Page 21 of Bound In Stone, Claimed In Fire

That’s when she wavers. The shield quivers, and the orb flickers. She clenches her teeth, obviously struggling to maintain both spells simultaneously. Another moment, and the orb fizzles out with a crack of static. Her shield collapses, leaving her panting.

She lets out a groan of frustration, bracing her hands on her knees. “I—I almost had it.” Fatigue laces her voice.

I suppress a sigh. My own chest tightens with the memory of a purna who once juggled spells so effortlessly she seemed invincible. But that path led to horrors. “Focus,” I say quietly. “Don’t overreach yet. Start smaller.”

Her gaze snaps up, irritation plain on her face. “I’m not?—”

“You are,” I insist. “You’re channeling too much at once. Try again with half the power on your shield.”

She presses her lips together, standing upright. Snow swirls around her boots as she re-centers. “All right. One more time.” This time, her shield appears thinner, a paler shade of blue. She breathes through the incantation, calmer, more controlled. Then she conjures the orb again, steadily feeding it energy. My runes tingle with the sense of her magic weaving multiple threads at once.

I nod to myself.This is better.The orb stabilizes, floating in front of her. I circle her slowly, letting the tension build. Then I fling another pulse of force. The orb trembles under the assault, but Sariah’s shield remains up, though barely. Sparks dance across its surface. She grits her teeth, extending her left hand to direct the orb.

It flares bright, then streaks toward me. Surprised, I tense. She’s sending a direct attack—a small bolt of condensed arcane force. I half-smile.Good.With a swift motion, I unfurl my wings and summon my gargoyle barrier—similar to harnessing the earth’s resonance. The orb hits my invisible shield, bursting into a harmless shower of sparks. Her shield collapses as her energy falters, and she staggers back, exhausted.

She’s breathing hard, but her eyes sparkle with triumph. “I did it,” she gasps.

A reluctant grin tugs at my lips. “You did. Not bad.”

She shoots me a challenging look. “Not bad? That was?—”

“Passable,” I interrupt, though the warmth I feel for her success is genuine. “We’ll keep practicing until it becomes second nature. You won’t have time to think in a real fight.”

She exhales, rolling her shoulders. The brand on her wrist flickers under the faint sun, and I sense a pang of sympathy for the burden she carries. “Fine,” she says, though her tone is less defensive now. “Just give me a moment to breathe before you throw another attack at me.”

I incline my head in a curt nod. “Take your time. There’s no point in burning you out on day one.”

She collapses onto a nearby rock, rubbing her palms together. Her breath comes in visible puffs in the cold. I remain standing, scanning the horizon for any signs of movement—Drayveth, or worse. The valley is still, except for the whistle of wind over the snowy plain. My tail flicks in restless arcs.

My mind drifts to gargoyle combat training. It’s typically brutal, forging warriors who can fight off orcs, monstrous beasts, even rival gargoyles. The purna approach is different—focused on spellcraft, cunning, and layered wards. Yet Sariah stands in that intersection, needing to blend both worlds if she hopes to survive. It might just be enough to tip the scales in our favor.

She exhales slowly, then stands again. “I’m ready,” she announces, sounding almost eager. There’s a determined gleam in her eyes.

I let a rare smile curve my lips. “Good. This time, we’ll practice close quarters. No spells unless absolutely necessary. Use your physical agility.”

She snorts. “I’m not exactly built like a gargoyle, you know.”

“I noticed,” I say drily. Indeed, her lean frame is a stark contrast to my heavy musculature and stone-hard skin. “But you can still dodge, parry, and redirect attacks. If you fight Drayveth or any purna trained in melee, you’ll need more than spells.”

She squares her shoulders. “All right. Let’s do it.”

I shift into a combative stance, legs braced. My wings extend slightly for balance. When she draws near, I feint a blow at her upper arm—not enough to injure, but to test her reaction. She yelps and ducks, stumbling a little. I track her movement, tail thrashing behind me to keep balanced. She glares, then tries to jab me in the side. My stone-like skin barely registers the impact, but I appreciate her tenacity.

“Sweep the leg,” I instruct, blocking her next strike with my forearm. “Use your momentum.”

Her eyes narrow. “Fine.” She ducks low, swinging her leg in an arc. It meets my calf with a surprising amount of force. I barely budge, but she capitalizes on the moment to pivot around me, fists raised. A flicker of admiration sparks in my chest—she’s quick. If she had more practice, she could catch me off-guard.

We continue this dance: she attacks, I counter, occasionally letting her land a glancing blow to build her confidence. Yet her movements remain stiff, uncertain. She’s not used to grappling with an opponent who can’t be easily toppled.

Frustration colors her cheeks pink. “You’re barely moving,” she accuses, breath ragged.

My tail lashes against the snowy ground. “Because your hits need more follow-through. Try shifting your weight.” I show her by example, sweeping my clawed hand low in a single fluid motion. She jumps back, cursing under her breath. The tether pulses in my chest, reflecting her heightened adrenaline.

“Again,” I order.

She squares off, and we clash once more. This time, she uses a trick: chanting a swift incantation under her breath while faking a punch. A burst of shimmering force collides with my shoulder—stronger than I expected. I stagger, wings flaring to maintain balance. She seizes the opportunity, hooking her foot behind my ankle, attempting to topple me. It’s a bold move, one that might work on someone closer to her size.

I grunt in surprise as my foot slips on the icy ground. For an instant, I lose traction. My tail whips around, but the slick snow thwarts me. I crash onto my back with a jarring impact. A whoosh of air leaves my lungs, and Sariah stumbles forward, momentum carrying her. She ends up half sprawled across my chest, cloak tangling around her legs.By the Thirteen…

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