Page 1 of Too Dangerous To Die

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NORA

The toxin burns through my veins like liquid fire, twisting through my limbs, setting my nerves alight with agony. Each breath is a raw wound against my ribs, shallow and desperate, as I stumble forward into the ruins. The air here is heavier, thick with the remnants of old magic that hums against my skin. I do not belong in this place—no living thing does.

I have nowhere else to run.

Branches snap in the distance, the low murmur of voices cutting through the oppressive silence. Dark elves. My heartbeat stutters, and I push myself forward, knowing they will not grant me the mercy of a swift death. They want me to suffer. They want to drag me back to Oshta and display my broken body to the others as a warning.

A healer should never be a threat. But the Purna are.

The trees thin, the canopy giving way to looming black structures jutting out from the earth, ancient stone swallowed by vines and rot. The ruins stretch out before me, twisted spires and broken archways etched with sigils I can barely recognize.

My legs falter, my knees buckling beneath me.

No. Not yet.

I slam my palm against the jagged wall beside me, steadying myself. The stone is ice-cold beneath my fingertips, leeching the fevered heat from my skin, but it does nothing to stop the poison from threading deeper into my blood. My magic remains dormant, locked away by the dark elves’ cruel alchemy. My greatest weapon, rendered useless.

I glance over my shoulder, my vision flickering.Shadows move between the trees.A dozen figures, maybe more. Their footfalls are soundless, but I can feel them—slinking closer, closing in.

I am going to die.

But I refuse.

Summoning the last of my strength, I turn and stagger deeper into the ruins, weaving through the shattered remnants of a forgotten city. The architecture is not elven or human. It is something older, something that does not belong to the living. The deeper I move, the colder it becomes, the very air pressing in around me, thick withdormant power.

Something watches from the shadows.

My foot catches on a stray piece of rubble, and I crash forward onto my hands. Pain lances up my wrists, but I barely feel it. My head swims, my vision narrowing to a single point as I force myself to look up.

And there it is.

Acolossal statue, looming over the ruins like a silent sentinel.

The gargoyle is monstrous—massive, even crouched, its black stone body carved withancient runes, its wings half-folded behind its back. Its chest ishollow, as if something had been carved out of it, leaving nothing but an empty void where its heart should be.

The closer I look, the more I notice. Thesigilscovering its skin pulse faintly, as if reacting to my presence. I recognize some of them, old Purna markings that should have faded centuries ago.

It was bound. Below it, on the stone, there are ancient symbols.Rhaegar, the mighty warlord.

It should be nothing but stone and memory. And yet, as I meet the beast’ssightless golden eyes, a cold shiver rolls down my spine.

It feels like it is looking back.

A blade sings through the air. I barely react in time.

I twist, the steel biting across my shoulder instead of my throat. The impact sends me sprawling onto my back, a cry tearing from my lips as pain erupts down my arm. I clutch at the wound, hot blood slicking my fingers, and stare up at the figure looming over me.

A dark elf.

His silver hair gleams in the moonlight, his skin obsidian-dark, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"Little Purna," he murmurs, crouching over me, pressing the tip of his bloodstained dagger to my throat. "Did you really think you could run?"

I can’t move. My body is too heavy, my limbs too weak. The poison has won.

I am going to die.

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