Chapter 1  

Elira

The chains dragged through snow that had turned to slush beneath dozens of stumbling feet, their metallic song a funeral dirge in the frozen night. My wrists burned where the rusted cuffs bit into raw flesh, each step sending fresh fire up my arms. The dark elf guards moved like shadows alongside their human cargo. Violet eyes gleamed with cruel amusement from faces carved from shadow and malice as they watched us stumble through the treacherous mountain pass.

Keep walking. Keep breathing. Stay alive.

The mantra had kept me sane through three weeks of captivity, through the nights when the dark elves' melodic laughter echoed off cave walls while they decided who would be sold and who would be kept for sport. I'd learned to make myself small, unremarkable, just another piece of livestock in their caravan. But tonight—tonight felt different. The guards were distracted, their attention focused on the winding path ahead as they navigated the notorious Causadurn Ridge.

A gust of wind cut through my tattered dress, and I nearly cried out from the cold. The fabric, once a soft blue that matched my mother's favorite shawl, now hung in filthy tatters. I could still smell smoke in the threads sometimes, when the wind caught them just right. Smoke and blood and the last gasps of home.

Don't think about it. Not now.

The woman chained beside me stumbled, her bare feet slipping on ice-slicked stone. I caught her elbow instinctively, steadying her before she could drag us both down. She was older, maybe forty, with graying hair that had once been carefully braided. Now it hung in matted tangles around a face carved hollow by despair.

"Thank you," she whispered.

I squeezed her arm in response, not daring to speak louder. The guards had whips for those who made too much noise, and my back still bore the welts from my last infraction—asking for water three days ago.

"Quiet, cattle." The nearest dark elf's voice was silk wrapped around steel, his pale lips curved in a cold smile. "We wouldn't want to wake the things that hunt these mountains."

His companion laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Let them try to run. The Ridge will do our work for us."

Ahead of us, the lead guard raised his hand, calling for a brief halt. The caravan shuddered to a stop like some great dying beast, chains settling with soft clanks against stone. The dark elves gathered in a tight cluster, their flowing language like poison honey as they debated something I couldn't understand. But their gestures toward the path ahead told me enough—they were arguing about the route.

I tested my weight against my left foot, feeling the chain connecting my ankle to the woman beside me. The metal links were old, spotted with rust that flaked off like dried blood. During the day's march, I'd noticed something that made my heart race with desperate hope—the bolt connecting my wrist cuff to the chain was nearly rusted through. Hours of subtle twisting and pressure had worked the metal until it hung by threads.

One good pull. That's all I need.

The guards were still arguing, their voices rising slightly. One of them—a tall dark elf with intricate scarification covering his dusky arms—gestured angrily toward the narrow mountain pass ahead. His platinum hair caught the moonlight as he shook his head.

"The Waira hunt at night," I caught in their flowing tongue, my heart stuttering at the unfamiliar word. "We should wait for dawn."

"Coward," another spat. "They're just stories to frighten children."

The woman beside me shivered violently, her teeth chattering. "I can't feel my feet," she breathed.

"Soon," I lied. "We'll be somewhere warm soon."

But we both knew the truth. The dark elves weren't taking us to some comfortable slave market. They were heading into the deep mountains, toward settlements that specialized in the kind of trade that left no survivors to tell tales. I'd heard the guards talking when they thought we were asleep. This caravan wasn't just about slavery—it was about feeding things that had long since forgotten the taste of mercy.

The lead guard barked an order, and the caravan lurched into motion again. But as I took my first step, my foot caught on a jutting piece of stone. I stumbled hard, throwing my hands out to break my fall. The impact jarred through my wrists, and I heard the sweetest sound in the world—the soft ping of metal finally giving way.

My left cuff swung free, the rusted bolt having finally snapped. The chain connecting me to the woman beside me remained, but my hand... my hand was free.

The dark elf guards hadn't noticed. They were focused on the treacherous path ahead, stepping carefully over patches of ice that gleamed like black mirrors in the moonlight. Even with their superior night vision, the Ridge demanded caution. I slowly pulled my freed hand inside my tattered cloak, hiding the broken cuff.

Wait. Wait for the right moment.

The path began to narrow as we climbed higher into the Ridge. On our left, the mountain rose in a sheer cliff face dotted with scraggly pines that somehow found purchase in the rock. On our right, the ground fell away into darkness so complete it seemed to swallow sound itself. The wind howled through the peaks above, carrying with it the scent of snow and something else—something wild and hungry .

One of the guards stumbled, cursing as his boot skidded on ice. The dark elf behind him laughed, making some joke in their flowing language that earned chuckles from his companions.

"Careful, brother. The humans can't carry you if you fall."

"Perhaps we should chain ourselves together like our cargo."

For just a moment, their attention shifted away from us, focused on their own amusement.

Now.

I yanked my hand free from the remaining piece of the cuff and dove toward the cliff's edge. Behind me, shouts erupted as the guards realized what was happening. The woman I'd been chained to cried out as the connecting chain went taut, but I was already rolling, sliding down the steep slope in a shower of loose stones and snow.

"Kith'mor daleth!" The lead guard's voice cracked. "After her!"

I tumbled through scrub brush and over rocks that tore at my already ruined dress. Pine needles whipped across my face, drawing blood, but I kept rolling, kept sliding, kept falling toward the darkness below. Behind me, I could hear the dark elves shouting orders, the jingle of mail as they scrambled after me .

My shoulder struck a tree trunk, spinning me sideways. I managed to catch myself against another pine, gasping as pain shot through my ribs. But I was still moving, still falling away from them, and that was all that mattered.

The slope began to level out, and I found myself in a forest of ancient pines that stretched their gnarled branches toward a sky thick with stars. Snow crunched beneath my bare feet as I stumbled forward, every step taking me further from the caravan and deeper into the legendary wilderness of the Causadurn Ridge.

Behind me, the shouts were growing fainter, but I knew they wouldn't give up easily. The dark elves were hunters born, and I was just prey that had slipped its leash. They would follow.

I pushed the thought away and ran.

The forest around me seemed to pulse with its own dark life. Every snap of a twig beneath my feet sounded like thunder, every ragged breath a beacon calling my hunters home. But for the first time in three weeks, I was running toward something instead of being dragged away from it.

Even if that something was death, at least it would be a death of my choosing.

The wind carried the distant sound of barking—the dark elves had released their hounds. I forced my bleeding feet to move faster, deeper into the Ridge, toward whatever waited in the darkness ahead.

"Find her!" The lead guard's voice echoed through the trees, closer than I'd hoped. "She's worth more alive, but dead will do!"

I bit back a sob and ran harder, branches clawing at my skin like desperate fingers.

At least I would die free.