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PROLOGUE
Wed to the Gargoyle
In a world ruled by monsters and divided by factions, a single DNA match could change the fate of Alia Terra forever. "Wed to the Dark Elf '' plunges you into the life-altering journey of Iris Flemming, a human orphan, and Vamen Blak, a formidable dark elf warrior. Thrust together by tradition but bound by an inexplicable connection, they must navigate political unrest, brewing revolution, and their own conflicting emotions. Will their love be the catalyst for unity or the spark that sets their worlds ablaze? Prepare for a tale of love, war, and transformation that will leave you questioning where your loyalties lie.
CHAPTER ONE
Kuzar
It was the hour of waking, life stirring within the vast expanse of stone as the behemoth forms of my Goliath brethren slowly came to life, the rugged walls of our ancestral sanctuary reverberating with the deep rumbles of their morning roars. I stirred from my rocky perch high within the stalactite-studded caverns, the pre-dawn light casting eerie shadows on the pockmarked visage that earned me the respect—and fear — of my kin.
Dawn bled into the cave, its dim rays casting spectral hues onto the weathered stone, casting an ethereal glow on the cavern floor far below. The air hummed with life, a symphony of scrapes and rustles rising as my clan began their day, readying for whatever perils or glories the day held.
“Kuzar!” the voice boomed from the shadows, a calloused hand clapping onto my shoulder, pulling me from my reverie. Gazul, my closest confidante and a warrior as fierce as any in our tribe, his eyes blazed with a predatory intensity that promised excitement. “The Chieftain summons. Looks like we got trouble brewing.”
We strode through the labyrinthine caverns, the shuffling echoes of our footsteps swallowed by the ancient stones. The caves themselves were massive, a city of tunnels and chambers carved deep within the earth, a legacy of our ancestors’ indomitable will. We carved our existence here, in this unforgiving heart of stone, carving out a niche where we could find shelter, community, and the promise of the hunt.
Reaching the Chieftain’s chamber was an ordeal in itself, a path that winded through narrow tunnels, past gushing subterranean rivers and precariously perched on rock ledges. The roar of gushing water echoed all around the air, damp and cool.
“Chieftain.” At our arrival, my voice carried a hint of reverence.
In the flickering light of the glowing moss illuminating the chamber, we beheld our leader, Mazarak, his hulking form hunched over a crude map etched into a slab of rock. The scowl on his granite face spoke of grave tidings.
“The Rocs grow bolder,” he growled, pointing to the crude drawing. “They’ve encroached upon our territory, sending out scouting parties, testing our patience.”
The room buzzed with suppressed anger, as the tension crackled like static in the air. We were the Goliath, fearsome guardians of these canyons, who dared to challenge our dominance.
“Kuzar, Gazul,” Mazarak’s gaze settled on us, the intensity of his stare pinning us in place. “Take your squads and patrol the canyon’s rim. Show these winged scavengers the consequences of their audacity. No mercy, no quarter.”
Our response was an instinctive roar of defiance, a war cry that reverberated through the cavern, shaking the stalactites and scattering the bats roosting above. It was a guttural anthem of our defiance, a testament to our undying loyalty to the Goliath tribe, an oath sworn in blood and bone.
We left the Chieftain’s chamber, our hearts pounding, our muscles tensed, ready to unleash our wrath upon these brazen invaders. The time for diplomacy ended. Only the language of violence remained.
“Warriors!” We emerged from the cave, a chorus of answering roars greeting me. We were the guardians of the Goliath clan, the defenders of our ancestral birthright. Today, we would uphold our honor, protect our home, and bloody our talons.
My wings, broad and leathery, sliced through the air as I soared alongside my fellow Goliath warriors, our squadron cutting through the vast expanse of the canyon like an arrow loosed from a bow. The wind roared in my ears, carrying the pungent scent of ozone and the exhilarating tang of freedom. Below us, the majestic spires and plateaus of our home stretched out, the landscape dotted with jagged stone and hidden crevices. We were the guardians of this realm, sworn to protect it with our lives. The thunderous beats of our wings echoed through the canyons, a challenge to any who dared to trespass.
Our destination was the outer rim, the contested border where our territory intersected with that of the Rocs, those winged scavengers who sought to encroach upon our domain. Reports from our scouts painted a grim picture: Roc patrols grew bolder, their predatory eyes scanning our lands, seeking weakness. We could not tolerate this affront, as it was a declaration of war that we would answer with unyielding fury.
As we neared the canyon’s edge, the air grew heavy with tension, a palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The Rocs were already there, circling lazily in the thermals, their massive forms casting ominous shadows on the canyon floor. They were fearsome creatures, with razor-sharp talons and beaks capable of tearing flesh from bone. The Goliaths didn’t intimidate easily.
I signaled to my squad, a silent gesture understood by all. We broke formation, peeling away from the primary group and diving towards the Rocs. Our descent was a controlled plummet, a calculated strike that would catch them off guard. They spotted us, their guttural screeches piercing the air as they turned to meet us head-on.
With a savage cry, I lunged at the nearest Roc, my talons extended, my body a blur of stone and muscle. It tried to evade me, its massive wings flapping frantically, but I was too quick. My claws sank into its leathery hide, tearing a deep gash across its chest. The Roc let out a pained squawk, its eyes filled with fear as it realized it was no match for me.
My brethren followed suit, engaging the other Rocs in a furious aerial dance of death. Talons clashed against feathers, the air filled with the sound of tearing flesh and the desperate cries of the dying. The Rocs fought back, their beaks snapping, their wings lashing out, but they were no match for our ferocity. We faced countless foes before, and these winged scavengers would not defeat us.
My squad fought with the tenacity of cornered wolves, our bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. We covered each other’s backs, our combined strength an impenetrable shield. One by one, the Rocs fell, their lifeless forms plummeting to the canyon floor below. With each kill, our resolve grew stronger, and our confidence soared.
By the time the last Roc lay dead, the sky was ablaze with the colors of the setting sun, casting the canyon in a gilded glow. We sent a coherent message: the Goliath gargoyles would not surrender their territory without a bloodbath fight. Our home was inviolable, our honor unassailable.
As darkness enveloped the land, we returned to our stronghold, our hearts filled with pride and our bodies weary from the battle. We emerged victorious, but we knew this was only the beginning. The Rocs would not forget this day, and they would seek revenge. We would be ready.
My talons clicked against the stone floor as I strode towards the Chieftain’s chamber, my heart pounding in my chest. The battle with the Rocs was fierce, but we emerged victorious. Now, it was time to report to Mazarak and face whatever awaited me.
As I entered the chamber, Mazarak’s deep-set eyes regarded me with a mixture of pride and concern. His craggy face bore the weight of leadership, the countless battles and trials he endured etched into every wrinkle and scar.
“Kuzar,” he rumbled, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. “You and your squad fought valiantly today. You have brought honor to the Goliath clan.”
