Elara's POV
We run through the Scorpion's Nest as hoofbeats thunder behind us.
The canyon walls close in on both sides, narrow and twisting. My lungs burn. My feet bleed through the makeshift shoes Kael fashioned from his spare clothes. But we don't stop.
Can't stop.
Behind us, shouts echo off stone walls. They went this way!
Spread out! Cut off all exits!
The canyon splits into three paths. Kael doesn't hesitate, pulling me left, then right, then through a crack so narrow we have to turn sideways. His knowledge of the Barrens is the only thing keeping us alive.
We emerge into a small clearing and stop dead.
An oasis.
Hidden between canyon walls, impossible and beautiful—a pool of crystal-clear water surrounded by palm trees and green grass. Real, growing things in the middle of this wasteland.
How— I start, but Kael cuts me off.
Underground spring. Probably the only water source for fifty miles. He scans the canyon walls, tense. We have maybe ten minutes before they search this sector. Drink fast. Refill canteens.
I stumble to the water's edge and drop to my knees, scooping handfuls into my mouth. It's cold and perfect and tastes like life itself.
Kael fills our canteens with practiced efficiency, eyes constantly moving, watching for danger.
I need to scout the exit paths, he says, capping the last canteen. Make sure we're not trapped. Stay here. Stay quiet.
Kael
Ten minutes, Elara. Then we move.
He disappears into the rocks before I can argue.
I'm alone beside the oasis, filthy and exhausted. The water calls to me. When was the last time I was truly clean? Before the temple. Before the altar. A lifetime ago.
I glance toward where Kael vanished. He said ten minutes.
Quickly, I strip off my torn, bloodstained ceremonial robe and wade into the pool.
The water is heaven. Cool against my burned, blistered skin. Washing away sand and sweat and seven days of temple preparations. I scrub frantically, wanting to erase every mark the priests painted on me, every symbol of death.
I'm so focused on cleaning that I don't hear them until it's too late.
Footsteps. Multiple sets. Armor clanking.
I spin in the water, heart stopping.
Six Temple guards emerge from the canyon entrance, swords drawn. They freeze when they see me—a naked woman in the pool, defenseless and alone.
The lead guard grins. Well, well. The escaped Bride. And without her heretic protector.
I back away, water up to my shoulders, mind racing. My dagger is with my clothes on the shore. Kael is gone. I'm trapped.
Come quietly, another guard says, stepping closer. The High Priest wants you alive. But he didn't say unharmed.
The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl.
Stay back, I warn, voice shaking.
They laugh.
The lead guard sheathes his sword and wades into the pool. Stupid girl. You should have stayed on the altar.
He reaches for me
and Kael explodes from the rocks behind them.
He moves like violence itself. The first guard dies before anyone reacts, Kael's blade opening his throat. The second guard turns, raising his sword, but Kael is already there, driving his knife between armor plates into the man's heart.
KILL HIM! the lead guard roars, abandoning me to join the fight.
Four guards converge on Kael. He's outnumbered, outarmed, but he fights like a demon—all controlled fury and brutal efficiency. Every move precise. Every strike lethal.
He kills the third guard with a throat slash, blood spraying across rocks.
But there are too many.
A sword catches Kael's shoulder, cutting deep. He gasps, stumbling. Another blade slashes across his ribs. Blood soaks his shirt.
Kael! I scream.
The lead guard grins, raising his sword for a killing blow
—and I move.
I don't think. Don't plan. Just react.
I surge out of the water, grab the dead guard's fallen sword, and drive it into the lead guard's back with every ounce of strength I have.
The blade punches through armor, through flesh, through bone.
He makes a horrible choking sound and falls.
I killed him.
I killed a man.
Time stops. I stare at the body at my feet, at the sword in my hands dripping with blood, at my hands covered in someone else's life.
Elara, DOWN!
Kael's shout snaps me back. I drop as a sword whistles over my head. Kael lunges past me, killing the fifth guard with a brutal slash.
One guard left.
He takes one look at his five dead companions and runs, disappearing into the canyon.
REINFORCEMENTS! his voice echoes. NEED REINFORCEMENTS AT THE OASIS!
Kael sways on his feet, blood pouring from his shoulder and ribs. He presses a hand to the wounds, face pale.
We have to go, he gasps. Now. More are coming.
But I can't move. Can't stop staring at the dead man at my feet. The one I killed.
My stomach heaves.
I turn and vomit into the pool, retching until there's nothing left. My whole body shakes violently. I killed someone. I killed someone. I killed—
Elara. Kael's voice, gentle despite his wounds. His hand on my bare shoulder. We have to move.
I killed him, I whisper, tears streaming down my face. I killed—
You saved my life. His grip tightens. He would have killed me. You stopped him. That's not murder, Elara. That's survival.
Shouts echo through the canyon. Getting closer.
Kael grabs my robe from the shore, helps me into it with shaking, bloody hands. Then he pulls me away from the oasis, away from the bodies, into the maze of canyons.
I'm shaking too hard to run properly. He has to half-drag me, one arm around my waist, the other pressed to his bleeding shoulder.
You saved me, he repeats, voice rough with pain and something else. Gratitude. Wonder. You saved me, Elara.
But I can't stop seeing the guard's eyes as the blade went through him. Can't stop feeling the resistance of flesh and bone. Can't stop shaking.
We stumble through the canyons until Kael's legs give out. He collapses against a rock wall, gasping, bleeding too much.
Can't he chokes. Can't run anymore.
I drop beside him, my hands hovering uselessly over his wounds. You're bleeding too much. I don't know how to
In my pack. Bandages. His eyes are unfocused. Need to stop the bleeding or
Hoofbeats echo through the canyon. Distant but approaching.
I grab his pack with shaking hands and find the bandages, pressing them against his wounds. He hisses in pain but doesn't pull away.
I killed someone, I whisper, tears falling as I work. I killed him and I can't, I can't stop shaking
First kill is always hardest. His hand covers mine, bloody and warm. You did what you had to do. Saved my life. That matters.
Does it get easier?
His eyes go dark with old pain. No. It gets worse. Every time.
That somehow makes it better. Knowing he understands. Knowing each of his ninety-nine kills hurt him too.
I finish bandaging his wounds as best I can, then collapse against him, both of us bloody and shaking and alive.
For now.
Commander Theron reaches the oasis an hour later.
Five dead guards. Blood everywhere. Evidence of a brutal, desperate fight.
He studies the scene with cold, calculating eyes. Examines the footprints in the sand—a man's boots and a woman's bare feet. Follows the blood trail leading away.
One of his soldiers approaches nervously. Commander, should we pursue?
Theron kneels beside the lead guard's body. The killing blow came from behind—a sword thrust through the back. Precise. Strong. Desperate.
He looks at the woman's footprints again. Small. Bloody from running without shoes. Leading from the pool to the dead guard.
The Bride killed this one, he says quietly.
His soldier blinks. Sir?
Theron stands, a slow smile spreading across his face. Not cruel. Almost... impressed.
The sacred Bride of Solarius. The merchant's daughter we were told was pious and obedient. He gestures to the carnage. She fights back. She kills to survive.
He looks toward the canyon where the blood trail leads.
Interesting.
Then he turns to his soldiers, voice sharp with command:
Double the patrols. They're wounded and desperate. They can't run much longer. And I want them both alive.
His eyes narrow.
I have questions for the Bride who refuses to die.