Page 41

VALENTINA

A faint breeze filters through the ancient pines, carrying the tang of sap and damp moss.

I inhale slowly, hoping the crisp air will clear the worry fogging my thoughts.

After days of stumbling through the catacombs and these shadowy forests, Malphas and I finally found a pocket of calm—a small clearing ringed by towering trees, their branches forming a canopy that lets through dappled sunlight.

It’s not perfect shelter; the monarchy could still track us if they tried.

But for a few precious hours, I can inhale without tasting blood and fear.

The morning sun is weak, caught in the haze that clings to this place.

My boots crunch over fallen needles as I circle the clearing, scanning for threats.

My ribs still protest each movement, bruised from the last time we clashed with the dark elf soldiers in those cursed catacombs.

Every step feels like I’m hauling a lead weight behind my lungs.

I can’t keep going like this forever. But I also can’t surrender.

Malphas stands by a rocky outcrop at the clearing’s edge, broad shoulders tense.

He’s imposing even in exhaustion, eight feet of ebon muscle, horns curved in brutal arcs.

The broken one near the tip is a permanent reminder of all he’s endured.

His wings droop against his back, battered from repeated scrapes with the monarchy’s arcane attacks.

He pretends not to notice me watching, but I see the subtle clench of his claws whenever the vow tightens around his heart. Even from a distance, I sense his pain.

A swirl of guilt undercuts my exhaustion.

I am the reason Malphas fights the monarchy at every turn.

I carry the means to unbind him from their control, but that solution demands my life as payment.

Knowing that shakes me to the core. For days, I’ve wallowed in an inner war, caught between an unthinkable sacrifice and a desperate clinging to my own survival.

Each night, nightmares wrack me, featuring my body lying lifeless on a ritual altar while Malphas roars his helpless fury.

But something changes in me this morning.

A fragile shift, like a tiny ember flickering in the ashes.

Even though I ache, even though fate looms with a cruel ultimatum, I realize I won’t let them—the monarchy, the prophecy, even Malphas’s vow—decide my destiny.

If there’s a path to unbind him without demanding my life, I vow I’ll tear the world apart to find it.

The monarchy has stolen enough from both of us.

I stride across the clearing to Malphas, ignoring the twinges in my side. “We can’t keep drifting,” I say, voice hushed so it doesn’t echo among the trunks. “If we keep hiding, the monarchy will eventually corner us. The vow will wear you down, or we’ll run out of resources. We need a real plan.”

He glances at me, molten eyes dulled by fatigue. “I know,” he admits in a gravelly murmur. “But every time we risk a direct confrontation, we lose another piece of ourselves. My fortress is gone, your illusions are shaky at best?—”

A wry smile touches my lips, though sadness lingers behind it.

“They were never truly mine. You shaped them around me. But I see your point.” I draw a deep breath, clenching my fists.

“We tried running. We tried skulking through catacombs. None of it gets us closer to an answer. I can’t watch you suffer the vow’s torment any longer, Malphas.

And I won’t die for some prophecy that might be twisted. Not if I can help it.”

He tenses, turning fully to face me, horns catching a stray sunbeam that highlights the scarred ridges. “You’re speaking as if you have an alternative. But we’ve found none.” The bitterness in his tone slashes at me.

In that moment, I realize how deeply his despair runs—he sees no other path except me dying or him remaining a slave to the monarchy.

My chest squeezes painfully, but a fierce determination flares.

“I’m done letting them define our choices,” I say, letting the anger sharpen my voice.

“We might not have discovered a perfect solution, but we haven’t confronted them on our terms yet. We always end up running.”

He exhales, frowning. “What does that mean? A suicidal attack on their capital? You’ve seen what they did to my fortress. We’ll be outnumbered a hundred to one.”

I shudder at the memory of those black-clad soldiers storming the courtyard, but I refuse to back down.

“Not a blind charge,” I correct. “Something more deliberate. If we’re going to break the vow, we do it in a way that’s advantageous to us.

We lure them to a place where we control the environment, maybe gather allies if possible.

We perform the unbinding ritual our way.

” My heart thumps, fear nibbling at me from within.

“I refuse to let them kill me or you. The prophecy might say ‘life for life,’ but maybe I can warp that outcome. I can at least try.”

He stares at me, incredulity flickering in his slitted pupils. “You sound half-mad. You read the archivist’s text. The old runes make it clear—a child of the Abyssborn must surrender her essence to sever a demon’s oath. That’s no trifling matter we can just tweak.”

I shrug, heat coursing under my skin. “Then call me crazy, but I believe ancient magic can be bent. Maybe I can pour my power into the vow but keep my life. Maybe I can channel the monarchy’s own illusions to offset the cost.” My confidence wavers, yet I press on.

“Or maybe we find a clever way to interpret ‘life for life.’ Something that satisfies the ritual enough to break the vow without truly killing me. The monarchy has twisted words for centuries. Why can’t we? ”

A faint spark of interest lights Malphas’s eyes, quickly doused by caution. “You risk losing everything on a gamble. If it fails, I gain freedom for a heartbeat, then drown in regret as you die.”

My throat tightens. “And if we do nothing, you remain bound and both of us eventually fall under the monarchy’s blade. They’ll never stop. This new plan—our plan—is worth the risk.”

He clenches his jaw, muscles rippling across his broad shoulders. His wings quiver, etched with scars from recent skirmishes. “Why are you so determined to save me now, after I dragged you into this hell?”

My chest aches at the vulnerability lurking behind his anger.

“You didn’t drag me alone. I walked into it with my eyes open.

Yes, we had rough beginnings, but we’ve fought side by side.

We’ve bled for each other. If I can help you break free from that vow without losing myself in the process, then I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen. ”

He studies me in silence, conflict twisting his features. Then he nods, resigned but also sparked with a faint hope. “Fine,” he says, voice low. “We do it your way. But if it comes to the final moment, and the prophecy demands your life, I’ll stop you. I won’t watch you die for me.”

A small, tight smile forms on my lips. “We’ll see who can be more stubborn.”

The hush that follows is tense but brimming with purpose. We exchange a glance—an unspoken accord—and I feel that ember of determination in my heart flare into something real. No more catacombs, no more fleeing. We break the vow on our terms.

“First,” I say, “we need a plan to draw them out. The monarchy hunts us, but we can choose the battlefield, can’t we?”

Malphas inclines his head, considering. “Yes. If we send a loud enough message, they’ll converge, bringing their best soldiers and sorcerers. If we can funnel them somewhere with wards of our making… but we lost my fortress, and illusions alone might not suffice.”

I knead my lower lip, thinking hard. “There are other old strongholds across Protheka. Some are rumored to be built on Wildsponts—places where arcane energy runs rampant. If I could harness that energy, perhaps I can amplify the unbinding ritual. Enough to overshadow the fatal cost.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Harness a Wildspont? Even I’m wary of those primal energies. They spawn monstrous creatures, twist reality. We’d risk unleashing horrors.”

“Better to fight horrors we choose,” I counter. “We’re already living a nightmare, Malphas. If a Wildspont’s power can help me manipulate the vow’s demand, I’ll brave it.”

He exhales, nodding slowly. “Then we’ll need to locate one. I know rumors about the Wildspont deep in the Runa Marshes to the west, an overgrown ruin said to be older than the monarchy itself. Might be crawling with savage beasts, but it’s a lead.”

A nervous tingle skitters down my spine. “Then that’s where we go. We lure the monarchy there, set our own wards, and attempt the ritual. If the prophecy insists on blood, we’ll channel the Wildspont’s energy to feed that demand. With luck, it’ll accept the magic instead of my life.”

He gives a short laugh, humorless but not dismissive. “You make it sound almost feasible. I admire your audacity, mortal.”

Warmth and exasperation coil in my chest. Even now, he labels me mortal, but the affection beneath the word is undeniable. “We have little to lose. Let’s embrace the insanity.”

A hush settles again, the forest still around us. Outside the clearing, a crow caws, the sound jarring. Malphas turns, scanning the perimeter. He bristles. “We can’t linger long. The monarchy’s scouts might be close.”

I nod, heart pounding with renewed urgency. “We’ll rest for an hour, gather our strength. Then head west. The Runa Marshes are days away. We’ll need every ounce of grit we can muster.”

He meets my gaze, intensity swirling in his eyes. “And if along the way we discover an alternative—some relic or sorcerer who can break the vow without risking you… I won’t hesitate to pivot.”

Hope sparks in my chest. “Agreed. We keep every option open.”