The Elf was determined to drag him away from the Fort.

Amidst the near-absolute darkness, he walked close behind Venier, pressing him onward through the narrow subterranean passages. In one fleeting moment, Nordën had pulled him into the hidden galleries and saved his life. Now he fought the urge to reach out as Venier limped ahead.

Venier had envisioned but one chance to defeat the monster he had battled. He would have used all his explosives at once, shoving the orbs deep down the Winged's throat once he drew close enough. It would have cost him his arm, but it would have ended the enemy's life and bought the Elf time to retrieve the object that Fort Fieri had guarded so fiercely until now.

“Ven, what were you thinking?” The Elf could not mask his frustration. “That was a Winged! A massive, horrendous, bloodthirsty Winged!”

Venier halted. Turning with a hardened expression, he faced the blond Elf. Though he could not see him in the pitch-black tunnel, he knew Nordën could see him perfectly.

“And that was the passageway to the chamber! You couldn’t just...”

“No, I couldn’t, but dying now is just stupid, you idiot! Do you have any idea what's happening above us?” the blond Elf countered. “An attack of this magnitude... You might have slain one Winged, Ven, but what of the rest of their army? What would you do then? Dying a pointless death isn't exactly a wise creed to live by.”

In truth, nothing could dull the bitter sting of defeat. To flee the battle felt humiliating; abandoning his post was a coward's act. He firmly disagreed with Nordën, but the Elf's words carried a heavy truth. Had he acted so recklessly against the Winged, he risked dying before ever leaving the Fort with the box.

“It is not the end of the world.” The Elf clapped a hand upon Venier's shoulder and mocked with a soft laugh, “Yet.”

The redhead smacked Nordën's hand away.

“Where is your sense of humor, Ven?” the Elf murmured. “Admit it. Much as your Human pride may be wounded, we must look at this coldly and agree it was a lost battle! I am no coward, but we stand a far greater chance of reclaiming the box with a well-laid plan.”

Alas, the Elf's proposed path was the only defense they would have before the High Command of Fieri.

His foul mood deepening as the rush of battle drained from his body, Venier hissed as a sharp burning flared in his abdomen. It was then he realized his garments were soaked in blood, seeping from the wound the Winged had dealt him.

“Is it bad?” Nordën asked, concern lacing his voice.

Venier shook his head and pressed on, resuming the path that would lead them beyond the bounds of the Fort, far from the object he had sworn to protect.

***

It was another night he would spend without his master nearby. He had grown used to going for weeks without Arkros's presence when he departed to train the beginners or to ride with the army.

While trying to sleep, tangled in the nest's blanket amidst his master's scent, Taavi recalled Mirna's harsh words from days prior. He chided himself for brooding and for failing to seek word of the birth. He was a fool to fret, yet he wished to know how the Elf fared after bringing Raskin's child into the world.

He drew a deep breath, shutting his eyes and wishing the urge to see the baby would fade away too.

His eyes flew wide when a hand suddenly clamped over his mouth.

“Hello, slave,” a voice murmured, warm breath brushing against the half-Elf's ear. “I thought you’d like to know your little friend met her end. She didn't survive the birth, but she fulfilled her purpose well enough.”

Raskin jerked him around roughly, forcing Taavi to face him and meet his gaze. Even in the gloom of the nesting chamber, he saw the sadistic gleam sparkling in the Winged's eyes as his hand closed around his throat and squeezed. Either Raskin had gone mad, or he had forgotten whose property Taavi was.

“Thanks to the birth of my child, I wasn't summoned for the mission, and I finally have the chance to do us both a great favor.”

Taavi gripped the Winged's wrist, struggling to pry it from his neck. He gasped, clawing for air. Raskin smiled, the white of his teeth glinting— a twisted mirror of the madness carved into the creature's face.

“To kill you here and now would be far too easy... and where's the fun in that? No, I have a much better plan for you.”

Taavi couldn't grasp his meaning, even as he fought to think past his terror. His mind clouded, fading alongside the thinning air in his lungs and his tear-blurred vision.

All ceased, and darkness embraced him entirely before the smile of his tormentor.

***

Dawn was breaking over Fieri. The dark clouds that had lingered throughout the night were giving way to a tentative sun — one that nonetheless promised to warm the Fort's scarred pillars.

The bodies of Human soldiers were scattered everywhere—corpses the Wingeds couldn't be bothered to count. Arkros’s warriors scoured corridors, chambers, and antechambers. Every corner was upended until, deep within a tiny room, they found what they had come for.

Arkros gazed curiously at the box in his hand as he strode across the courtyard.

“A little box?” Volkyan stepped closer to his father.

“We went through all that trouble for this?” Seikyan asked, taking his place beside his twin.

For this. For this very object they had fought, shattered the Fort's defenses, and slaughtered Human soldiers, Arkros thought. Despite looking like a worthless piece of black crystal, it mattered greatly to the Lords. It was easy to assume it was an enchanted item, yet there was no way to be certain, especially within the territory of Tharsa.

Arkros intended to investigate the box thoroughly once they returned to Aterion.

“Give the order to regroup. We’re leaving,” he commanded his sons. “ Our fun here is done.”

***

Taavi slowly drifted back to consciousness. His throat was parched, and a sharp pull rippled through his neck as he tried to turn it.

He still felt pain; he could still breathe...

He was still alive.

Taavi drew a deep breath and opened his blue eyes, blinking a few times, trying to clear away the memories of Raskin strangling him. He tried to reconcile them with the fact that he was now staring at a yellowish-white ceiling—or rather, after a moment of studying the surface, he realized it wasn't a ceiling at all, but a canvas awning shielding him from the blazing sun.

“Hello, Orie,” a male voice greeted.

Taavi bolted upright in alarm.

He found himself face-to-face with a man. A dark-skinned Human. He had just stepped into the tent and wore a cordial smile. Taavi quickly lowered his gaze, struggling to piece the situation together.

He was outside Aterion, stripped of Arkros's protection, and alone with a Human.

“My name is not Orie, sir,” he corrected, noticing the thick greenish blanket covering the sandy floor.

“I found you passed out last night. I didn't know what to call you.” The dark-skinned man sat down beside him. “I took the liberty of inventing one. What is your name?”

“Taavi, sir.”

“Sir? Don't call me sir,” he requested, wrinkling his nose. “I’m Khedri.”

“Yes, Sir Khedri.” Taavi nodded.

A hand gently lifted his chin, forcing him to meet the olive-green eyes before him.

“Just Khedri,” he corrected, letting his fingers slide away.

Khedri was striking, beginning with the hue of his eyes, which stood in vivid contrast to his deep, sun-darkened skin. His masculine features were framed by short, curling locks of dark brown hair and a neatly kept goatee.

“I’m a merchant. I was making my way across the desert when I found you face-down on a dune.”

Desert?!

Amidst the revelation, he noticed Khedri glance at the shackles upon his wrists.

“How did you end up in Salrya? Are you running away?”

A cold dread seized the pit of his stomach, despite the stifling heat trapped within the tent.

Raskin hadn't killed him. He had cast him out into the heart of the Salrya Desert and... simply left? Why? What could the Winged possibly want with that?

Raskin surely expected Arkros to believe he had fled. Under Aterion's laws, the fate of a fugitive slave was to be hunted down, and once caught, death was the mandatory punishment demanded to wash away the insult and punish disobedience.

He needed to return before Arkros finished his mission. But how could he find the way back? How? He did not even know in which direction Aterion lay...

“It was a trap,” he said, looking away once more to scan his surroundings. “I must go back. My master will kill me if he discovers I am out of Aterion.”

“If what they say about those people is true, he really will kill you,” Khedri noted. “Why would you want to return when you are free?”

It would have been a fair question; had it not been directed at a half-breed like him.

“It is my duty, sir.”

“Khedri. Call me Khedri,” the merchant corrected more emphatically. “You are a strange boy. Any slave would rejoice at a chance like this, yet you wish to return to that nest of killers?”

Taavi kept silent, wishing the man would stop probing into his motives.

“Well, if that is truly what you want, I can help you find your way out of the desert toward Aterion,” Khedri offered, catching Taavi off guard.

“Why?”

“What?” The merchant looked confused.

“Why do you want to help me?”

Khedri laughed. It was a clear, unburdened laugh, devoid of mockery or scorn.

“Well, don't you want my help?”

“I am a hybrid,” he murmured. “People do not... they do not help my kind.”

Khedri laughed louder.

“You truly are strange.” He stood, held out a hand, and with an open smile, urged him on. “Come.”

Taavi spent a few moments weighing the offer, battling his own misgivings.

Still, he was utterly alone, and his desperation to return to Aterion burned strong. Without anyone to guide him through the desert, without support, he would surely die.

And he did not want to die.

Planting a hand on the ground, he stood up on his own, ignoring Khedri’s outstretched hand. Once on his feet, he saw the merchant pull back his friendly gesture, looking somewhat awkward.

Brusque as it seemed, that was Taavi’s way of saying he accepted the help, but refused to trust him. It was the most he could offer, or force himself to admit at the moment.