Her gaze darted around, her heart thumping. A glint of movement from Ashra. The man was weaving through the labyrinth of vines and creepers, meeting her eyes in a split second. Her head bobbed, her throat swallowing hard. All illusions of rivalry and grudges were stripped away. For now, they were simply two strangers forced into an alliance by the monstrous dangers of this unfamiliar realm.

  A sword materialized in his grip with a flash of uncanny magic. It happened so smoothly that Elle almost missed the moment it appeared. One second, his hand was empty; the next, it held a sleek, curved blade gleaming under the fractured sunlight.

  Her heart jolted. The steel was a sinuous shape, tapering to a deadly point. Intricate ancient elvish runes veined its surface, forming spiderweb-like cracks along the metal. Inlaid in the black gold hilt was a scattering of dark green and yellow stones, sparkling like distant stars. Something about the craftsmanship tugged at her memories of lore and legend, though she couldn’t place exactly where she’d seen such artistry before.

  Ashra moved with a quiet, coiled grace, swinging the sword in a quick arc. Its edge sang through the air with a high-pitched hum, the metal vibrating with ancient power. Elle’s breath caught. The giant wolf spiders, which had been scuttling and spitting webs in frenzied aggression, abruptly retreated from the man. They hissed in unison, bristling, and shifted their attention back onto the monstrous snake writhing nearby. A ripple of tension passed through the jungle clearing. The spiders spread out, flanking the snake as it whipped its thick tail in agitation, eyes bulging in predatory rage.

  Elle stepped closer, still crouched amid the thick vines, unable to tear her eyes from the dark runes etched in the steel. What power did that scimitar hold exactly? She wondered, swallowing hard, noting how he summoned it effortlessly.

  He muttered something under his breath. The guttural syllables sounded elvish, but the dialect was unlike any she’d heard. She picked out a few recognizable fragments, words resembling “inform” and “master,” but the rest fell into an unfamiliar cadence.

  “What…are you saying?” she whispered, half to herself. She doubted he’d answer, and indeed, he scarcely glanced her way.

  The blade in his hand seemed almost alive, faint lines of glimmer tracing the etched runes. The scimitar’s curved shape caught stray rays of sunlight filtering past the leaves, sending flashes of brilliance dancing across the jungle floor. A faint pressure radiated from the steel, recoiling at the surrounding predators.

  They skirted the aftermath of the monstrous clash between the snake and the wolf spiders, weaving through snaking vines and colossal roots that tore at the damp forest floor. Churned earth, rancid venom, and the lingering tang of fear filled the air with its sulfuric, heavy fumes. Even the relentless drone of insects was hushed. The entire jungle held its breath in the wake of such violence.

  Ashra strode ahead confidently, the scimitar still held at the ready. Its runes glowed faintly, glinting whenever stray beams of sunlight penetrated the dense canopy. Elle followed a half-step behind, her breath coming in ragged draws. Her arms and legs trembled with the sudden release of adrenaline and the gnawing fatigue that replaced it.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  When the din of spider screeches and serpentine hisses began to fade, Elle allowed herself a moment to truly look at Ashra’s weapon. She couldn’t deny the awe and unease that followed as her eyes raked the sharp curve of the enchanted weapon. That gleaming steel, etched with spiderweb-like fissures and inlaid with precious stones, thrummed with ancient magic. Her mind churned with questions.

  “Your sword is…” the princess ventured, her voice rough, “it’s beautiful. I’m not much with weapons, but I can tell it’s a masterwork. Where’d you get it?”

  She half-expected him to ignore her. He’d been so tight-lipped, so guarded, that an answer seemed unlikely. But to her surprise, the criminal tilted the blade, letting golden shards of light dance across the runes. The effect was almost hypnotic.

  “This is Banshee’s Song,” Ashra said quietly. “One half of a pair called the Spider Fangs. My father’s sword.”

  Her eyes flicked to his face, his jaw tense, but the admission tumbled out without hesitation. “So… you only have one of the two?”

  A flicker of something, amusement, maybe, crossed his jade gaze as he shot her a sidelong look. “The other is with my mother.”

  She blinked, momentarily at a loss. He had parents, she thought, a disconcerting realization. He was no longer just a faceless bandit. Somehow, it jarred her to imagine him as a son, maybe once a child like anyone else, carrying a legacy passed down through generations.

  Still, curiosity prodded her further, especially now that he seemed in a rare mood to speak. “Is… Ashra your real name?”

  He paused, allowing a stray leaf to brush against his shoulder before continuing forward. “It’s my family name,” he said eventually. “Those who know me well call me Kai.”

  She racked her head through the endless history lessons that were required of her. She didn’t recall an Ashra in the catalogue of knowledge she possessed. Elle opened her mouth to probe more, but the jungle abruptly thinned, giving way to a rolling field dotted with coarse grass. An unexpected breeze carried the taste of salt, and for an instant, she let out a grateful exhale. She could see deep footprints from that impossible, bird-legged ship leading across the grassland.

  Ashra slowed, squinting against the sudden brightness. The scimitar caught a final ray of sun, flashing so brilliantly that Elle had to turn her eyes away. Overhead, a single seagull cawed, a lonely call that reminded her of the ocean’s closeness.

  He came to a stop, pivoting on one foot. His gaze swept over her, lingering on her drained expression. Slowly, he raised his free hand in a gesture that might have been an introduction or perhaps an invitation. “Mekaisto Ashra,” he said with a faint lift of his chin. “Princess.”

  It was quite funny that a rogue such as himself was finally offering a proper introduction.

  Elle stared at him, heart hammering. The relief of open air warred with the heat still pressing down on her. She parted her lips to speak, but the world wavered. Exhaustion slammed into her like a physical blow; the painstaking minutes of running, fear, and tension layered on too little food, no rest, and the oppressive humidity. Her vision swam, spots dancing at the corners.

  “Elle,” she managed, voice scarcely more than a whisper. She attempted to take another step forward. Her knees buckled. The ground rushed up in a blur of green and brown. She barely registered the scimitar’s glow or the alarm flickering across his face as darkness collapsed around her senses.

  The last thing she heard was a ragged gasp escaping her own lips and the wind carrying the tang of the sea before it all faded into black.