“Understood.” I extend my hand. “We’ll rendezvous with my Storm Eagles and wild clan allies at Dawn Ridge, south of Viktor’s camp.”
Marcus hesitates, then clasps my hand briefly. “This doesn’t make us friends, Stormwright.”
“No,” I agree. “But it makes us allies against a common enemy. For now, that’s enough.”
As we exit the interrogation room to begin planning the rescue operation, I feel a sudden surge through the mate bond—a flash of Elena’s presence, bright and desperate. She’s alive and fighting, but whatever Viktor has planned is already underway.
I look toward the distant mountains where she’s held captive, my resolve hardening. Storm magic responds to my emotions, gathering clouds above the compound.
Hold on, Elena. I’m coming for you. And I’m bringing an army.
17
ELENA
Viktor’s guards drag me from my cell at dawn. My body aches from days of captivity, but I refuse to show weakness as they march me across the war camp. The silver manacles on my wrists block my healing abilities—ancient Storm Eagle technology designed to suppress magic. Cruel, but effective.
“The ritual preparation begins today,” one guard informs me, his silver-tipped wings half-extended in intimidation. “You should be honored. Few ground-dwellers serve such a sacred purpose.”
I say nothing. Three days in Viktor’s camp have taught me when silence is the better strategy. Around us, the camp buzzes with activity—Storm Eagles and Dire Wolves working together in uneasy alliance. The sight still unnerves me—natural enemies collaborating in the service of Viktor’s twisted vision.
We approach a large tent near the center of the camp. Unlike the utilitarian structures around it, this one gleams with magical symbols stitched in silver and gold thread. Guards stand at attention outside, their expressions reverent. The ritual tent.
Inside, Viktor waits beside a stone altar transported from the ancient temple ruins. He looks up from the scrolls spread before him, his steel-gray eyes assessing me coldly.
“Dr.Ashford. I trust you slept well?” His mock courtesy never reaches his eyes.
“Beautifully. Nothing like a hard floor and constant interrogation to ensure quality rest.” I match his tone, refusing to cower.
A slight smile touches his lips. “Your spirit remains unbroken. Good. The ritual requires a strong life force.”
He gestures toward a table laden with medical equipment—my equipment, stolen from the Haven’s Heart outpost during their raid. Beside it stands a young Storm Eagle woman with dark golden feathers braided into her hair. Her eyes avoid mine.
“This is Lyra,” Viktor says. “One of our healers who finds your research… enlightening. She’ll assist you today.”
I recognize her immediately. She had been among the Eagles who’d sought medical help at my field hospital—one of the few who’d trusted a ground-dweller’s medicine. Before my capture, she’d whispered that not all Storm Eagles supported Viktor’s regime.
“What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
Viktor unrolls a parchment covered in ancient symbols. “You’re going to help us identify those with impure bloodlines among our prisoners. Your genetic sight, combined with your scientific knowledge, makes you uniquely qualified.”
“To assist in genocide.” I don’t phrase it as a question.
“To purify our bloodlines.” Viktor’s voice hardens. “The ritual requires sacrifices with specific genetic markers. Those without the markers will merely be… prisoners of war.”
The cold calculation in his voice chills me more than any threat. This isn’t madness—it’s methodical extermination disguised as sacred tradition.
“And if I refuse?”
Viktor smiles. “Then I start executing prisoners immediately, beginning with the children. At least with your help, some might be spared.”
My stomach twists. I’ve seen the holding pens—Haven’s Heart civilians, neutral clan members, even Storm Eagle dissenters. All are waiting for Viktor’s judgment.
“Fine.” I extend my shackled hands. “I’ll need these removed to work properly.”
“Of course.” Viktor nods to a guard who produces a key. “But understand this, Dr.Ashford—attempt to use your healing magic on anyone but those I designate, and the children die. Try to escape, and the children die. Sabotage the ritual preparations in any way…”
“I understand.” The manacles fall away, and I feel my connection to magic returning—a warm current flowing beneath my skin.
