Page 14 of Bound By the Beast Man
His words hang in the cold air of the alcove, echoing in my mind long after he has finished speaking. Osiris. Zable Crystals. A dying world. It is all too vast, too immense to comprehend. For years, my entire world has been the suffocating darkness of the coffin, and before that, the small, simple boundaries of my village. I knew there were other lands, other people, but the idea of otherworlds, of portals that connect them, is a concept from a fairy tale, not from reality. Yet, the proof of it is sitting right in front of me, a creature of legend with a story that rewrites the very nature of my existence.
He is not just a lost warrior who stumbled upon me by chance. He is a hero on a desperate quest, sent by his King to save his people. The realization shifts my entire perception of him. The raw, primal power I have seen in him is not just that of a wild beast; it is the strength of a dedicated soldier, a chosen champion. The gravity of his mission settles upon me, an almost physical pressure. The fate of an entire race, an entire world, rests on his broad shoulders. And I, with the Purna’s magical trace painting a target on my back, am an obstacle. I am a dangerous, time-consuming detour from his sacred duty.
I see the deep weariness in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and I understand that he carries a burden far heavier than just his own survival. He is fighting for everyone he has ever known. The thought makes my own troubles, as all-consuming as they have been, feel smaller somehow. I am not a victim being rescued by a powerful stranger. I am now the companion to a man who holds the fate of a world in his hands, and I am the single greatest threat to his success.
The initial shock of his revelation gives way to a burning, insatiable curiosity. My fear and shame are momentarily pushed aside by a desperate need to understand. This creature, this man who has become the center of my universe, is a complete mystery. I need to know more. I need to know everything.
“Osiris,” I said, the name feeling strange and foreign on my tongue. “What is it like?”
He turns to look at me, and in the faint light, I see his hard, warrior’s expression soften. A flicker of deep, profound longing passes through his bronze-gold eyes.
“It is a world of light,” he said. “Lush and warm, surrounded by a turquoise sea. Our city is built in harmony with the forest, and the air is always filled with the scent of flowers and the sound of music.”
His description paints a picture so beautiful and so contrary to the bleak, grey world around us that it makes my heart ache. It sounds like a paradise, a place of peace. A place like my village, before it burned.
“And your people?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What are… manticores?”
A faint, sad smile touches his lips.
“We are a race of warriors, but also of scholars and artists,” he said. “We value wisdom and honor above all else. We are not… like the creatures of this world.”
He does not have to say it. I understand. They are not like the cruel dark elves or the monstrous Purna. They are a noble people, and they are dying. The injustice of it is a sharp pain in my chest. He is a good man, from a good place, and this violent, ugly world is going to consume him, just as it consumed my own.
I look at the blood-soaked bandage on his arm, a stark reminder of my own terrified violence. Then I look into his weary, honorable face. The pieces of the puzzle click into place, forming a picture that is both terrifying and awe-inspiring. His King sent him here, into this terrible, hostile land, to face the very dark elves who just passed us on the path. He is here to steal the lifeblood of his world from the most dangerous race on the continent. And in the midst of this impossible quest, he found me.
He is burdened with saving his world, and now he is burdened with saving me, too. The guilt I feel is a heavy stone in my gut. But alongside the guilt, a new feeling begins to take root. A fierce, protective urge of my own. He has been my shield, my protector, my only hope since he shattered my glass prison. But he is not invincible. I see the vulnerability in him now, the crushing weight of his duty, the deep sorrow for the brothers he lost in the storm. He is strong, but even the strongest warrior can be broken by a world like this.
The dynamic between us shifts in the cold air of the alcove. He is no longer just a mysterious, powerful rescuer. He is Corvak, a man from a dying paradise, an honorable soldier on a desperate mission, and my only ally. And just as he is my only hope for survival, I am his only ally here, in this hostile corner of his enemy’s land. I cannot be a burden. I will not be a liability. I must find a way to help him.
I look at him, this man who has risked everything for me, a stranger. A silent vow forms in my heart. I will no longer be a passive survivor, a piece of stolen property to be reclaimed. I willuse the Purna magic I hate, I will use the survival skills my father taught me, I will use everything I am and everything I have to help him. His quest is now my quest. Our individual struggles for survival have merged into a shared journey. And I will not let him fail.
21
CORVAK
Iwatch her as she absorbs the truth of my mission. The story of my home, of my people, hangs in the cold air between us. I see the flicker of understanding in her eyes, the dawning comprehension of the burden I carry but it is swiftly followed by a sharp and bitter pang of guilt.
She begins to ask questions, her voice soft with a curiosity that is a welcome change from the fear I have grown so accustomed to seeing in her eyes.
“Osiris,” she said, the name feeling strange and foreign on her tongue. “What is it like?”
I open my mouth to answer, to tell her of the warm, turquoise sea, of the city built in harmony with the forest, of the scent of flowers and the sound of music. But the words catch in my throat. To speak of home is to speak of the five brothers who are not here with me, the brothers I led into that cursed storm. The memories of home are intertwined with memories of them—of training with Tarek in the royal courtyard, of listening to Caspian haggle in the marketplace, of trying to keep Ronan and Lucaris from causing trouble, of long nights spent debatingstrategy with Silas. To speak of home without them feels like a betrayal, a eulogy I am not yet ready to give.
The silence stretches, and I see a flicker of concern on Diana's face. The discomfort, the raw grief, must be plain on my own. I cannot speak of my home, of my mission, without feeling the crushing weight of my failure to the men who trusted me with their lives. I turn away from the memories, from the pain, and turn the focus back to her. It is a deflection, a retreat, but it is also a genuine need to understand the woman I am now bound to, the woman for whom I am failing in my duty.
“Your family,” I said, my voice rougher than I intend. “You said the Purna took your sister. Tell me about them.”
Her expression shifts, the curiosity replaced by a deep and familiar sorrow. I see her brace herself, but she does not shy away from the question. She tells me of a kind, strong father and a warm, loving mother who told her fairy tales. And she tells me of her sister, Ingrid, her voice breaking as she describes a girl full of light and laughter and a fierce, unwavering belief in the goodness of the world. As she speaks, I listen, my heart aching for the life that was stolen from her.
I watch her face, her hands, her eyes, searching for any sign of the Purna’s inherent cruelty. I find none. I see only a profound grief, and a strength that was forged in the heart of a loving family. When she falls silent, her story told, I ask the question I truly need answered.
“And the magic,” I said, my voice careful. “The light in the cave… your mother’s stories of her own mother’s ‘gifts’… what do you believe it is?”
She flinches at the mention of the magic, her gaze dropping to her own hands expecting to see them glowing with that same terrifying light. She wraps her arms around herself, a small, protective gesture that makes my own hands clench into fists.I want to destroy the people who made her feel this way, who turned a part of her own soul into a source of fear and shame.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I only know that it feels…connected. And I know that I am not one of them, Corvak. I would rather die than be like them.”
Her raw, vulnerable honesty breaks through the last of my ingrained prejudice. I see with an absolute clarity that she is not a witch to be feared. She is a woman grappling with a terrifying identity, a power she never asked for and does not understand. In her, I see a mirror of my own struggle. Just as I am at war with my sense of duty, she is at war with her own nature. Our quests, I realize, are the same: to save our families from the darkness of this world.
