Chapter 1
Stone burned when they threw me down.
Not scraped—burned—as if the floor itself had teeth and wanted to keep me.
My knees struck first, then my palms, then my face, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs in a thin, useless sound.
The world rang loud and hollow, and for a moment I thought I had been dropped inside something alive.
I cried out.
That was my first mistake.
A boot met my ribs before the sound could fully leave my throat.
Pain burst sharp and white, stealing what little air I had left.
I folded inward instinctively, arms wrapping around myself, chains clattering loudly as iron bit into my wrists.
“Quiet,” one of the guards snarled. “You’ll learn.”
I shook my head—not in defiance, but because my body wouldn’t obey.
Smoke clawed down my throat, burning my eyes until tears streamed freely.
The air was thick with heat and grease and rot.
Fire roared everywhere—open hearths lining the walls, hanging spits dripping fat into the flames, enormous cauldrons bubbling with things I didn’t recognize.
I had never seen fire like this before.
A fist tangled in my hair and yanked my head back.
“This is a kitchen,” the guard said, breath sour and close. “You work here now.”
I didn’t know what a kitchen was.
I didn’t know what work meant.
I only knew fear—heavy and familiar—settling into my bones like it had always belonged there.
He shoved me forward again.
My shoulder slammed into a stone table slick with grease and old blood.
The smell hit me hard, turning my stomach violently.
Something warm slid down my chin—blood, I realized distantly—and dripped onto the floor.
Laughter followed.
“Another stray,” someone muttered.
“Too small,” another voice said. “Won’t last.”
Hands shoved me again—harder this time.
Someone struck the back of my legs with a stick, sharp enough that my knees buckled.
I cried out despite myself, panic clawing up my chest as the chains snapped tight and dragged me backward.
“On your feet,” a voice barked.
I tried.
I couldn’t.
The heat pressed in from every side, wrapping around my skin until I felt like I was suffocating.
My ears rang.
My vision swam.
Shadows moved through the firelight—too tall, too fast—faces blurred and indistinct.
Someone kicked me again, this time in the shoulder.
“Get her up or throw her out,” a guard said impatiently. “She’s slowing—”
“Enough.”
The word cut cleanly through the noise.
The kitchen didn’t go quiet—but it stilled.
Conversations trailed off.
Movement slowed.
Even the fire seemed to hesitate, crackling lower, as if it too were listening.
I lifted my head just enough to see her.
She stood near the largest hearth, tall and still amid the chaos, as if the fire bent around her rather than touching her.
Her back was straight despite the iron collar locked around her throat.
Strange symbols were etched into the metal—runes that shimmered faintly, crawling when the firelight hit them just right.
Her hair was dark, braided tight against her scalp, threaded with dried herbs and small bones.
Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, revealing forearms lined with old scars—thin, pale marks that spoke of restraint rather than accident.
Her eyes found me.
Not curious.
Not cruel.
Assessing.
“She’s a child,” the woman said.
Her voice was calm, steady, and somehow carried through the roar of the kitchen without effort.
The guard scoffed.
“She’s breathing.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She stepped forward.
The air shifted.
I felt it in my chest—a pressure, like the world drawing in a breath and holding it.
The fire behind her flared higher, snapping violently, sparks leaping as if trying to reach her.
“She’s mine now,” the woman said.
The guard laughed, loud and careless.
“You forget your place, witch.”
The runes on her collar flared—not bright, not wild—but controlled.
A restrained glow, dangerous in its restraint.
Enough to make the guard flinch back instinctively.
Enough to make the room remember who she was.
The guard hesitated.
That hesitation saved me.
“She’s untrained,” he snapped weakly.
“She’ll learn,” the woman replied coolly. “Under me.”
Another guard stepped closer and reached for me again.
The woman moved.
Fast.
Her hand closed around his wrist mid-grab and twisted sharply.
Bone popped.
The guard cried out, dropping to one knee as she shoved him back with brutal efficiency.
“Do not touch her,” she said.
The fire snapped louder.
No one argued.
The guards backed away, muttering, retreating toward the doors with irritated glances thrown over their shoulders.
When they were gone, the kitchen exhaled as one, sound rushing back in all at once—but quieter now.
The woman knelt in front of me.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As if sudden movement might break something already fractured beyond repair.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Panic surged sharp and tight in my chest.
The word was there—I could feel it—but it tangled and fell apart before reaching my tongue.
“That’s all right,” she said gently, before I could start to cry. “Breathe.”
Her hand closed over mine.
Her skin was warm—not fever-warm.
Alive-warm.
Something in my chest lurched painfully.
“My name is Maelis,” she said. “And if you want to survive here, you will listen when I speak.”
I nodded, tears blurring the firelight into silver streaks.
“What shall I call you?” she asked.
The word came then.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
“Nyx.”
Something flickered across her face—recognition, surprise, and something dangerously close to fear.
She masked it instantly.
“Very well,” Maelis said. “You stay where I can see you. Always.”
I crawled toward her on shaking limbs and pressed myself into her side, clutching her apron like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
Behind us, the fires roared.
But for the first time since they threw me onto the stone, someone stood between me and the fire.
Maelis did not let go of me.
Even after the guards retreated and the kitchen’s noise crept back in, her hand remained firm at my back, fingers spread as if she were anchoring me to the world.
I stayed pressed into her side, my cheek against the rough weave of her apron, breathing her in—smoke, herbs, iron, something bitter and green beneath it all.
“Eyes down,” she murmured near my ear. “And do not move unless I tell you to.”
I obeyed.
Movement resumed around us, cautious now.
The other kitchen slaves returned to their tasks, but their glances slid toward me again and again—sharp, assessing, resentful.
I felt them the way one feels insects crawling over skin.
They did not like that Maelis had stepped in.
They did not like that I had been claimed.
I did not understand why that mattered.
Maelis guided me to a low table near the wall, farthest from the hearth.
She placed a rag in my hands and curled my fingers around it deliberately, adjusting my grip.
“Slow,” she said. “No rushing. If you spill, you clean it. If you drop it, you pick it up. If someone speaks to you, you look at me before you answer.”
I nodded.
The table was slick with grease and ash.
My hands shook so badly that the rag slipped twice before I managed to scrub in uneven circles.
My arms burned almost immediately.
Sweat rolled down my spine, stinging where my skin was already rubbed raw from chains and blows.
The heat was relentless.
It pressed into my skull, made my vision blur at the edges.
My stomach cramped, empty and tight, and my legs trembled beneath me.
I swayed once, catching myself against the stone just before I fell.
Maelis noticed.
She always noticed.
A wooden cup appeared in front of me as if by magic.
Water.
Clear.
Cool.
“Small sips,” she whispered. “They will notice if you drink too fast.”
I lifted it with both hands, careful not to spill.
The water tasted like iron, but it was water, and it burned pleasantly all the way down.
I didn’t realize how close I had been to fainting until my head cleared slightly.
Across the room, someone snorted.
“She won’t last the week,” a woman muttered.
Thin, sharp-featured, with a long scar cutting down her cheek.
Her eyes were flat when they landed on me.
Maelis did not look at her.
“Back to work,” she said mildly.
The woman scoffed but turned away.
I scrubbed.
Time stretched.
The kitchen was a rhythm of punishment and noise—orders shouted, metal clanging, fire roaring.
Every so often, someone brushed too close to me on purpose, shoulder slamming into mine hard enough to sting.
Once, a ladle clipped my knuckles, sending pain shooting up my arm.
I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood and kept working.
I did not cry.
I learned quickly that crying fed cruelty.
The scarred woman tested Maelis’s claim before the first hour was out.
She shoved past me hard, knocking the bucket I was holding from my hands.
Hot water sloshed across the stone and splashed my feet.
I cried out despite myself, hopping back as pain flared bright and sharp.
“Clumsy,” the woman sneered. “Watch where you—”
Maelis moved.
She didn’t raise her voice.
Didn’t shout.
She simply stepped between us, her body blocking mine completely.
“You will scrub the south floor tonight,” Maelis said calmly. “Alone.”
The woman laughed.
“You can’t—”
“I can,” Maelis replied.
Her eyes flicked briefly to the woman’s hands.
“And I will.”
Something in her tone made the laughter die.
The woman’s jaw tightened.
She spat on the floor and stalked away.
Maelis crouched in front of me again, inspecting my feet.
Red skin.
Blisters already forming.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
I nodded.
She nodded once in return, as if confirming something.
She reached into the folds of her skirt and pressed a crushed leaf into my palm.
“Rub this on when no one is looking,” she said. “It will take the edge off.”
I clutched it like a secret.
That was how she fought—quietly, relentlessly, without witnesses.
By the time the first bell rang, my arms felt like they were no longer attached to my body.
My wrists burned where the chains rubbed.
My stomach cramped so hard it made me dizzy.
Food was handed out in uneven portions.
I was skipped.
I didn’t realize it at first.
I stood there, waiting, my hands held out awkwardly, watching as bowls passed me by.
Heat crept up my neck, shame tightening my chest.
The goblin appeared at my side without a sound.
He shoved a crust of bread into my palm and turned away immediately.
“Eat,” he muttered. “Slow.”
I stared at it, stunned.
Then I did as he said.
I broke it into smaller pieces and chewed carefully, forcing myself not to gulp it down.
My stomach twisted painfully anyway, unused to anything but emptiness.
Someone struck the back of my head for lingering too long.
“Work,” a voice barked.
I worked.
As the hours dragged on, the abuse grew smaller but sharper—words instead of blows, shoves instead of strikes.
Enough to remind me of my place.
Enough to see if Maelis would intervene again.
She did.
Every time.
Sometimes with a look that made people step back.
Sometimes by assigning extra labor.
Sometimes by positioning herself so I was never alone long enough to be cornered.
Once, when a guard reached for me again, she slapped his hand away in full view of the kitchen.
“I said she’s under me,” Maelis snapped.
The guard’s face darkened, but he stepped back.
Fear ran deeper than rank here.
By the time night crept in and the fires dimmed slightly, my body was trembling with exhaustion.
My hands were blistered and raw.
My feet throbbed with every step.
I felt hollowed out, scraped clean of everything but ache.
Maelis guided me to a spot near the dying embers.
“Sit,” she said.
I did, collapsing onto the stone.
She handed me a rag dampened with water and pressed it into my hands.
“Clean your face,” she instructed. “You don’t want them thinking you’re weak.”
I wiped at the grime and blood, my hands shaking.
She watched me closely, her expression unreadable.
“You survived your first day,” Maelis said quietly. “That matters.”
I looked up at her, something tight and desperate swelling in my chest.
“Will they hurt you again?” I asked.
Her jaw tightened.
“Yes,” she said honestly. “And me.”
I swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry.”
She frowned.
“Do not be.”
She reached out and brushed my hair back from my face with careful fingers.
“This place takes everything,” she said. “But it doesn’t get to take who you are. Not if I can help it.”
I didn’t understand what she meant.
I only knew that when she stayed beside me as the kitchen finally settled into uneasy rest, I slept curled against her warmth, clinging to it like a promise.
I did not dream that first night.
Sleep came in fragments—thin, shallow, and easily broken.
Every crack of firewood snapped me awake.
Every footstep sent my heart racing.
I stayed curled against Maelis’s side, my fingers twisted into the hem of her dress, afraid that if I loosened my grip she would vanish.
She did not sleep at all.
I felt it in the way her breathing stayed measured and light, in the way her body never fully relaxed.
Sometimes her fingers brushed over my hair, slow and absent, as if counting something only she could see.
When I stirred, she whispered, “Rest,” without opening her eyes.
I tried.
The kitchen smelled different at night—less grease, more ash.
The fires dimmed but never went out, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched and curled across the stone walls.
Somewhere in the darkness, something skittered and squealed.
Rats, I thought dimly.
Or worse.
Morning came without gentleness.
The bell rang sharp and cruel, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
My eyes flew open.
My body protested when I tried to move, every muscle stiff and aching.
Maelis rose smoothly beside me, already alert.
“Stay where you are,” she murmured.
I nodded, though fear curled tight in my chest.
The goblin passed us as he hauled sacks of grain toward the storeroom.
His eyes flicked to Maelis, then to me.
He frowned—just barely.
“Careful,” he muttered under his breath.
I didn’t have time to ask what he meant.
The guards came fast.
Different from the night before.
More of them.
Their armor gleamed too brightly in the low light, and their expressions were set and hard.
“Maelis,” one barked. “You’re summoned.”
She stiffened.
“For what?” she asked calmly, though her hand slid subtly behind her, pressing against my shoulder.
A warning.
A command.
“Assaulting a guard,” the man replied.
My stomach dropped.
“She defended a child,” another voice said from somewhere behind them.
The guard turned sharply.
“Silence.”
Maelis exhaled slowly through her nose.
“I did what was necessary.”
One of the guards stepped forward and grabbed her arm.
The iron collar flared instantly.
Maelis gasped, her knees buckling as pain ripped through her body.
The runes burned white-hot, smoke curling from the metal as the magic tore at her from the inside.
“No!” I cried.
I leapt to my feet without thinking and ran.
My chains rattled wildly as I threw myself forward, arms outstretched.
“Maelis!”
She turned her head just enough to see me.
Her eyes widened—not in fear for herself, but for me.
“Nyx—stay back!”
I didn’t.
Something slammed into my chest and sent me crashing to the floor.
The breath tore from my lungs as I hit hard, pain exploding through my ribs.
Small, sharp fingers pinned my shoulders down.
“Don’t,” a harsh voice hissed near my ear. “Don’t be stupid.”
I turned my head, gasping.
The goblin crouched over me, his weight solid and unyielding.
His yellow eyes flicked nervously toward the guards, then back to me.
“You want to die?” he snarled quietly. “Because that’s how you die.”
“She needs me,” I sobbed, struggling weakly. “Please—let me go—”
“She knows,” he snapped. “And she chose.”
I watched helplessly as the guards dragged Maelis toward the doors.
The collar flared brighter with every step she took, each burst of light stealing another cry from her throat.
“Nyx!” she shouted. “Listen to me!”
I froze.
“Do not show them,” she gasped. “Do not—”
The doors slammed shut.
The sound echoed through the kitchen like a death knell.
I screamed her name until my throat burned raw, until my voice cracked and fell apart entirely.
The goblin held me down until my strength gave out and I collapsed, shaking against the stone.
He released me slowly.
“She’ll live,” he muttered. “Probably.”
That word—probably—carved something hollow into my chest.
The kitchen did not stop.
No one gave me time to grieve.
A stick struck my shoulder, hard enough to make me cry out.
“Work,” someone barked.
I worked.
I scrubbed and hauled and wiped and carried until my arms trembled uncontrollably.
My vision blurred.
My stomach twisted painfully with hunger.
When someone shoved me, I learned to stumble without falling.
When someone struck me, I learned to stay quiet.
I looked for Maelis everywhere.
She wasn’t there.
By the time night came again, my body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, numb, aching everywhere at once.
I curled near the hearth alone, staring at the doors until my eyes burned.
They opened late.
Two guards dragged Maelis inside.
She hung between them like something broken, her boots scraping uselessly against the stone.
Blood streaked her temple and soaked the shoulder of her dress.
The collar at her throat was blackened and cracked, faint smoke still curling from the runes.
They dropped her and left.
I crawled to her on shaking limbs.
“Maelis,” I whispered desperately, pressing my hands to her shoulders. “Maelis, please—please wake up—”
Her lashes fluttered.
“Nyx,” she rasped.
Relief hit me so hard I sobbed.
I forced myself to move, to remember what she had taught me.
I dragged water from the barrel, spilling half of it.
I cleaned her wounds as gently as I could, whispering to her even when she drifted in and out of consciousness.
The goblin appeared behind me again, silent as ever.
He handed me a small pouch.
“Crush this,” he said. “Mix with water. Slow.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Don’t let her swallow too much.”
He left before I could thank him.
When Maelis finally opened her eyes fully, she reached for me weakly, her fingers curling into my sleeve the way they always had.
“You stayed,” she murmured.
“Always,” I said.
Her hand tightened.
“They’ll take you,” she warned. “Soon.”
I didn’t understand.
I only lay beside her, listening to her breathe, knowing that something had shifted—that survival was no longer something Maelis could shield me from completely.
I would have to learn to endure on my own.
After that night, time stopped moving the way it was supposed to.
It didn’t flow forward.
It folded.
Days bent into each other, indistinguishable except for the ways they hurt.
I learned to measure time by scars instead—thin white lines on my forearms, burns on my hands, the dull ache in my back that never fully left.
I grew.
Not all at once.
Slowly.
Quietly.
The way weeds grow through stone.
There were other attempts to hurt me.
A guard who grabbed my arm too tightly and laughed when I flinched.
A slave who shoved me toward the fire when Maelis’s back was turned.
A kick meant for my legs that caught my ribs instead.
I learned how to turn my body so blows glanced instead of landed.
How to fall without cracking bone.
How to keep my eyes empty so nothing inside me could be taken.
Maelis saw everything.
She never reacted the same way twice.
Sometimes she intervened openly, stepping between me and harm with her shoulders squared and her voice sharp enough to cut.
Other times she waited—quietly—and punished cruelty through work assignments that broke spirits instead of bodies.
The people who hurt me learned quickly that I was not worth the cost.
I learned that Maelis would not always be there.
That knowledge shaped me more than the pain ever did.
The goblin remained a shadow at the edge of my life.
He never stopped anyone from hurting me, or at least I thought.
He left rags where I could find them when my hands split open.
Nudged me out of the way before tempers boiled over.
Tossed me scraps when hunger made my vision swim.
Once, when I was older, he muttered, “You last longer than most.”
I didn’t know if that was praise or warning.
I did not notice at first.
Only that the people who hurt me did not always stay the same.
A woman who shoved me too close to the fire began favoring one leg.
A guard who struck me across the mouth stopped coming into the kitchen entirely.
A slave who liked to whisper cruelty into my ear was suddenly reassigned to work so far from the hearth that I never saw her again.
I learned not to ask.
But Maelis noticed.
One night, long after the fires had dimmed and the kitchen slept in uneasy fragments, she rose quietly from beside me and crossed the floor toward the water barrels.
I followed at a distance, careful to stay in the shadows.
The goblin stood there, half-hidden by stone and steam.
“You’ve been busy,” Maelis said.
He did not turn.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied flatly.
“Yes, you do.”
Silence stretched.
Then he sighed, low and irritated, like someone tired of pretending.
“They break easier when no one’s watching,” he muttered. “That’s all.”
Maelis studied him for a long moment.
“Why?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Because you can’t be everywhere. And because I don’t like watching it.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“And the girl?”
Another pause.
“She’s yours,” he said simply. “I don’t touch what’s claimed.”
Something in Maelis’s posture eased—just a fraction.
“Thank you,” she said.
He snorted.
“Don’t. Makes it sound like I care.”
She watched him for a heartbeat longer, then nodded once and turned back toward me.
She never spoke of it again.
But after that, the shadows felt less empty.
At night, when the kitchen slept in uneasy shifts, Maelis braided my hair and whispered the names of herbs.
She taught me which leaves healed burns and which only numbed pain.
Which roots put guards to sleep and which killed rats slowly.
“Never poison unless you must,” she said once. “And if you must—never be seen.”
I listened.
The moon began to find me then.
In dreams at first—silver and heavy, hanging low over dark forests I did not recognize.
Later, in waking moments, when moonlight slipped through cracks in the stone ceiling and painted my hands pale and bright.
On those nights, the metal at my throat burned.
I would gasp, clutching at the suppressor as heat flared sharp and sudden against my skin.
My heart would race, something deep inside me pressing upward, restless and confused.
Maelis always noticed.
She never asked what I felt.
She only watched me with an intensity that made my chest ache.
“You must be careful,” she told me once, her voice tight. “Very careful.”
“I am,” I said automatically.
She didn’t answer.
Years passed like that.
Pain taught me patience.
Fear taught me silence.
Maelis taught me restraint.
And love—though neither of us ever named it—taught me what I stood to lose.
I was scrubbing a pot one evening when the memory broke.
The present slammed back into me—the heat too sharp, the ache in my shoulders too real.
My hands had stopped moving.
The pot was beginning to scorch.
“Nyx.”
Maelis’s voice cut through my thoughts like a blade.
I startled, nearly dropping the pot.
She caught my wrist before it could slip, her grip firm.
“Focus,” she said sharply. “You’re drifting.”
“I—” My throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”
She studied my face for a long moment, her eyes searching, measuring.
Then she leaned close, her voice dropping low enough that only I could hear.
“They’re watching you more lately,” she whispered. “You don’t see it, but I do.”
My stomach twisted.
“I don’t do anything.”
“That’s what frightens me,” she replied.
Her fingers tightened around my wrist until it hurt.
“There is something about you,” Maelis said quietly. “Something they will kill you for if they ever understand it.”
“I’m nothing,” I said quickly.
I had learned that lie well.
She shook her head once.
“That lie will save your life. Hold onto it.”
She pressed her forehead briefly to mine—an intimate, dangerous gesture—and then pulled away, already rebuilding her walls.
“Never show them who you truly are,” Maelis said. “Not your strength. Not your instincts. Not your heart.”
The fire crackled.
The kitchen breathed.
And deep inside me, something old and patient stirred—listening.
The kitchen knew before I did.
There was a tension in the air that morning, sharp and brittle, like ice stretched too thin.
The fires burned too hot.
The voices were quieter.
Even the goblin moved differently—faster, more alert, his eyes flicking toward the stairwell and then away again.
Maelis noticed.
She always did.
Her shoulders were tight as she worked, her movements precise in a way that meant she was thinking too hard.
She positioned herself closer to me than usual, passing me knives and bowls without looking, her hand brushing mine each time as if counting.
“Stay where I can see you,” she murmured.
I nodded, my stomach already twisting.
Footsteps echoed down the stone stairs.
Not guards.
Something worse.
The steward entered the kitchen flanked by two men I did not recognize.
Their armor was polished and engraved, their posture too relaxed, too confident.
Buyers.
My chest went cold.
“This is her,” the steward said.
Maelis didn’t move.
“She’s assigned here,” Maelis replied calmly.
“She was,” the steward corrected. “She’s been purchased.”
The word struck like a hammer.
Purchased.
Maelis’s hand closed around my wrist.
“No,” she said.
The steward raised a brow.
“You don’t have the authority to refuse.”
“She’s not for sale,” Maelis snapped.
One of the men stepped closer, his gaze crawling over me in a way that made my skin prickle.
“She’ll do.”
I stepped back instinctively.
Maelis moved with me, her body a wall.
“She’s a child,” Maelis said.
“She’s old enough,” the man replied. “And valuable.”
The guards advanced.
They grabbed me.
I screamed.
Maelis exploded.
She struck the first guard hard enough to send him crashing into a table.
The second swung for her—but she twisted aside, shoving me behind her as the blow grazed her shoulder instead.
Pain tore a sound from her.
“Run!” she shouted.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Hands closed around my arms, dragging me backward.
I kicked and clawed, my chains rattling wildly as panic tore loose inside me.
“Maelis!” I screamed.
She fought like something unleashed—elbows, fists, teeth.
Someone slammed into her from behind, forcing her to her knees.
The collar ignited instantly, runes flaring white-hot as magic burned through her veins.
She screamed.
Not for herself.
For me.
Something tore open inside my chest.
Heat surged behind my eyes, sharp and blinding.
The kitchen warped, edges glowing too bright, too clear.
Fire leapt higher near the hearth, snapping wildly, and I felt—felt—the hands on me, the weakness beneath bone and muscle, the way they would break if I pushed.
My vision burned silver at the edges.
I heard gasps.
Someone shouted.
Then, inside my head—raw and feral—something screamed.
"Mom."
The word wasn’t spoken.
It wasn’t mine.
It tore through me with a grief so vast I couldn’t breathe, and for one terrifying heartbeat I knew I could reach her.
I knew I could tear free.
I knew I could burn everything in my way.
“Nyx!” she shouted through the agony. “Do not show them!”
The command landed.
Her voice cut through the scream inside me like a blade.
Something inside me recoiled—curled back into the dark where it hid.
The heat collapsed inward.
The silver faded.
My eyes burned as the world dulled again, heavy and human.
I froze.
The guards used that moment.
Chains clamped around my wrists.
Someone struck my face hard enough that stars burst behind my eyes.
I tasted blood and smoke and terror.
Maelis collapsed to the stone, smoke curling from her collar, her body shaking violently.
-Maelis pov-
I was dragged toward the doors.
I screamed her name until my throat tore raw.
The goblin stood near the wall, his face turned away—but his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
The doors slammed shut.
The kitchen vanished.
The kitchen stayed quiet after they took her.
Not peaceful.
Never that.
Just… stunned.
Like a body that had lost too much blood too fast and hadn’t yet realized it was dying.
I lay on the stone where they had crushed me, the collar at my throat cooling slowly, the runes dulled and cracked from overuse.
Every breath burned.
Every muscle trembled like it might simply stop answering me.
Nyx was gone.
The word echoed hollowly in my skull, refusing to settle into something I could understand.
Gone.
Footsteps approached.
I tensed weakly, fingers curling against the stone, but no boots struck me this time.
Instead, something smaller moved into my line of sight.
The goblin crouched beside me.
Up close, I could see the scars I had never asked about—old burns, crude stitches, places where bone had healed wrong.
His yellow eyes flicked once toward the doors she had been dragged through… then back to me.
“You alive?” he asked gruffly.
Barely, I thought.
“I will be,” I rasped.
He grunted and slipped an arm under my shoulder, careful of the collar as he helped me sit up.
The motion sent white pain streaking through my spine, and I hissed through my teeth despite myself.
“Easy,” he muttered. “They don’t pay me enough to scrape you off the floor.”
A weak sound escaped me—not quite a laugh.
He paused, then sighed as if resigning himself to something.
“Name’s Keth,” he said. “Figured if the world’s ending, I might as well give you that.”
I looked at him then.
Really looked.
“Keth,” I repeated quietly.
“You stopped her.”
He shook his head.
“I stopped her from dying. Big difference.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.
“You did the right thing.”
“No,” he said flatly. “I did the thing that lets me sleep.”
Silence settled between us, thick and heavy.
Then he added, quieter, “They won’t keep her long.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
Keth’s jaw tightened.
“World don’t take kindly to mistakes like that. Either she’ll come back… or you’ll go get her.”
The words hit something deep in my bones.
I pressed my palm flat against the stone, forcing myself upright despite the pain.
“They don’t know what she is.”
Keth huffed.
“No. But you do.”
I closed my eyes, Nyx’s scream echoing in my head, her fingers twisting in my sleeve, her voice breaking as they dragged her away.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I do.”
Keth nodded once.
“Then don’t die.”
He stood and turned away before I could respond, already melting back into the shadows of the kitchen like he had always belonged there.
I remained where I was, breathing through the pain, staring at the doors long after they had closed.
“They will not keep you,” I whispered into the empty air.
“Either you will find your way back to me… or I will burn kingdoms to reach you.”
The fire crackled softly.
The collar cooled.
And for the first time since the night they threw her into my arms, grief gave way to something sharper.
Something patient.
Something that knew how to wait.
