36. Eira
36
EIRA
B lood and steel flash in the morning light as Grash's warning rings out across the battlefield. "More coming from the east!"
My blade drips crimson as I spin to see his massive form already turning to meet the new threat. The familiar weight of my knife steadies my racing heart.
Murok's braids whip through the air as he assesses the battlefield with those piercing blue eyes. Two dozen more dark elves emerge from the tree line, trying to flank our position.
The metallic tang of blood fills my nostrils as I duck under a wild swing, my blade finding home in an attacker's throat. They think their numbers will win this fight. They're wrong. We're winning this. We're actually-
The world stops.
Steel pierces into Dren's side in a spray of dark blood. The scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. But Dren - my quiet, lethal Dren - doesn't fall. His eyes flash with cold fury as he grips the protruding blade and rips it from his own flesh. Blood pours from the wound, but he keeps fighting, keeps killing, like death itself cannot touch him.
"Dren, stop!" My feet are already moving toward him, heart threatening to burst from my chest. I have to reach him, have to help him before-
Murok's iron grip closes around my wrist, yanking me back. His face is set in stone as he meets my desperate gaze. "We finish this," he says, voice brooking no argument.
"He's bleeding out!" I try to wrench free, but Murok holds firm.
"And he'll keep fighting until his last breath," Murok says. "Just like we all will."
Tears blur my vision as I watch Dren cut down another elf, his movements slower but no less deadly. "I can't lose him," I whisper. "I can't lose any of you."
"Then fight," Murok growls. "Fight with us, not for us."
I turn toward the advancing dark elves when a familiar laugh freezes the blood in my veins. Through the chaos of battle, I spot him - Dex, the pit master, his silver-white hair gleaming as he emerges from the group. The same cruel smile twists his lips as when he bought me, when he threw me to the warriors like meat to dogs.
My fingers go numb around my blade.
"The little human whore," Dex calls out, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Still spreading your legs for monsters, I see."
Before I can move, before I can even breathe, Grash charges past me with a roar that shakes the very ground. His massive form barrels through two dark elf guards without even flinching. The look in his eyes promises death.
"Grash, wait-" The words catch in my throat. Part of me wants to see Dex suffer, wants him to know the fear he inflicted on so many others.
But Grash doesn't hesitate. His blade flashes once, precise and brutal. Dex's eyes go wide as steel opens his throat. The pit master's hands clutch uselessly at the wound, dark blood spilling between his fingers. He tries to speak, but only manages a wet gurgle before collapsing.
Grash stands over him, watching with grim satisfaction as Dex drowns in his own blood. "That was for her," he growls.
The remaining dark elves surge forward, but we meet them as one. Murok's blade dances through the air, finding gaps in armor with lethal precision. Dren moves like a shadow despite his wound, each strike stealing another life. And I fight with renewed strength, because the man who once owned me lies dead at our feet.
When the last enemy falls, silence descends. The ground is soaked crimson and littered with dead bodies. My arms ache, my chest heaves with each breath, but we're alive. We've won.
"It's over," Murok says, wiping blood from his blade and sheathing it.
I look at Dex's corpse, at the fear forever frozen on his face, and feel a sense of peace in this moment. "Yes," I whisper. "It's finally over."
I turn back to Dren and my heart stops. He's on his knees, dark blood seeping between his fingers where they press against the wound in his side. The metallic scent fills my nostrils as I drop beside him, adding my hands over his to stem the flow.
"Stay with me," I beg, my voice cracking. His silver eyes meet mine, usually so sharp and alert, now clouded with pain.
"We... won," he rasps, trying to smile, but the effort makes him wince. His skin feels colder under my touch, his breathing shallow and uneven.
"Pack the wound tight," Grash barks from behind me. "We need to stop the bleeding now."
Murok works silently beside me, his hands steady as he presses cloth against the gash. But I can see the fear in his eyes, the slight tremor in his usually confident movements.
I press my lips to Dren's forehead, tasting salt and copper. His skin burns beneath my touch even as his body grows colder. I kiss his cheeks, his nose, anywhere I can reach, as if I could pour my own life force into him through these desperate touches.
When my lips find his, they're already turning blue. "You can't die," I whisper against them, tears falling freely now. "We’re supposed to share our future together."
His hand finds mine, weak but present. Through blood-stained lips, he says softly, "Guess I better live then."
I feel completely helpless as I watch his breathing become more labored, his eyes fluttering. "Don't you dare leave me," I say, my voice stronger now despite the tears streaming down my face.
I clutch Dren's hand tighter as Murok disappears into the forest, his braids whipping behind him as he searches for healing herbs. Dren's skin feels cold and clammy beneath my touch, his breathing shallow but steady after Murok's careful bandaging.
Grash's heavy footsteps echo behind me as he paces, his concern radiating off him in waves. "He's strong," he growls, more to himself than to me. "He'll make it."
I press my lips to Dren's knuckles, tasting copper. "Please stay with me," I whisper against his skin. His eyes flutter open at my touch, clouded with pain but still alert enough to find mine.
"Not... going anywhere," he manages, his voice rough but determined.
My heart clenches at the weakness in his usually steady tone. I've never seen him this vulnerable. The mighty shadow-warrior reduced to labored breaths and trembling fingers.
"You better not," I say, trying to keep my voice light despite the fear crushing my chest. "We have too much left to do together."
His lips twitch. "Like what?"
"Like showing me how you move so silently. Like teaching me all your secrets." I stroke his face, memorizing every line and shadow. "Like loving me for the rest of our lives."
His hand tightens around mine, strength returning to his grip. Color slowly seeps back into his face, his breathing growing stronger with each passing moment.
When Murok returns with his herbs, Dren is already sitting up straighter, his eyes clearer. The wound still looks angry and red, but the bleeding has stopped completely.
"Impossible," Murok breathes, dropping to his knees beside us to check the bandages.
But I don't care about possible or impossible. I only care that Dren's skin is warming beneath my touch, that his pulse beats steady and strong against my fingers.
I capture Dren's lips with mine, feeling the warmth returning to his skin. His hand cups the back of my neck with that familiar gentleness that always makes my heart flutter. Even wounded, he touches me like I'm precious, like I'm something worth protecting.
"I thought I was losing you," I whisper against his mouth, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. His eyes lock with mine, usually so guarded, now brimming with emotion.
"When I saw you hurting and scared," he says, voice rough but steady, "I knew I had to stay. I couldn't bear seeing you in pain." His thumb brushes away a tear I didn't know had fallen. "You give me something to live for, Eira. And I want to prove my love to you every day of our lives."