Page 16 of Magic Undaunted

Stryker swallowed hard, his heart aching with the weight of her words. She was right. He hadn’t fought for her the way he should have. He had let his honor bind him to his duty, let the fear of losing all he’d ever known stop him from standing by her side.

“I didn’t know how,” he said, his voice low, filled with regret. “I thought… I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”

Elyria let out a bitter laugh. “Safe? You think I’m safe now? Look at where we are, Stryker. Look at what we’ve become.”

Before he could respond, the sound of an explosion rocked the camp, the ground beneath them shaking violently. Stryker’s instincts kicked in, and he reached for Elyria, pulling her behind him as the tent flap blew open, chaos erupting outside.

“We’re under attack!” someone shouted, their voice barely audible over the roar of magic and fire.

Elyria was already moving, her dagger drawn, her wings unfurling as she charged toward the chaos. Stryker shifted and followed without hesitation, his body moving in sync with hers,just like old times. They moved together, their instincts perfectly aligned as they fought side by side, cutting down the enemies that surged toward the camp.

The attackers were swift, their powerful and warped magic bearing the unmistakable signature of the rogue mage’s forces. Fire and shadow swirled all around them, but Elyria and Stryker fought with a ferocity that bordered on desperation, their blades and talons flashing in the dim light.

Stryker’s heart raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins as they tore through the attackers. Elyria was a blur of silver and pink, her movements graceful and deadly, her magic crackling through the air. He had fought beside her many times before, but this—this felt different. They weren’t just battling enemies; it was as if they were battling the ghosts of their past.

His shrill screech cut through the sounds of battle as he launched himself off the ground, his wings unfurling wide. The golden feathers and tawny fur glinted in the light as he dove toward the nearest attacker.

Before the mage’s man could raise his shield, Stryker’s talons locked onto his shoulders, yanking him from his feet and lifting him into the air. With a furious shake, he released him, dashing his body into the ground in a heap. Two more men lunged forward with spears, thrusting upward as the Stryker circled back. He was too fast for the men—flying sideways to avoid one spear with a powerful beat of its wings and swiping the other with a talon, tearing through the man’s armor, leaving him screaming on the ground.

An archer loosed an arrow, but Stryker saw it coming. With an angry screech, he dodged to the side and pounced on the attacker, pinning him down. His beak closed around the archer’s neck and ripped it open. The archer died with his eyes wide with terror and not a sound emitted from his mangled throat.

Two more men tried to flank Stryker, but he was already moving. He sprang himself into the air, gaining height in a matter of seconds, then dove back down with claws outstretched, slamming into one of the men from above. The other attacker froze, staring up as Stryker spread its wings wide, casting a shadow over him, Stryker’s golden eyes blazing with a silent warning. The man slinked away.

As the last of the attackers fell, the camp fell silent once more, the air thick with the scent of smoke and blood. Stryker stood panting, his eyes scanning the camp for any sign of more threats. But all he could see was Elyria, her chest heaving, her face flushed from both battle and something else—something unspoken between them.

She turned to him, her eyes locking onto his, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. The danger, the rebellion, the Council—it all vanished, leaving only the two of them standing in the aftermath of the battle.

Shifting back, Stryker said, “Elyria…” His voice was rough with emotion, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

“We’re not done yet,” she said, her voice steady, though her eyes betrayed the storm raging inside her. “But we will be.”

Stryker nodded, the tension between them coiling tighter as the battle around them faded. He didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if they could ever truly find their way back to each other. The battle was over, but the tension that had gripped him remained, as if his body knew that the real fight was only just beginning.

Around him, the rebels worked quickly, tending to the wounded and securing the camp, their faces grim. Stryker watched them for a moment, the unity and purpose in their movements a stark contrast to the cold indifference of the High Council. He was convinced that he was seeing something important—something he had missed for so long.

Beside him, Elyria stood with her back to him, her wings folded tightly against her back, her stance tense. Her dagger was still in her hand, its blade gleaming in the dim light. Stryker could feel the weight of her presence, the electricity between them pulsing in the aftermath of the battle.

He took a step closer, his voice low. “Elyria,” he said again.

She turned slowly, her gray eyes locking onto his, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, thick with everything left unsaid—the anger, the betrayal, the desire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You were reckless back there,” she said finally, flicking her hand and re-clothing him. Her voice was sharp but laced with something softer. Concern, maybe. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Stryker grinned. “Your impression of a damsel in distress was pretty awful.”

Her lips twitched, and she shook her head. “You know me too well.”

The silence between them stretched, and Stryker could feel the weight of what needed to be said. The battle had shifted something inside him. The way they had fought together, the way their bodies had moved in perfect sync—like they were still that same unstoppable force. It had awakened something he had tried to bury for too long.

And now, standing amidst the destruction, with Elyria’s eyes burning into his, Stryker made a decision that would change everything.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “Something you need to know. Something I’ve been keeping to myself.”

Elyria’s gaze sharpened as she took a step closer. “What is it?”

Stryker’s chest tightened as he forced himself to speak. “The human mage—the one we’ve been chasing, the one who’s been turning fae into those twisted creatures? I don’t think he’s acting alone. I think the High Council is involved, or at least they may have been in the beginning.”

Elyria froze, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

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