Page 23

23

XIRATH

T he trail is fresh, woven into the jungle like a wound that has yet to clot. Broken branches, uneven footprints pressed into damp soil, the faintest shimmer of blood where a body had dragged against the undergrowth.

The dark elves had taken her this way.

A slow breath steadies my grip on the hilt of my blade, claws flexing around the worn leather. Killing them will not be enough.

They need to suffer.

The hunt begins with silence. Not mine, the jungle’s. The usual calls of nocturnal creatures have faded, as if the world itself waits, holding its breath in quiet anticipation.

The stench of magic lingers, something old and rotted, woven through the fabric of the night. Dark elf sorcery, designed to deceive, to shroud.

They think they can hide.

Fools.

A shadow shifts ahead, movement barely perceptible against the moonlit branches. The familiar outline of an elven figure glides through the trees, his back to me, hands resting lightly against the hilt of his twin daggers. He moves with confidence, with ease, too unaware of the death following in his wake.

One strike is all it takes.

The snap of his spine reverberates through my palm as I wrench his body backward, claws slicing deep through the sinew of his throat. Blood sprays in a fine arc, hot against my forearm. His body crumples before he can make a sound, a lifeless heap swallowed by the earth.

The jungle absorbs his death without protest.

More are ahead. I can feel them, sense their presence threading through the trees. The dull murmur of voices drifts on the wind, careless, unguarded.

They are speaking of her.

The leader’s voice stands out, low and sharp, laced with amusement. “She ran fast, I’ll give her that.” A chuckle follows. “But it’s always more fun when they try.”

My muscles coil.

Another voice, more derisive. “Pity the naga didn’t come. Guess she wasn’t worth much after all.”

Idiots.

I came.

A branch snaps beneath my weight as I step forward, allowing them to hear. The voices cease.

Tension coils through the clearing, thick and sudden. The leader’s shadow shifts, eyes narrowing toward the darkened trees. They sense something now. Too late.

The first of them turns.

His dagger never makes it from its sheath.

My claws rip through his side, parting ribs as if they were nothing more than wet parchment. The gasp that leaves him is brief, choked off by the blood that floods his lungs before he hits the ground.

The others move, but they're slow.

Steel sings through the night as my blade finds its mark, carving through flesh and tendon with merciless precision.

One staggers backward, staring at me, disbelief widening his crimson eyes. He had not expected this. Not so soon. Not like this.

His lips part, a spell, a curse, something desperate.

My tail snaps forward, slamming him against a tree with a sickening crunch.

His body slides to the ground, movement stuttering, eyes vacant.

The leader remains standing, blood splattered across his armor, hands lifted, magic flickering between his fingertips.

Amusement lingers in his expression, but it is forced. Thin.

"You’re quicker than I thought,” he muses, voice lilting between curiosity and calculation. “She must mean something, for you to come this far.”

My blade angles lower, but the promise of violence thrums beneath my skin.

He steps closer, cautiously. “A human,” he continues, head tilting. “Is she worth the war you’re about to start?”

The muscles in my jaw tighten. It was never about worth.

She is mine.

The dark elf sees the answer before I speak it.

His magic surges, a last, desperate attempt.

The blade in my hand finds his throat before the spell leaves his lips.

A single stroke silences him.

His body slumps forward, head lolling at an unnatural angle, red soaking the ground beneath him.

Silence reigns once more.

The bodies around me remain motionless, limbs twisted, expressions frozen in disbelief. None of them had truly thought this would happen.

They had stolen what was mine.

I had come for them.

Blood drips from my fingers, slow, warm. The jungle swallows the sound, as if satisfied by the offering.

A sharp gust of wind shifts the leaves overhead, stirring the unnatural quiet.

She is near.

The smell of her struggle lingers. The chase had ended somewhere ahead.

The hunt is not over.

Not until she is back where she belongs.