these catacombs. We might fail, but we have to try something. The monarchy can be hurt, or else they wouldn’t send half their forces after us.”

She lifts her eyes, determination flickering faintly. “You’re right. We can’t quit. But I’m terrified, Malphas. I can’t hide it anymore.” Her voice cracks on the last word, tears threatening to spill.

The sight shreds what remains of my composure. Her fear resonates with my own—I’m terrified of the day she looks at me with acceptance in her eyes, ready to sacrifice herself. I recoil at that notion, hating how powerless I feel.

My chest throbs with an ache that dwarfs any physical wound.

In a surge of impulse, I gather her in my arms. She trembles, but doesn’t pull away.

The catacomb’s gloom envelops us, shadows flickering as my flame dims. My wings wrap around her shoulders, forming a leathery cocoon against the damp air.

Her breath shivers, warm against my neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I wish I knew how to fix this.”

I shake my head. “No. This is my war. I’m the one who let the monarchy bind me with a contract in the first place. You’re caught in the crossfire.”

She lifts her gaze, eyes brimming with intensity. “But I chose to stay. Don’t demean that choice. I could have run—maybe I should have. But I stayed.”

My throat thickens, no words forming. Her unwavering loyalty wrenches me in ways I never predicted. I, who never believed in loyalty beyond raw power, now have a mortal who stands with me even though it might cost her life.

We remain locked in that half-embrace, neither wanting to move or break the silence. The catacombs press in, each corner reminiscent of a tomb. I can’t help but see it as an omen—this place of the dead where we hide from our pursuers, wrestling with an impossible fate.

At length, I gently release her, rising to my full height, ignoring the twinge in my ribs. She watches me, empathy warring with frustration in her expression. “What do we do next?” she asks, voice hushed.

I gather my chaotic energy, letting black flame swirl over my fingertips.

The illusions flicker ominously, draining my strength.

My tail flicks, an outward sign of my agitation.

“First, we search for an exit that leads beyond these tunnels. Then we keep moving. The monarchy’s hounds might not suspect we went deeper underground. We use that advantage.”

“And after that?” she presses. “We can’t just wander forever. We need a real plan.”