Page 71 of Bound In Shadow

Takar strides off, and we follow, forging a path through the orchard. My illusions remain dormant for now; no immediate threat looms. The orchard enclaves lead us to a wide, grassy clearing framed by towering apple trees heavy with blossoms. The sweet scent of orchard life drifts in the breeze, stark contrast to the stench of blood we left behind in Pyrthos.

We help the orchard rebels set up tents, gather firewood, dig small latrine pits. The sense of forging a real settlement sparks faint optimism among them—men, women, and children once scattered by the council’s raids now unite here, under our watchful eyes. A hush of community forms as dusk settles, fires lit for warmth, orchard gloom folding around us like a protective blanket.

By nightfall, the orchard glows with firelight, distant hush of conversation lacing the camp. Takar organizes rotating sentries, half orchard rebels, half exiled Dark Elves, symbolizing the trust we’re building. I see orchard children peeking out from tents, curiosity shining in their eyes when they spot Xelith. Not long ago, they’d have run screaming at the sight of a Dark Elf noble.Now, they watch him with cautious wonder, aware that he stands against the fortress that once terrified them.

Exhausted, I slump onto a crate near the largest fire. My head throbs with leftover pain from illusions. Xelith sits beside me, placing a gentle hand on my back. “How’s the headache?” he asks, voice low.

“Dull ache, still there.” I force a shrug. “Better than earlier, though. I just need rest.”

He nods, gaze lingering on me with concern. “We’ll rest soon. Tonight, we can breathe. Tomorrow, we plan.”

I rub my eyes.Yes, plan how to unify orchard enclaves, how to keep outriders from ambushing us.Another wave of guilt nips at me:I enthralled living souls, manipulated them to bend or break.But if I hadn’t, we’d be in chains or corpses. I must carry that weight.

Xelith notices the flicker of conflict in my eyes. Slowly, he leans in, pressing a brief, comforting kiss to my temple. Warmth blossoms, easing my turmoil. I turn to him, offering a faint, grateful smile. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He doesn't reply aloud, but the gentle squeeze of my arm speaks volumes.

Around us, exiled Dark Elves and rebels share a meal of roasted roots and dried meat, swapping stories in hushed voices. They glance at me and Xelith occasionally, respect or curiosity in their eyes.Let them see us, the anchored pair at the heart of this fragile alliance.

At last, I rise, stifling a yawn. My body begs for real sleep. Xelith helps me find a small shelter—a crude lean-to we hammered together from orchard branches and a spare cloth. The orchard rebels insisted we take some measure of privacy. My cheeks burn with the memory of them seeing us so close, but I sense no judgment. They understand what we risked.

Inside the lean-to, straw piles form a makeshift bedding. The orchard’s night wind whispers outside, carrying the faint chirr of insects. Xelith arranges his cloak as a shared blanket. We settle side by side, tension melting from our limbs. My eyes drift shut with weariness, though a faint flutter of anxiety remains in my chest.

He shifts, turning so our foreheads nearly touch. “Sleep,” he murmurs. “We’ll handle tomorrow when it comes.”

I manage a wry laugh, voice cracking. “Tomorrow is always the unknown. But at least I’m not facing it alone.”

He smiles, a soft exhalation. “Never alone.”

That vow resonates in the orchard hush. I let the day’s exhaustion drag me under, lulled by Xelith’s presence, by the orchard breeze rustling the lean-to fabric. My dreams flicker with flashes of enthralled guards, orchard illusions, and the council’s sneering faces. I recall the final confrontation and how I nearly lost myself to the raw power of enthrallment. But each nightmare is chased away by a steady warmth—Xelith, the orchard enclaves, the knowledge that we stand on the cusp of something new.

Come morning, we’ll rise again, forging onward through farmland glades and orchard paths, outpacing the fortress’s vengeance. The guilt of enthrallment lingers, but I cling to the memory of those final moments in the Great Hall: how Xelith sacrificed his noble claim, how I harnessed illusions to save lives, how we walked away as free exiles rather than slaves to a broken system.

Yes, we’re on the run. The orchard enclaves rely on us to carve out a life beyond the fortress’s dominion. My illusions and Xelith’s shadows can shield them only so far. But with every stride, we bury the old fear and chain-bound existence, step by step forging a new future under orchard canopies, unstoppable in our unity.

And as Xelith’s breathing evens out, I sense the promise in his vow—I cannot leave him, and he will not abandon me. Our bond, born of a twisted fate, stands stronger than the fortress walls we shattered. Now we roam Protheka’s farmland, hunted but unbroken, carrying the orchard’s flame of freedom wherever we tread. We may be fugitives, but we are fugitives with hope—and for me, that hope is enough to face whatever the next dawn brings.

18

XELITH

Icradle a torch in my left hand, the flickering flame illuminating ancient stone and creeping moss. The cavern walls loom around me, damp with water that seeps from the cracks overhead, forming tiny rivulets that trickle into shallow pools. Despite the lingering chill, a sense of quiet safety envelops me—something I haven’t felt since I abandoned the fortress.

This hidden refuge, discovered by our orchard scouts, lies deep beneath a rugged hillside far from Pyrthos. It’s no lavish palace, but after weeks of riding, fighting, and fleeing, the dark stillness comforts me. I walk in slow, measured steps, one ear tuned to the echoes of orchard rebels setting up camp in the adjoining chamber.

We’ve carved a modest life down here in the winding cave system, at least for now. A handful of torches line the corridor, revealing niches hollowed out by time. A few orchard folk store provisions in the deeper recesses, away from prying eyes. The low murmur of conversation wafts from the main cavern: humans and exiled Dark Elves sharing whatever meager rations we salvaged during the trek.

I still can’t believe we’ve come this far. The orchard enclaves—once scattered, cowering in the farmland—follow me. Not because I claim noble birth but because Lysandra standing beside me, bridging the gap between us. My father would never have imagined his son’s legacy existing in such a place—a damp cave system, forging alliances with humans.

But I no longer care for my father’s vision. The only approval I seek is Lysandra’s—she, who shattered the council’s illusions about who is strong and who is prey. My lips curl in a faint smile as I recall how she enthralled half the fortress to protect us. I still feel an odd thrill at the memory of her voice resonating with lethal power.She wields a strength that rivals any Dark Elf mage I’ve known.

I round a bend in the corridor, passing orchard rebels perched on rock ledges, their bedrolls laid out. A few blink up at me with guarded respect. One dips his head. “Prince Xelith,” he murmurs, adjusting a makeshift bandage on his leg. “You brought more torches?”

I nod. “Takar will bring them soon.” My free hand gestures at the dripping stalactites overhead. “We’ll keep the fires minimal, though. Don’t want too much smoke down here.”

He grunts understanding, returning to the quiet conversation with his neighbor. I walk on, torchlight dancing along uneven walls. My mind drift to the orchard enclaves we passed on our way here, how they watched from tree lines as we led a battered but undefeated column. They saw Lysandra and me, riding together, exiled from the fortress we once cursed.

A swirl of warmth settles in my chest at the thought of Lysandra. She’s the reason I keep pushing, the reason I let go of any illusions about reclaiming the fortress throne. She’s the reason I see myself not as a disgraced noble but as a leader forging something new, something better.And I want her at my side—always.

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