Page 24 of Demon Monster's Little Human

The world turns to cold.

The current grabs me, dragging me down, tossing me against sharp rocks, against churning darkness.

I can't breathe. Can't think.

A hand clamps around my arm.

Not an elf’s. Dain.

His grip is iron, unrelenting, pulling me toward him.

His wings snap open beneath the water, pushing against the current, guiding us instead of letting the river take us.

His magic flickers—still unstable, still weak. But his strength is not.

He doesn’t let go.

Not once.

I cling to him, choking on water, on breathless terror. His heat burns through the cold, his presence the only thing keeping me from being swallowed whole.

10

LIORA

The sky swallows him whole.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t linger. Doesn’t even look back.

One moment, he’s standing there, his expression unreadable, his molten eyes boring into mine with something too sharp, too heavy. After that, he is gone.

Wings snap open, their sheer size casting shadows against the jagged rocks as he ascends. The wind takes him, lifts him into the storm-darkened sky, and my breath locks in my throat.

I should have expected it.

I should have known.

But it still feels like a knife in my heart, twisting. Why is that? It’s not as if we’re friends. I sigh, shaking my head. I need to continue moving.

The mountains stretch endlessly before me, cold, empty, merciless. The wind howls, biting into my soaked skin, rattling through the hollow space he left behind. The river rages somewhere below, still roaring from the escape that nearly killed us, but up here—I am alone.

I stare at the place where he stood, where his warmth still lingers in the air, where the imprint of his claws is etched into the damp rock.

I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to ignore the way my body still aches from the fight, from the river, from his… company even if it was for a short time only.

Fool.

I shake my head, exhaling sharply. I can’t afford to waste time. Standing here, waiting for him to change his mind, would be worse than death.

I force my legs to move.

The ground beneath my feet is uneven, slick with mist. The climb down will be treacherous, but I have no other choice. There’s no shelter here, no food, no fire, no warmth—nothing but stone and sky and the memory of his hands pulling me up just to leave me behind.

The descent is slow. My limbs protest every step, screaming against the exhaustion I refuse to acknowledge. I slide on loose rock more times than I care to count, my fingers scraping over jagged edges as I steady myself.

The sun is hidden behind thick clouds, casting the world in gray and silver, a land untouched by mercy. I scan the horizon, searching for anything—a path, a cave, a way forward.

I have to keep moving.

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