33. Thalos

33

THALOS

W e have finally settled into our new home, but Eryndor won’t stop. He just can’t let Laia go.

The forest is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. I move through the underbrush like a shadow, my senses sharp, every instinct on high alert. Today, I’m not hunting for food. The scent of dark elves lingers in the air, faint but unmistakable. Eryndor’s scouts. They’re getting too close. Too bold.

My lip curls in disgust as I think of Eryndor and his minions daring to encroach on our territory. My grip tightens around the haft of my axe, the familiar weight a comfort and a promise of violence.

Movement ahead catches my eye—a trio of dark elves, their black armor gleaming faintly under the canopy. They haven’t seen me yet. Good.

I move swiftly, my steps silent and sure. In moments, I’m upon them, my axe already in hand. The first dark elf turns just as my blade slices through his throat in a single, brutal motion. Blood sprays, painting the forest floor red.

The other two react too slowly, their eyes widening in shock as their comrade falls. One fumbles for his weapon while the other stumbles back, trying to assess the threat that’s already upon them.

I waste no time, my axe swinging in a deadly arc. The second dark elf raises his blade to block, but he’s too slow. My axe cleaves through his defense and buries itself in his chest with a sickening crunch. He gasps, blood bubbling from his lips as he crumples to the ground.

The third one tries to run, panic written across his face. But there’s no escape. I lunge forward, catching him by the shoulder and yanking him back with brutal force. His scream is cut short as I drive my axe into his back and I slam him onto the ground.

I stand over their bodies for a moment, breathing heavily, my eyes scanning the trees for any more threats. The forest is still once more, save for the dying gurgles of the dark elves at my feet.

Eryndor’s scouts will think twice before coming this close again. But this is just the beginning. They won’t stop until they’ve taken everything from us—until they’ve taken Laia from us.

I scan the bodies and spot the one with the fewest injuries—the one I had slammed into the ground. He’s still alive, barely conscious, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Good. We need answers.

Grabbing him by the collar, I haul him to his feet. He groans in pain, his head lolling as he tries to focus on me through the haze of agony. “You’re coming with me,” I growl, dragging him back toward our lair.

Blood drips from the dark elf as we walk, potentially attracting other beasts, but I don’t care. What matters is he’s not dead and can tell him what’s going on. Right now, I’m so on edge, I’ll just smash anyone standing in my way.

The journey back is slow, each step heightening the urgency of the situation. Eryndor won’t stop until he has Laia back, but why? What is he planning? Didn’t he have enough of her?

When I finally reach our new lair, Laia is waiting at the entrance. Her eyes widen in fear as she sees the bloodied elf in my grip. "Thalos,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Inside,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument.

She steps aside as I drag the dark elf into our lair, his feet scraping against the ground. Laia follows hesitantly, her gaze darting between me and our prisoner.

“We need answers,” I say tersely, dumping the elf onto the floor with a thud. He groans again, trying to push himself up but failing miserably. He crawls, trying to get away, but I slam my boot onto his foot.

The sound of bone breaking echoes in the lair, the dark elf screaming in pain.

Laia’s eyes are wide with terror. Is she scared of me?

“Why won’t Eryndor let you go?” I ask her directly, though my eyes never leave the elf’s prone form.

She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know. He’s crazy. Eryndor liked to break me. For some unknown reason, I became the subject of his torture. They call me his ‘favorite’.”

Laia shives as she states this, her eyes looking distant. I grab her hand, bringing it to my lips as I apologize, “I’m sorry for making you remember all the bad memories.”

She smiles at me, and my heart softens even more. “I understand.”

“We’ll make him talk,” I promise. “He’ll tell us what he knows about Ernydor.”

“He probably doesn’t know anything,” Laia sighs.

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll all die anyway.” Irix joins us, his eyes gleaming with dark intent.

Laia steps back, her heart pounding as Irix picks up a hammer.

“You don’t need to see this,” Irix growls as he steps toward the prisoner.

Before Laia can protest, I gently but firmly steer her away, my voice low and commanding. “Go with Kael. We’ll handle this.”

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty, but she obeys, casting one last worried glance at us before following Kael out of the room. I frown; sometimes her heart can be too soft.

Irix’s interrogation is brutal. The sounds of the dark elf’s screams echo through the basement of the lair, each cry a testament to the pain inflicted.

“I don’t know anything; forgive me!” he croaks, but I don’t let up. I grab the bat from the side and smash it onto his legs. “No! No! I don’t know anything about Eryndor and the woman. I swear?—”

“Tell us about your group,” Irix cuts him off. The dark elf nodded, ready to spill everything.

When Irix and I emerge, our expressions are grim. “There’s a camp,” I say to Kael, my voice tight. “Not far from here. They’re looking for Laia.”

“We’re taking the fight to them,” Irix declares.

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