Epilogue
Thorn
Thorn flexed his fingers absently, the movement stiff.
The healers had exhausted all options, poured every ounce of alchemical knowledge into mending the ruined flesh, but even the strongest salves and elixirs were unable to fully reverse the damage.
His hand, though mostly healed, still throbbed with each movement, the skin red and raw.
It will heal, he told himself. It has to.
His ear, however, was a different matter.
The flesh was sealed, the bleeding long since stopped, but the missing piece—the jagged bite torn away by that cursed beast—was irretrievable.
Every time he passed a reflective surface, he caught glimpses of the mutilation.
The once-proud symmetry of his face was ruined, a permanent reminder of his failure.
The skin there still ached, phantom pain lacing through where the flesh used to be.
And yet, those wounds were nothing compared to the wound Elora had left. She should be here. She should be mine.
He clenched his jaw, staring out at the roiling sea. It had been days since she escaped. The search boats had found nothing. The alchemical currents he had summoned had failed to pull her back to him. Every method, every resource he had relied upon, had failed him.
She is still out there. And every moment she remained free was another moment she unraveled everything he had worked for.
Thorn’s jaw clenched as he rose from his chair, pacing the length of his study. The soft glow of alchemical lights illuminated the darkened room. His mind raced, filled with anger, frustration, and a gnawing sense of something worse. Vulnerability.
There was a runaway ward out there, his ward.
And this was no ordinary runaway. Elora had absorbed the knowledge of an expert-level alchemist during her time at the institute.
More importantly, she now carried traces of the magic of the shifters.
And, worst of all, she had stolen his research, the recipe for Vitalis Essence.
Thorn stopped at the window, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the ocean that had swallowed her up. He hated to admit it, but this was a big problem. One that demanded immediate, personal attention.
If the empire got their hands on her, they would claim her. Make her their own test subject. Steal his means of revenge. Steal the nine years he waited to have her in his grasp. The meticulous plans he had set in motion. Everything would be ruined.
No. That wouldn’t happen.
Thorn’s lip curled in a snarl. He couldn’t allow the empire, or anyone else, to control Elora. She was his to deal with. He had created her, molded her, and she carried his mark, his genius coursing through her veins. Only he had the right to reclaim her or destroy her if it came to that.
But he knew this wasn’t something he was able to keep from the Empire. They would send their own scouts, not to mention the bounty hunters and trackers eager to cash in on her head.
No, he had to stay one step ahead. He had to reach her first, retrieve her before anyone else had the chance. And when he did, the consequences would be beyond anything she had ever imagined.
Thorn strode back to his desk. He had already begun preparations. His next course of action was clear. There were places Elora could hide, but not forever. She didn’t know the world like he did. And with the right tools, with the right contacts, he would find her.
He would make her pay.
A dark, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached for the map sprawled across his desk.
His eyes traced the shoreline of Adruimor.
There were a few small villages on the southern shore, but Ravenpoint was the largest city in the area.
Plenty of dark alleyways for a runaway to hide in.
One way or another, Elora would return to him. And this time, there would be no escaping her fate.
No more games.
Just retribution.