The satchel arced through the air, its faint glow casting an eerie light against the darkened sky. The world seemed to hold its breath, every eye locked on its descent toward the cliff’s edge, where jagged rocks awaited below.
“No!” Malrik’s voice tore through the night, ragged and unhinged, as he lunged toward the satchel. His sickly frame, gaunt and trembling, moved with a desperation that belied his frailty. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he slid dangerously close to the precipice, his arms outstretched.
Draven didn’t hesitate. With Malrik distracted, his attention locked on the amulet, Draven lunged toward Isla. She stood trembling, the control relic around her neck pulsing faintly, sapping her strength and will.
“Isla,” Draven growled, reaching for her.
She blinked up at him, her silver eyes dulled but pleading. “Draven,” she whispered weakly, her knees threatening to give way.
Draven ignored the triumph radiating from Malrik’s twisted grin. His only thought was Isla. With a feral snarl, he reached for the relic around her neck. His claws sliced through the leather strap in one clean motion, and the dark device tumbled to the ground, its ominous hum silenced as it hit the dirt.
A rush of energy visibly returned to Isla. Her silver eyes flared with their usual brilliance, her trembling ceased, and her wolf surged to the forefront of her mind, filling the void the relic had created. She gasped as she staggered forward, leaning heavily into Draven’s chest.
“I’ve got you,” Draven murmured, his voice low and steady. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, grounding her as his claws flexed protectively at his side.
“You’re all that matters,” Draven growled, his voice raw with emotion. He gripped her arm tightly, steadying her trembling frame. “Stay with me.”
At the cliff’s edge, Malrik’s fingers grazed the satchel as it teetered precariously. His gray eyes widened with a mix of triumph and madness, and for a heart-stopping moment, he hung suspended between victory and ruin. The wind howled around him, tearing at his cloak, as the abyss yawned beneath his feet.
Then, with a guttural snarl, Malrik lunged forward. He collapsed onto solid ground just as the satchel tipped over the brink, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling with exertion, but the twisted smile on his face betrayed his triumph.
From the cliffside, his laughter erupted, sharp and grating, cutting through the tense air. Malrik rose to his knees, holding the satchel aloft like a conqueror brandishing his spoils. The faint glow of the amulet inside illuminated his gaunt features, casting shadows that made him look more monstrous than ever.
Draven’s jaw tightened. His amber eyes burned with fury, but he forced himself to turn away. “Move!” he barked, pulling Isla toward the concealed path. Every step was a struggle for her, her legs weak from exhaustion and the lingering effects of Malrik’s suppressing relic.
“I can’t—” Isla gasped, her voice trembling as her knees buckled.
Draven scooped her into his arms without hesitation, his movements swift and sure. “You can,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Because we’re not stopping here.”
