Vengeance

Chapter 10

Flying is unlike anything I have ever known.

No, not flying—becoming flight.

The wind doesn’t just hold me—it sings through me, rushing over my feathers in cool, rippling waves. The night air kisses my skin-turned-plumage, crisp and intoxicating. I rise with it, buoyed on invisible currents, each beat of my wings pushing me higher, faster, freer. There is no weight here, no burden—only the sky, vast and endless and mine. A giddy laugh echoes in my chest, but it comes out as a sharp, avian trill, wild and bright. I dive, spin, twist in the air like a ribbon of moonlight, cutting through the stars as though the heavens themselves were made for me.

I feel invincible. Untouchable.

Like I was born to do this.

A sudden caw! slices through my euphoria like a blade.

I jolt, feathers twitching mid-air, my wings faltering for a fraction of a second.

Careful, Master, Ewen’s voice coils into my thoughts, low and steady, yet edged with warning. The first time a magic-user shifts, it’s far too easy to lose yourself. The instincts of the creature can… consume you. That is why an anchor is essential. That is why I’m here.

His voice is like a tether thrown to me in the wind.

I steady myself, refocusing, pulling my wild joy back under control. Right. This isn’t play. This is a mission.

I know, I answer, the words laced with a reluctant sigh as I align myself with his path once more.

I’m focused. I promise.

He hums softly in acknowledgment, a sound like midnight silk brushing my thoughts.

Below us, the world sprawls out in shadow and silver. The castle looms ahead, black stone carved against the sky like the jagged spine of a sleeping beast. Torches dot its walls like molten eyes, keeping silent watch. We dive lower, wings folding slightly as we descend toward a tower near the dungeons—an outcropping of cold granite jutting away from the rest of the fortress. It smells of rot and secrets. Of despair.

The moment my talons scrape stone, I force the magic to dissolve.

A shimmer, a ripple through my bones—and suddenly I am me again. Skin. Breath. Blood.

I stumble slightly at the transition, knees buckling under the sudden return of weight. Beside me, Ewen lands in a whisper of dark energy, his raven shape unraveling like smoke, his human form reforming from the void.

I take one look at the thick iron-bound door and already feel my magic coiling again in my chest. “We need to shift again,” I whisper. “Something smaller. Quieter. If they see us—”

“I know,” he says, already calling the shadows to his body like a second skin.

I let the magic bloom within me again, pulling it over my bones like a cloak, folding myself into something nimble, swift, silent. My body contracts, fur replacing skin, senses sharpening into feline clarity. The world becomes sharper—edges outlined in scent and sound. I land lightly on all fours, tail curling with instinctive balance.

Beside me, Ewen’s form condenses into that of a sleek black cat, his silver eyes still gleaming like stars behind storm clouds.

Flawless shift, Master, his voice purrs through our link, filled with quiet pride. Not even a hitch. You are a natural—a prodigy.

I brush my side against his, letting out a soft, instinctive rumble of pleasure.

You flatter me, I tease, though warmth blooms in my chest.

We slip through a narrow crack in the window and land silently on the inside ledge. The air inside is damp and cool, thick with mildew and stone dust. Torches flicker weakly along the corridor, their light barely cutting through the gloom. Every sound is magnified in this silence: the drip of water echoing somewhere below, the whisper of a rat scurrying between cracks in the wall, the slow drag of a guard’s boots down the hall.

We slink past the dungeon guard with ease, our small forms all but invisible to his bored, half-lidded eyes. His mind is elsewhere. Good. Let it stay there.

Beyond this point, no guards. We can shift back—just keep alert.

I nod through our link and unravel the magic. The shift back is smooth now, almost second nature.

We move forward, footsteps soft on stone, checking each cell as we pass.

Most are empty—cold, forgotten relics of past cruelty. The air grows colder with each step, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath.

And then—

A voice.

Weak, rasped, familiar.

“Khalida… is that you?”

I freeze mid-step. The name strikes me like a thunderclap, reverberating through my bones. My pulse stutters.

I glance at Ewen, whose eyes narrow.

“That voice,” I whisper, throat tight. “It feels… right. Like it’s reaching for something I’ve lost.”

He nods once, solemn. “Then we follow it.”

We do. The voice leads us down a dim corridor to a cell cloaked in shadow.

Inside—

A man, gaunt but not broken, sits slumped against the wall. His hair is a tarnished gold, dulled with grime and years of neglect, but his eyes… his eyes are silver. Piercing. Familiar.

And there, in his lap, a silver cat blinks up at me with startling intelligence.

I gasp, stumbling closer. “You—! You have a star bond, too!” My heart pounds. “You feel familiar. I don’t know why, but—something in me says I have to help you.”

The man drags himself forward on his knees, hands trembling as they grip the bars. His eyes widen. “Khalida…” His voice cracks. “You came.”

But then something shifts. His expression falters.

“No… you’re not—” His face falls into despair. “You don’t remember me.”

The silver cat leaps down and brushes against his leg, but he barely notices, grief hollowing out his gaze.

I turn to Ewen, my voice a whisper. “We can’t leave them.”

Before he can respond, the cat’s body ripples—fur melting into silver light until a woman stands in her place, her hair long and silken, eyes like moonlight on still water.

“Please,” she says, bowing her head slightly. “Forgive my master. He has been trapped here for so long that hope became a madness. He waited… always for someone named Khalida.” Her voice trembles. “I do not know why he calls you by that name, but I beg you—don’t leave him. Not now. Not when you’re the first hope he’s seen in years.”

The name vibrates in my chest. Khalida. Khalida.

It feels like a memory I almost remember. Like a name carved into the marrow of my bones, only to be buried long ago.

I nod, though my voice shakes. “Ewen. Help them. Please.”

The bond between us flares in protest, like a tether snapping taut. He grimaces, pressing fingers to his temple. “Your will is… strong,” he mutters, almost impressed. Then, with a sigh, he presses his palm to the lock. Arcane runes bloom across the metal, glowing faintly before the mechanism clicks open with a satisfying finality.

I don’t wait. I turn and run.

“Wait!” the silver-haired bond calls after me. “Do not go further! It gets worse down there!”

I hesitate only a heartbeat—but Ewen is already behind me.

So I keep going.

The deeper we descend, the more oppressive the air becomes.

It is thick, heavy, wrong—like breathing in sorrow.

The walls sweat with rot. The torches here sputter, barely clinging to life, and every flicker casts monstrous shadows that twitch and crawl along the stone.

The stench hits next. Blood. Stale. Clotted. Mixed with decay. It curls into my nose and coats the back of my throat. My stomach lurches.

We reach the last cell.

And I stop breathing.

Chains. So many chains.

A body lies crumpled on the cold, damp floor—skin torn, bruised, covered in filth and dried blood. Her wrists, her ankles, her neck are all bound in cruel iron shackles, etched with sigils meant to suppress magic. Her hair, once radiant, is matted with dirt and blood. Her face is barely recognizable beneath the bruises.

But I know her.

I know her.

“Mother…”

The word is a broken thing as it falls from my lips. I throw myself at the lock, magic exploding from my hands in a raw, uncontrolled burst. The door blasts open with a deafening clang, the metal screaming as it slams against the wall.

I fall to my knees beside her, my hands hovering, shaking, terrified to touch her, terrified she might be—

“Mother, please,” I whisper. “Please open your eyes. I’m here. I’m here now.”

Tears spill hot and fast, dropping onto her cold skin, mixing with the dried blood.

Ewen kneels beside me, two fingers pressing gently to her throat.

A pause. A heartbeat.

“She’s alive,” he says. “Barely. But she’s still here.”

Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave. I sob openly now, clutching her hand to my chest. Ewen’s expression softens as he lifts her, his arms gentle, protective.

“We must move,” he says, his voice quiet but urgent. “Now.”

He turns to me. “You’ll need to cast again—not a shift, but a cloaking weave. Pull the magic around all of us. Will us out of sight. Can you?”

I meet his gaze. My heart pounds, fear nipping at the edges of my resolve. My body is shaking. My magic is stretched thin.

But I nod.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I can do this.”

I close my eyes.

I reach inward.

Past the fear. Past the exhaustion.

Into the core of who I am. Into the fire that has always burned there.

Magic rises—warm and golden, thrumming like a second heartbeat beneath my skin. It spills from me like a tide, enveloping us, curling around Ewen, my mother, even the stone beneath our feet. I mold it, bend it, command it.

And with one final breath, I will us into nothingness.

We vanish.