Page 10 of His Darkest Devotion

She nods solemnly. Then, taking my arm, she guides me to a small alcove where a mosaic of colored glass filters the last bit of twilight. The mosaic shows stylized scenes of early Purna history: women chanting beneath a moonlit sky, energy swirling from their hands, forging a protective shield. “I overheard enough to guess how intense things got,” Olyssia mutters, glancing around to ensure privacy. “So… you really might be able to seal or free our archenemies? The gargoyles?”

I wrap my arms around myself. “That’s what the Matriarch’s vision suggests. It’s all so unreal.”

She exhales, scuffing a toe against the mosaic’s edge. “You’re not alone, though, Elira. People like me will stand by you. The Red Purnas might have big mouths, but not all of us want to jump into war.”

Relief flickers in my chest. “Thank you.” I hesitate, then add, “I saw Nerissa eyeing me like she was deciding whether I was an asset or a liability. She practically wants me to storm Orthani and enslave the Dark Elves right back.”

Olyssia grimaces. “They’re obsessed with revenge. Maybe they have a point about the Dark Elves’ atrocities, but using you as a weapon?” She shakes her head. “That’s dangerous talk. If you do hold the key to controlling the gargoyles, imagine what havoc the Red Purnas might stir if they manipulate you.”

Her words add another layer of dread to the swirling mass of worries in my mind. “I don’t want to hurt innocent people,” I whisper. “But the lines of innocence in Protheka are so blurred. The Dark Elves treat humans like cattle, but we Purna have our own sins, too.”

She places a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s at least get some food in you. Then rest. Tomorrow’s a new day, and the Matriarch will want you fresh for training.”

I nod, letting her steer me through the winding corridors until we reach a smaller chamber where the coven stores provisions: dried fruits, grains, cheese, and occasionally fresh game or fish from mountain streams. My appetite is practically nonexistent, but I force myself to nibble on a wedge of cheese and drink some water from a copper cup. Olyssia picks at a piece of bread, glancing at me from time to time with worry.

Afterward, we say our subdued goodnights. She heads to her chamber, promising to meet me early for a quick warm-up routine. I manage to stumble into my own modest room. The single torch set into the wall flickers, casting shadows that crawl across the stone floor. My bed looks simultaneously inviting and terrifying, because I know sleep will bring nightmares.

I toss my cloak aside, letting it slump over a wooden chair. My bag slides to the floor in a heap of dusty leather. Weariness weighs down my limbs as I collapse onto the mattress, the straw-filled padding creaking beneath me. The events of the day reel through my mind: Jonas’s rescue, the climb home, the Matriarch’s vision, the confrontation with Nerissa, and the horrifying possibility that the gargoyles might soon awaken.

Eventually, I drift into fitful slumber. My dreams are fragmented, filled with stone wings flaring against a crimson sky, monstrous roars echoing through ravaged halls. I see myself standing in the midst of a swirling vortex—light and dark, mixing into a storm of raw magic. Gargoyles circle overhead like vultures. Their eyes burn with hatred. I try to force them back, but my spells crackle out of control, warping the ground beneath my feet. Something snaps, and the entire dream collapses into formless gray.

When I bolt awake, my heart is pounding like a war drum. Dawn’s earliest light seeps through a narrow window high in the chamber wall. I press a trembling hand to my forehead, sweat beading there. My mouth is cotton-dry. A sense of impending doom lingers, so thick it nearly chokes me.

I rise unsteadily and splash water from a clay pitcher onto my face. The coolness jolts me into sharper awareness.It was just a dream,I tell myself, though that does little to calm the residual terror. The line between dream and prophecy feels thinner in these mountains.

Remembering Lumeria’s order, I dress in a fresh tunic and leggings—simple garments that allow free movement. I secure my silver-streaked hair into a low braid. My reflection in the polished metal mirror reveals haunted eyes. Last year, I might have been mistaken for just another young Purna with modest abilities. Now, the entire coven regards me as a living weapon or potential savior. The weight of that responsibility nearly buckles my knees.

A soft knock at my door interrupts my brooding. I open it to find a young messenger, her face shy and uncertain. “Matriarch requests your presence in the training arena,” she reports, voice cracking. “She said you’d know what that means.”

I swallow, offering a quick nod. “Thank you.”

She scurries off, relief evident as if standing too close to me is nerve-wracking.Is that what I am now, a creature to be feared?The thought stings. Still, there’s no time to wallow in self-pity. I shrug on a lightweight cloak and head out.

The training arena is carved into a large cavern on the southern side of our enclave, where sunlight can filter through an opening in the rocky ceiling. Stone pillars and neatly etched runic circles line the floor, providing safe zones for practicing illusions or channeling elemental forces. When I arrive, I find Lumeria and Yvara waiting, along with two other elders named Sarene and Quelina. All three wear simple robes, and each holds a staff or wand. Their postures are calm but purposeful.

Olyssia is here too, standing off to the side, arms crossed. She catches my eye and offers a supportive half-smile.

“Good morning,” Lumeria greets me. “I trust you slept… well enough.”

I nod, though we both know my sleep was probably anything but restful. My throat is too tight to speak, so I settle for a polite incline of my head. I sense the wards buzzing around us, a subtle thrumming of magical energy that helps contain any explosive spells.

Sarene gestures for me to step into the nearest rune circle. “Let’s begin with your Transformative skill. We need to ensure you can alter form accurately and dismiss the changes on command.” Her tone is firm but not unkind.

Nerves twist my stomach. Transformative magic has always come more naturally to me than illusions, but it’s also the most prone to surging out of control if my emotions spike. The memory of that predator wolf I accidentally turned into a hare surfaces, reminding me how potent—and unpredictable—my power can be.

Stepping into the circle, I inhale deeply. The chalk lines shimmer faintly, reacting to the presence of my magic. “What form should I try first?” I ask.

Lumeria exchanges a glance with Yvara. “Something small and manageable. Perhaps a sparrow or a kitten. We need to measure how swiftly you can shift living matter without causing harm.”

Right. My palms dampen. Controlling a living creature’s shape is delicate work; too much or too little focus can lead to partial transformations or permanent damage. I wipe my clammy hands on my leggings and nod. “All right.”

They produce a small crate from the side, where a meek rabbit sits trembling, its nose twitching. I feel a pang of guilt—it’s likely from our own gardens, used for magical practice. Approaching slowly, I extend my palms and close my eyes. My senses tune into the rabbit’s heartbeat, the warmth of its body, the delicate structure of bones beneath soft fur.Feel the essence,I remind myself.Direct the flow of energy carefully.

Tendrils of power stir inside me, that intangible current I’ve known since childhood. I direct it outward, imagining the rabbit shrinking further, feathers sprouting, its ears changing shape… The fur under my fingertips ripples, the magical energy thrumming in response. I can sense the shift happening. My breath comes in short bursts as I refine each detail: a beak forming, tiny talons instead of paws, hollow bones for flight.

There’s a moment of resistance—a quiver where the rabbit’s instincts and my will clash. I grit my teeth, pushing the transformation a fraction further while trying not to overshoot. A flash of blinding white surges across my vision. Then the energy levels out. When I blink, a tiny sparrow stands where the rabbit once crouched, trembling with confusion.

Sarene exhales slowly. “Well done, Elira. That was precise.”

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