Page 9

MALPHAS

I stand in the crumbling archway of what used to be a storage cellar, winded from the fight against the summoning wards.

My shoulders burn, the molten lines across my ebony skin pulsing with residual magic.

Each breath vibrates against the collar of invisible, binding power I loathe.

Rubble blocks the corridor behind us; dust still drifts in faint clouds, illuminated by the scattered torches lying broken on the ground.

Valentina stands to my right, arms crossed in a bid for calm, even though I sense her heart hammering.

The trembling of her slender frame betrays her exhaustion.

Her hair, dark and matted with debris, grazes her cheeks.

There’s a bruise darkening near her temple, courtesy of the chaos that erupted in the ritual chamber.

My choice to spare her stunned everyone present, including me.

Fresh fury licks at the edges of my thoughts, reminding me of how close I was to succumbing to the contract’s demands.

By every right, I should have torn her apart under the King’s decree.

Yet the moment I laid eyes on her, a sickening churn twisted my gut—something that felt like a warning.

Slaughtering her didn’t sit right, and I can’t explain why.

She glances toward me, silver eyes uneasy but determined.

For a human, she has an impressive resilience, standing her ground even while her knees threaten to buckle.

I shift, dropping my gaze to the pile of stones that once blocked our escape path.

I’d blasted the exit open to get us away from the remains of the summoning dais, but the cost weighs on my chest. The contract’s magic still gnaws at me, furious that I defied my so-called masters.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the battered membranes of my wings protest. My horns throb with residual energy, the broken tip sending sharp spikes of pain through my skull.

I want to blame all of this on a single reason—some glitch in the summoning wards or a miscast incantation.

But that would be a lie. I chose not to kill her.

And I’m still making that choice, despite every screaming instinct demanding I fulfill my side of the pact.

She steps forward, arms dropping to her sides. “Where are we going?” she asks, voice thick with fatigue.

I let out a low growl, not directed at her but at the impossibility of the situation.

“Far from this cursed palace,” I say, my tone curt.

“If they corner us again, they’ll bring enough soldiers and wards to ensure I have no chance to resist.” It’s the truth.

Once they realize I’ve rebelled, they’ll mobilize the entire fortress to subdue me—and by extension, her.

She nods, a lock of dark hair falling over her eyes. Dust coats her cheeks, highlighting the fine lines of tension around her mouth. I recall how she faced me, bound and bruised, and refused to cower. It stirred something that still troubles me.

I direct my attention down the winding passage that leads toward an external courtyard. The subterranean corridors of this fortress are a labyrinth, but I’ve prowled them often enough to memorize certain hidden routes. Reaching them without detection is another matter entirely.

“Stay close,” I mutter, raising a clawed hand to gesture her forward.

Together, we move through the shadowy path.

I can see easily in the dim light, but I notice she squints, relying on the faint glow from the crystals embedded in the walls.

We pass multiple iron-banded doors, some locked tight, others yawning open to reveal dusty storerooms. A damp chill seeps from the floors, suggesting we’re beneath the waterline of the harbor.

Somewhere above us, the city hums with tension.

No doubt the commotion from the failed sacrifice has alerted half the watch.

The corridor twists, sloping gently upward. My tail sways behind me, the tip scraping across the rough stone. I try to keep the chain of my contract quiet, but a persistent headache pulses where the magic tightens around my soul. I can’t wait to be out of these walls.

At a turn in the passage, Valentina stumbles.

Instinct compels me to catch her arm. Her skin is clammy under my touch, a stark contrast to my feverish warmth.

She mumbles a thanks, though I suspect pride bristles beneath her gratitude.

Nothing about her suggests subservience—she’s like a hound cornered by wolves, constantly poised to fight back.

We continue until the passage ends at an old maintenance door.

The wood is warped, half-rotted from disuse, and a battered chain holds it shut.

I slash the metal chain with one swipe of my claws, then shoulder the door open.

Cold night air rushes in, smelling of salt and rotting fish from the canals.

We emerge into a cramped courtyard behind the fortress, enclosed on three sides by looming walls.

Cracked flagstones litter the ground. An ancient fountain stands at the center, water trickling from a broken spout.

The distant flicker of torches betrays the presence of patrolling guards along the upper ramparts.

I tilt my head, listening for footfalls. The immediate area seems clear.

Valentina glances around, hugging herself. “Won’t they search here?”

“Yes,” I reply shortly, scanning the heights.

“But I have an exit in mind.” My gaze settles on a cluster of stacked crates near a corner of the courtyard, leading to a half-collapsed wall.

I recall once slipping through there on an earlier infiltration mission.

If it’s still passable, it might grant us access to a back street that feeds into the city’s mid-tier.

I gesture for her to follow. She does, grim determination carved in her posture.

My wings ache as I keep them tight against my back.

Part of me yearns to spread them wide and leap over the fortress’s perimeter in one smooth glide.

But that would expose us instantly to archers or sorcerers stationed on the towers.

Even if I survived, a single arrow laced with the right magical curse could cripple me mid-flight.

We cross the courtyard, footsteps muffled on the moss-grown tiles. My hearing picks up faint shouts echoing from the fortress interior. Likely the priests or soldiers have regained consciousness and discovered our absence. We’re running out of time.

I vault over the crates, ignoring the protest of my battered muscles, then reach down to help Valentina up.

Her jaw sets in silent resolve, and she scrambles up with a grunt.

Once perched atop the pile, we see the cracked mortar of the adjacent wall.

A gap wide enough for a slender figure to squeeze through awaits near the upper edge.

With a careful push, I dislodge a few loose stones.

The opening widens, dust billowing. She maneuvers her body through the gap, cursing softly when her arm scrapes against the rough surface.

I follow, forcing my broader frame through with some difficulty.

My horns catch momentarily, but I twist sideways to get them free, the broken tip scraping off more stone.

We tumble onto the other side, landing in a narrow alley behind the fortress.

The city’s mid-tier lies beyond, a warren of twisting lanes, old merchant houses, and shuttered shops.

Flickering lamplight illuminates the junction ahead.

It’s quiet—too quiet for this hour, which suggests that word of trouble may have reached these streets.

Valentina’s breath rasps. “Where now?”

I pause, letting my demonic senses roam the area.

My heightened perception picks up the scent of smoldering pitch from the harbor, the faint tang of sewage from Lowtown, and the perfume of countless arcane crystals powering the city’s magical infrastructure.

I sift through it all, seeking the path of least resistance.

“There’s a series of catwalks near the trade district,” I say at last, voice low. “We can move across the rooftops if we reach them. The elves rarely patrol above ground level.”

She nods, though I sense her caution. My refusal to kill her hasn’t exactly made me trustworthy in her eyes.

But I press forward, leading us down a back alley that weaves between leaning tenements.

The architecture in this section of Vhoig is a jumbled mix—once-grand houses overshadowed by newer additions slapped on top of old foundations. A labyrinth.

As we walk, pain throbs at the back of my skull. The contract’s backlash has yet to subside, an ever-present reminder that I’ve flouted the King’s will. I clench my teeth, ignoring the tight band around my chest.

Every few steps, I glimpse Valentina’s sidelong glances.

She’s wary, likely wondering why I haven’t ripped out her spine.

Honestly, I question it too. Some primal instinct screams that she’s important, though I can’t articulate how or why.

It’s not pity—I’ve been forced to murder enough humans that I’ve grown numb to their suffering.

Perhaps it’s curiosity. Perhaps it’s the faint tingle of potent magic in her presence, an unexplainable hum that sets my skin alight.

Eventually, the alley opens onto a modest plaza, ringed by shuttered stalls.

A battered statue of a dark elf warrior stands in the center, chipped from years of neglect.

It’s bizarrely quiet here, with only the distant hum of city life.

We stop in the shadows of a boarded-up storefront.

My wings twitch, and I allow myself a moment to rest.

Valentina plants her hands on her hips. “Are you going to tell me why you did that?” she blurts, voice hushed. “You defied your own contract, from what I can tell. That ritual was meant to seal your bond with the elves, right?”

My mouth twists. “Yes,” I say simply. “And it is not a topic I relish discussing.”