The sharp edges of the scree cut through the worn leather of her boots, each step a small, grinding agony. Veridia scrambled over the loose rock, her breath a ragged, desperate thing in her throat. The Curse of the Sieve was no longer a subtle leak; it was a gaping wound in her core, a gnawing hollowness that made every muscle scream and her vision swim with a grey, fuzzy static. Her contempt for this dogged pursuit was a cold, hard stone in her gut. They weren't fighting her with passion or fury, the way a beast would. They were methodical, relentless. They were walking her to death, letting the curse do the heavy lifting. It was disgustingly efficient.
A shimmer of impossible glamour coalesced beside her. Seraphine glided over the treacherous terrain as if it were a polished ballroom floor, not a single mote of dust daring to settle on her ethereal gown.
"My, my, sister," she purred, her voice a poisonously sweet melody that cut through the wind. "One must admire their cardio. King Theron's men are giving our Patrons quite the show. Such grim, righteous determination! It plays wonderfully to the Tithelands demographic."
"And you play wonderfully to the demographic of parasites," Veridia hissed, not breaking her stride. She planted her feet, muscles screaming in protest, and shoved with all her remaining strength against a precariously balanced slab of granite. The stone groaned, a deep, protesting sound that vibrated through her palms. It shifted, scraping against its perch, and then tumbled down the slope with a gathering roar, kicking up a cloud of choking dust and shattered rock. The ensuing rockslide wasn't an avalanche, but it was enough. The most direct path was now a chaos of shattered stone. It would buy her seconds.
The knights below did not even break stride. Their leader, a veteran whose face was a roadmap of old scars under a polished steel helm, simply raised a gauntleted hand. He assessed the blockage with an unnervingly calm gaze, then gestured with two fingers. The squad split, beginning a flanking maneuver with the silent, practiced efficiency of a pack of wolves. They were not just brutes in armor; they were intelligent, relentless hunters.
A cold dread settled over Veridia. She couldn't outrun them here. She couldn't outfight them. And she certainly couldn't outthink a force that moved with a single, disciplined mind. She glanced toward the jagged, saw-toothed peaks of the Slag Crown. Into the unmapped canyons. Into Wyvern country. It was a suicidal choice, but it was the only one she had. With a final, defiant glare at her sister's smiling illusion, she plunged into the winding stone corridors.
***
The air in the canyon was still and cold, heavy with the smell of ozone and old carrion. The silence was oppressive, broken only by Veridia's own ragged breathing and the distant echo of her pursuers' advance. The walls closed in, scarred with ancient, massive claw marks that climbed high into the shadows where the sun could not reach.
Her vision blurred, the edges darkening for a moment as the curse flared. She stumbled, catching herself on the rough stone wall, her palm scraping raw against the rock. *Essence deprivation.* It was getting worse. The static in her mind was growing louder, threatening to swallow her thoughts, replacing memories of the Court with a low, hungry hum.
She rounded a sharp bend and froze. Sprawled across the canyon floor was the carcass of a Glass-Hide Boar. Or what was left of it. The creature's crystalline hide, strong enough to shatter steel, was broken and torn apart, the work of some immense, brutal force. The bones were picked clean, licked smooth. The claw marks gouged into the stone around it were fresh, the edges still sharp enough to catch the faint light.
"Oh, a new cast member!" Seraphine's voice was sharp with professional excitement. "And a rather large one, by the looks of it. The ratings are spiking, Veridia! Lord Kasian is wagering you won't last ten minutes. Do try not to disappoint him."
A shout echoed from behind them, closer now. Far too close. The knights' tracking skills were superb. The canyon hadn't been an escape route; it had been a funnel. It was herding her directly toward the predator's lair, and them directly toward her.
*Known threat or unknown?* The calculation was a frantic whisper in her mind. The methodical steel of the knights was a certainty. Capture. A humiliating, pious execution. Death. The beast ahead was a variable, a chance, a spectacle. What did the Patrons value more? A predictable, boring capture by mortal soldiers, or a desperate, high-stakes gamble against a legendary monster? Humiliation was a currency, but so was audacity. Any chance was better than none. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself off the wall and staggered forward, deeper into the trap.
***
The canyon ended as abruptly as if a god had sliced it from the mountain with a cleaver. A sheer, dead-end cliff face soared into the sky, offering no purchase, no escape. The only path was a single, treacherous ledge, barely a foot wide, that snaked its way up the rock wall toward the distant rim. Below it, a fatal drop into shadow.
The rhythmic clank of armor grew louder, a death knell echoing off the stone. Veridia turned, her heart a cold, heavy thing in her chest. The knights emerged from the canyon's mouth, their movements economical and sure. They formed a line, shields locking together with a final, definitive crash of steel. An impassable wall.
She was trapped. The last dregs of her Essence guttered like a dying candle. No strength for a fight, no power for a glamour. She was cornered, exhausted, and utterly, finally helpless.
Seraphine's illusion leaned in, her form so close Veridia could almost feel the phantom chill of her presence. Her voice was a triumphant whisper. "Well, darling sister, it seems your little adventure has reached its finale. A rather pathetic one, but a finale nonetheless. Any last words for your adoring fans before the righteous steel cleanses the Scablands of your filth?"
Veridia ignored her. Her eyes, wide with desperation, scanned the cliff face. She followed the crumbling line of the ledge upward, her gaze tracing its perilous path. High above, nestled near the canyon's rim, was a shadow within the stone—a vast, dark opening. And from within that darkness, she saw the glint of a massive, reptilian eye, watching her with a cold, ancient intelligence. The Wyvern's nest.
"Nowhere left to run, demon," the knight commander's voice rang out, devoid of emotion, absolute in its conviction. "Your corruption ends here. Surrender or be destroyed."
The wall of steel began to advance, a slow, inexorable tide of righteous fury. Veridia turned her back on them, a final, desperate act of defiance blooming in her chest. She could die here, cut down by these self-righteous mortals, a pathetic end to a pathetic chase. Or she could choose a better death. A more spectacular one. A death that would make for legendary television.
With a surge of pure, defiant will, she reached for the first handhold on the treacherous ledge and began to climb. Her only path to survival led directly into the monster's maw.