But I am not safe.
The wound in my side pulses with every step, sticky warmth spreading through the tattered remains of my dress. My legs tremble, but I force them to keep moving. If I falter, if I slow, we will not make it out of here alive.
I have seen Veylan fight, have witnessed the brutality he wields like an extension of himself, but even he is not invincible.
Velkiron will not let me go without a price.
The hall twists into a wider chamber, the walls narrowing like a throat waiting to swallow us whole.
We are not alone.
A dozen figures step from the darkness, blades gleaming beneath the eerie green glow of Velkiron’s torches. Their magic slithers along the stone, weaving insidious patterns in the air.
Traps.
They were waiting.
Veylan growls low in his throat, his grip on me tightening for a fraction of a second before he shoves me behind him.
“Stay close.”
The command is sharp, edged with something dangerous. Something that should terrify me.
But I do not cower.
Not anymore.
A figure steps forward. His robes billow like dying smoke, a dagger glinting in his hand. His lips curl, amusement flickering across his face.
“You are quite the nuisance, Dreadlord,” he muses. “And you, little songbird—” His gaze flickers to me, hungry, calculating. “Your voice is wasted on him. Do you even realize what you are?”
Veylan moves before I can react.
Steel flashes.
A wet, sickening sound.
The man’s body collapses, blood spilling across the stone in thick rivers.
The rest attack.
Veylan meets them head-on, his blade a blur of motion.
I can do nothing but watch.
He is merciless, unstoppable. Each strike is measured, calculated, his blade cleaving through bodies as though they are nothing more than paper.
But even he is outnumbered.
Magic hums in the air, a vile, putrid thing that sends shivers down my spine. They are using something forbidden.
I feel it.
It coils inside me, the wrongness of it pressing against something deep, hidden.
My skin burns.
The wound at my side throbs, but it is not pain.