Then, softer this time, quieter, “Really though, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say, brushing it off. “It’s just a scratch.”
Thane doesn’t blink. “It’s more than a scratch,” he says quietly.
Then he steps to the side to assess my back again. His gaze drops to the torn leathers, lips drawing into a thin line.
“The protective enchantments should’ve stopped that,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “They’re meant to leave bruises, not break skin.”
He looks back up at me, something darker flickering in his eyes.
“This shouldn’t have happened.” A pause. “I’ll redo the protection,” he says, his voice low, controlled—but there’s a tightness in it. “I’m so sorry about that. Not just for the scratch, but for letting it happen.”
“It’s okay,” I say, forcing a bit of lightness into my voice. “I’m fine. I mean . . . Iamtraining for war, right?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stays close, like he’s still trying to convince himself I’m actually alright.
And that’s when it clicks.
The look in his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The way he studied the wound like itmeantsomething. It’s . . . more emotion than I’ve ever seen from him.
He feels guilty.
And for some reason, it throws me off.
But just like that, it’s over.
Thane nods once, giving me a tight smile, then turns and jogs back toward Valen. I watch as he lifts his hands, fingers moving with practiced precision—already reinforcing the protection spells.
Valen moves his hands.
There’s a suddensnapin the air—a coldness that bites through my leathers and settles deep in my bones.
About thirty feet away stands a behemoth of a creature. AGorganthe.
Fuuuuck.
An image from one of Valen’s books flashes through my mind—an old sketch, rough and shadowed, showing a Gorganthe in battle.
But no drawing could’ve prepared me for this.
It stands three stories tall, its towering form blotting out the sun. Its body is solid, yet somehowwrong—wrapped in a dark hide that absorbs all light, making it look less like a creature and more like a hole in the world.
Its muscles are thick and gnarled, like twisted cords of stone and sinew. Its arms alone could level a battalion, hands massive enough to crush a man in one grip. Each finger ends in a jagged claw—long, curved, and sharp enough to shred steel like parchment.
Its face is a monstrous parody of something that was once human. Flesh warped, stretched, twisted. Its mouth is a grotesque maw lined with uneven, splintered teeth that gleamed like shards of broken glass.
And its eyes—gods. Hollow voids. Deep wells of writhing darkness. But I know from the books I studied that if you dare to look long enough . . . there’s movement there. Figures flicker in and out of existence.Souls.Trapped within the black—screaming, struggling, but never escaping.
My blood runs cold as Valen’s warning flashes through my mind:Don’t let it get close enough to catch your eyes. The souls trapped inside will lock you in place—and the Gorganthe will crush you before you even think to move.
Iknowthis is just training. IknowValen is controlling it. But this . . . this monster towering over me feels too real.
The Gorgantheroars. The sound tears through the air like a rift—louder than thunder, deeper than anything I’ve ever heard. But it’s not just one voice. It’s achorus. Crying out in anguish. Inrage. In torment that has no end.
It’s the sound of every soul it has consumed.
Thane yells something to Valen—something about this being too much, too soon. I don’t catch all of it because I’m frozen.
