45. Thalos

45

THALOS

L aia stands over Eryndor, her body trembling with exhaustion but her eyes burning with rage. The courtyard is silent, save for the crackling torches in the night. Her fingers wrap around the hilt of a sword, but her grip is weak—her knuckles pale from the effort of holding it upright. The weight of her ordeal presses down on her, but she keeps her gaze locked on the dark elf kneeling before her.

Eryndor’s face is a mask of fear, his once arrogant sneer replaced by wide, terrified eyes. His lips quiver as he stammers, “Please, Laia. I was wrong. I?—”

Kael steps forward, his large hand gently lowering the sword from Laia’s grasp. “Not tonight,” he murmurs, his deep voice steady. “You need to rest. You can barely stand, let alone swing a blade.”

Laia’s chest heaves, her breath ragged, but she doesn’t resist. She knows he’s right. Her body feels like it’s been through a storm—every muscle aching, every nerve frayed. But the fire of vengeance still burns in her heart.

I watch her closely, my eyes dark with concern. “Tomorrow,” I say softly, my voice low. “You’ll have your justice. But not like this.”

Laia’s gaze shifts to me, and for a moment, the fire in her eyes dims, replaced by fatigue. She nods, her voice barely a whisper. “Tomorrow.”

Her acceptance brings a small measure of relief to my chest. We will see this through together.

I exchange a look with Kael, and we silently agree on what needs to be done next. “Irix, take her back to her room,” I command, my tone gentle but firm.

Irix steps forward, his broad frame casting a protective shadow over Laia. He picks her up gently and carries her. As they turn to leave, Laia glances back at the courtyard, her eyes lingering on Eryndor’s trembling form. The dark elf’s pleading eyes follow her. I block Eryndor’s view of her.

Kael and I turn our attention back to Eryndor, our eyes hardening as we watch him cower. His once noble posture is broken, and he looks like a shadow of the tyrant he once was. The air between us is thick with tension as Eryndor begins to speak, his voice shaky and desperate.

“Please… I’ve made mistakes, but I can make amends,” he stammers, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to plead for mercy. "I... I should have honored our deal. I shouldn’t have taken her back. I shouldn’t have sent the orcs, the dark elves, the attacks… I… I only wanted?—”

His voice trails off as he looks up at us, fear etched into every line of his face. There is no pity in our hearts for him. Not after everything he has done.

The courtyard falls silent again, save for the distant crackle of torches and the quiet shuffle of footsteps. This moment isn’t for begging or bargaining; it’s for reckoning.

Eryndor swallows hard, his eyes darting between Kael and me, searching for any sign of leniency. He finds none.

“Spare me,” he whispers finally, his voice barely audible.

But we remain unmoved. We will see this through together—on our terms.

Kael’s snarl cuts through the air. “You wanted to control her. You thought you could use her like a pawn. We made a deal. You give her to us in exchange for cleaning up your mess.”

Eryndor’s voice cracks, his words tumbling over each other as he grovels, his knees sinking into the dirt. “I was wrong! It was my ego… my obsession. I didn’t think clearly. I?—”

I step forward, my towering form casting Eryndor in shadow. His eyes dart up to meet mine, wide and filled with terror. The pitiful sight of him—this once-arrogant dark elf now reduced to a trembling mess—does nothing to soften the rage boiling inside me.

“You let your desire destroy any honor you had,” I growl, my voice low and menacing. “You deserve to die for what you’ve done.”

Eryndor shrinks back, his eyes wide with terror. "No, please. I beg you.”

The courtyard is silent, save for the crackling torches and Eryndor’s desperate pleas. His fear is palpable, a bitter taste in the air that does nothing to sway me. He deserves every ounce of it.

I can see the tremor in Kael’s hands and the barely contained fury in his eyes. This isn’t just about vengeance for what Eryndor did to Laia—it’s about everything he represents. The cruelty, the manipulation, the utter disregard for life.

Eryndor’s lips quiver as he continues to plead, his voice growing more frantic with each word. But it all falls on deaf ears.

“No… please… I beg you…”

Eryndor's voice shakes as he continues to plead, desperation dripping from every word. “It was all part of the plan,” he stammers. “Our agreement... I let her go. I guided her to you. The first attack... It was meant to push her towards you, to make her willingly surrender.”

My eyes narrow, rage boiling inside me. “You think that justifies anything?”

“But the orc attack... that was different. That was my mistake, my selfishness. I wanted her back. I couldn’t let go,” Eryndor babbles.

Kael’s expression darkens, his voice a cold whisper. “Laia must never know about this.”

I nodded, my jaw clenched. “Agreed.”

Without another word, I slam my fist into Eryndor’s face, sending him sprawling to the ground. The sickening crack of his jaw hitting the dirt echoes through the courtyard, and blood spills from his nose.

“This is for every scar on her body,” I growl, yanking him back up only to slam him down again. His cries of pain fill the air as I unleash blow after blow, each one fueled by the torment he put Laia through.

Kael circles behind us, his axe gleaming in the torchlight. “He needs to live,” he murmurs, his voice cold and devoid of mercy. Kael stops him from bleeding profusely.

My chest heaves with each breath, and my fists bloodied from the assault. But I step back, my eyes still burning with fury. “Then make sure he can never speak again.”

Kael moves swiftly, his blade flashing as he grabs Eryndor by the throat. With a swift, precise motion, he cuts out the dark elf’s tongue. Eryndor’s screams are silent now, his body writhing in pain as blood pours from his mouth.

We leave him hanging in the courtyard, his body broken but alive—if only for Laia’s final judgment.

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