4. Darak
4
DARAK
I roll my shoulder, wincing at the sharp twinge. The shadow beast—or what I thought was a beast—left its mark, even if not the way I expected. The leather of my armor creaks as I stretch, checking for other injuries.
Behind us, padded footsteps and a rumbling purr follow in our wake. The small shadow-feline trots after Lirien like a devoted pet, its dark fur rippling with each graceful movement.
"Made yourself a friend, I see."
"Jealous?" Lirien glances over her shoulder, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
I scoff, but the memory of that moment floods back unbidden. When she faced down the creature, something... shifted. The bond between us had surged with warmth, wrapping around my senses like a blanket fresh from summer sun. Comfort. Peace. Everything she'd projected at the beast had washed over me too.
"That thing could have killed you." The words come out harsher than intended.
"But it didn't." She reaches down to scratch behind the feline's ears. "Sometimes strength isn't about how hard you can swing a sword."
My jaw clenches. She's right, and that irritates me more than it should. Just like this nagging desire to feel that warmth again, to let the bond fill with her magic and wash away decades of battle-worn edges.
"The bond," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "It felt different when you were... doing whatever you did."
"Did it?" Her tone is light, but there's a weight to her gaze when she looks at me. "I hadn't noticed."
Liar. But I let it pass, focusing instead on scanning the twisted trees ahead. Anything to avoid dwelling on how much I want to chase that feeling again.
The feline chirps, butting its head against Lirien's leg, and I push down a surge of irrational jealousy. This is ridiculous. I'm a warrior, not some magic-starved child seeking comfort.
But the memory of that warmth lingers, taunting me with what I'm missing.
What I've been missing.
A crumbling stone structure looms ahead, its partial roof promising shelter from the increasing chill. My skin prickles with an unmistakable sensation. "Is that your magic I'm sensing?"
Lirien shakes her head, silver hair catching the dying light. "No, but you're not wrong about the magic. Old places like this hold onto power, like wet clothes hold water." She runs her fingers along the weathered stone. "Seems this old shrine's been soaking it in for centuries."
I gather fallen branches while she clears a space near the intact portion of the wall. The shadow-feline curls up in a corner, watching us with gleaming eyes.
"So." I arrange the wood as she conjures flames with a flick of her wrist. "Were you made this way? A Purna?"
"We're born, not made." She settles cross-legged by the fire, her face softening in the warm light. "Though many never know what they are. Most live their whole lives thinking they're just... lucky. Or cursed, depending on how it manifests."
"And you?"
"My mother was Purna. We lived in the mountains of Prazh, in a coven." She traces patterns in the dirt with a stick. "Only women can channel the magic. Nature's way of evening the scales, I suppose."
"Evening the scales?"
"Look around you, Darak. What do you see in the towns we pass? Women cowering from drunk husbands. Girls sold off like cattle." Her voice hardens. "At least Purna have power. Real power. No man can force us to be less than what we are."
The bitterness in her tone stirs something in me – recognition, maybe. Or understanding. The fire crackles between us, and I find myself wanting to hear more.
"And is that how you use your power?" I ask, watching the shadows dance across her face. "To balance the scales?"
Lirien's fingers still their tracing in the dirt. "I try. Though perhaps not as much as I should." Her eyes meet mine, that unsettling green catching the firelight. "What about you, Darak? What do you do to balance the scales?"
The question hits like a blade between ribs. My jaw tightens as memories surface—villages burning, children crying, the endless march of war. I cross my arms and lean back against the broken pillar, the rough stone digging into my shoulder blades.
"Hmph."
The shadow-feline stretches and yawns, showing needle-sharp teeth. Lirien reaches beneath her robes, the fabric rustling as she pulls out a worn leather satchel. The smell hits me before I see it—bread. She unwraps it from its cheesecloth binding, tears off a generous piece, and extends it toward me.
The simple gesture somehow makes the bond between us pulse with... something. Not the earlier warmth, but an echo of it. An offering that goes beyond mere sustenance.
I turn my head away from the offered bread, my pride burning hotter than the campfire. The gesture feels too intimate, too much like acceptance of this whole cursed situation.
The bread hits my chest and tumbles into my lap.
"You're impossible," Lirien says, running her fingers through her silver hair. "Where exactly were you before I summoned you that made you such an insufferable ass?"
My fingers curl into fists. "I was in the middle of a battle. My men needed me, and now they're probably dead because of your ignorant meddling."
The firelight catches the fresh scar on her cheek – the one I gave her – as her expression hardens. "I already apologized for that. What more do you want from me?"
The genuine hurt in her voice sends an unwelcome pang through my chest. Guilt. Damn this bond making me feel things I don't want to feel. I pick up the bread, tearing off a chunk with more force than necessary. The crust is still warm, probably spelled to stay fresh.
"What I want," I say between bites, "is to understand how someone with so much power can't even defend herself properly. What good is all that magic if you can't use it when it matters?"
The shadow-feline's ears flatten against its head, picking up on the rising tension. The bond between us pulses with something sharp and defensive – Lirien's anger, no doubt.
"It's not my fault I'm not an arrogant warrior," she shoots back. "I've been on my own, no one taught me to use my powers. No one trained me to fight."
I rise to my feet, brushing bread crumbs from my leather armor. "Then we fix that. Now."
"What?" Lirien's eyes widen.
I reach down, pulling the slim dagger from my boot. The firelight catches its edge as I flip it, offering her the hilt. "First lesson – never hesitate."
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine. The bond sparks between us, and I step back quickly.
"Spread your feet wider. Like this." I demonstrate the stance. "Your center of gravity needs to be lower."
Lirien mimics my position, but her robes tangle around her legs. She huffs in frustration, hitching them up to her knees. The flash of creamy skin makes my throat tight.
"Here." I move behind her, adjusting her shoulders. Her silver hair tickles my chin, carrying the scent of herbs and something wild. "Keep your arm close to your body when you block. Like this."
I guide her arm through the motion, my chest pressed against her back. The bond hums with awareness, making my skin prickle.
"Now pivot." My hands settle on her hips, turning her. "Use your attacker's momentum against them."
"Like this?" She spins, the dagger flashing up. I catch her wrist just before the blade reaches my throat.
"Better." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "But your grip is wrong."
I slide my fingers over hers, repositioning them on the hilt. The bond tingles with each point of contact, sending waves of warmth through my body. Her breath catches.
"Again," I say, stepping back before the sensation overwhelms me. "This time, faster."
She attacks, and I deflect, our bodies moving in a deadly dance. With each pass, she gets closer. The bond thrums between us, amplifying every sensation until I can barely think straight.
The dagger slices through empty air as I sidestep Lirien's attack. She's learning fast – too fast. Her next strike comes closer, and I catch her wrist, using her momentum to spin her around. The motion brings her back flush against my chest, my arm crossed over hers, pinning the blade between us.
"Better." My breath stirs the silver strands by her ear. "But you're still telegraphing your moves."
Lirien turns her head, looking back at me over her shoulder. The firelight catches the delicate curve of her jaw, the fresh scar on her cheek. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and the bond pulses with each breath, sending waves of heat through my body.
My gaze drops to her parted lips. They're flushed from exertion, full and impossibly soft-looking. The urge to trace them with my thumb, to learn their texture, hits me with physical force. The bond between us thrums with awareness, and I feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingers where they circle her wrist.
"Am I?" Her voice comes out breathy, barely above a whisper. The words brush across my skin like a caress.
The feline chirps from its corner, breaking the moment. I step back, my heart pounding harder than it should from such simple exercise.
Focus , I remind myself. It's her fault you're here. Now she's just supposed to get you home.
Not do whatever that was.