They did not walk together.
Caera walked ahead.
Viehl followed.
The chain between them was forged of light—thin, almost delicate in appearance, yet impossibly heavy with intent. It did not drag along the ground; it hovered just above it, humming softly, responding to Caera's will rather than gravity. Every step she took pulled him forward, whether he wished it or not.
He did not resist.
That, more than anything, unsettled her.
The march carried them away from the battlefield and into a wasteland scarred by overlapping wars. The land here had been broken too many times to remember its original shape. Stone rose in jagged spines. Craters yawned like open graves. The air shimmered faintly, distorted by lingering magic that never quite dissipated.
Caera moved with relentless purpose.
She did not look back.
Viehl limped.
Each step sent pain screaming through his shattered leg, but he kept pace as best he could. When he stumbled, the chain tightened—not cruelly, but without patience—forcing him upright again. His wings dragged uselessly behind him, leaving dark streaks in the ash.
He said nothing.
That, too, unsettled her.
She had expected curses. Threats. Bargains. Demons never shut up when stripped of power. They begged, boasted, or plotted aloud, desperate to fill the silence with something they could control.
Viehl endured it.
Hours passed.
The sky dimmed, shifting from scorched red to a dull, bleeding orange. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled—not the sound of weather, but of something massive moving across fractured ground.
Caera slowed only when darkness began to settle.
She chose a rise of broken stone and stopped abruptly. The chain snapped taut. Viehl nearly collided with her back before catching himself at the last moment.
"Sit," she said.
He did.
Carefully, painfully, lowering himself onto the cold rock. He did not complain. Did not ask questions. He simply watched her as she moved away, scanning the perimeter with practiced efficiency.
She set wards—quick, precise gestures, light biting into the ground like fangs. A small fire followed, summoned without warmth, more light than heat.
She ate in silence.
Viehl did not ask for food.
She noticed.
When she finally looked at him, his gaze lifted instantly, attentive as a hound awaiting command.
Her stomach twisted with irritation.
"Stop looking at me like that."
His brow furrowed slightly. "Like what."
"Like I'm something you're meant to kneel to."
He considered that. "I am kneeling."
"You're chained."
"Yes," he agreed. "And alive."
Her jaw tightened.
She turned away again, staring into the fire as if it might burn the thought from her mind.
"You know I'll kill you," she said after a long moment.
"I know," Viehl replied calmly.
"That doesn't bother you."
"It does," he said. "But not enough to outweigh the alternative."
"Which is."
"Dying without purpose."
She scoffed. "Serving me isn't purpose. It's delay."
"Delay is still time," he said softly. "Time matters."
She stood abruptly, spinning on him, blade in her hand before the firelight had time to catch up.
"Don't philosophize with me," she snapped. "You're not here to think."
Viehl did not flinch.
"Then why are you here," he asked quietly.
The question slipped past her guard.
She raised the blade higher.
"To be used," she said coldly. "And discarded."
"Good," he said.
Her hand shook.
She hated that word on his tongue.
The first night passed without incident.
The second did not.
They were crossing a ravine when it happened—a narrow pass where the stone walls pressed close, funneling sound and scent. Caera felt it before she saw it: the shift in the air, the tightening of threat.
Outer Beings.
A small pack, but clever. They waited until Viehl faltered, his pace slowing as exhaustion finally took its toll. The chain tugged harder. His knee buckled.
That was when they struck.
Shadows peeled away from the ravine walls, coalescing into twisted forms. Caera reacted instantly, light flaring as she surged forward to meet them.
One slipped past her.
Straight toward Viehl.
He reached for power that wasn't there, snarling as his body refused him. The creature lunged—
—and died in a spray of light as Caera's blade cleaved through it from behind.
She did not look at him.
She killed the rest with brutal efficiency, leaving nothing but drifting ash and the echo of wrongness dissipating into the ravine.
Silence returned.
Caera turned slowly.
Viehl was still on the ground, breathing hard, staring at where the creature had been.
"You should have let it kill me," he said.
She grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the stone wall.
Her forearm pressed into his windpipe, lifting him slightly off the ground. His claws scraped uselessly at her wrist. His eyes widened—not in fear, but in something dangerously close to awe.
"I don't save demons," she hissed. "I protect my tools."
"Then why are you shaking," he managed.
That was the wrong thing to say.
The light exploded.
She drove her blade straight through his chest.
The chain flared white-hot, screaming as it resisted—but her will was stronger. The blade pierced his heart, pinning him to the stone wall behind him. Light surged through his body, burning along his veins.
Viehl gasped.
Dark blood poured from his mouth.
For a heartbeat, the world held still.
Caera leaned close, her face inches from his. Her voice was low, trembling with fury and something else she refused to name.
"This is your first warning," she said. "Forget whatever fantasy you're building in your head."
His vision blurred. His breath rattled.
"Caera," he whispered.
She twisted the blade.
His scream tore through the ravine.
When she pulled the sword free, he collapsed to the ground, convulsing, smoke curling from the wound. The chain dimmed, stabilizing his life just enough to keep him from dying outright.
She stood over him, chest heaving.
"Live," she commanded. "Or die. I don't care which."
She turned away.
Behind her, Viehl laughed weakly through blood and pain.
"Worth it," he whispered.
Her hand clenched.
She did not turn back.
But that night, as she stood watch beneath a burning sky, Caera realized something with cold, sinking certainty.
Killing him was not going to be as simple as she had promised herself.
Because the chain bound more than his life.
And hatred—true hatred—required distance.
Which fate had already denied her.