Page 15 of His Darkest Devotion

Silence envelops the mountains. Even the wind seems to hold its breath. My heart races as I lean forward in the saddle, scanning every crevice. I glimpse a collapsed section of cliff, as though a tremor once split the rock. Loose rubble litters the floor of the gorge. No monstrous shape reveals itself.

Minutes pass, stretched taut. The golden light fades to dusk. No more roars. No gargoyle emerges from the gloom. Perhaps it retreated into the depths. Or perhaps it was something else entirely—an echo or phenomenon I’m not familiar with. Still, the dread in my core worsens, telling me the threat is very real.

I breathe a ragged exhale, urging the zalkir away from the edge. The Overlord must know about this. My mission to capture Elira stands, but the gargoyles no longer feel like a distant possibility. They might be here, half-risen. If so, the entire timeline is accelerated. I grit my teeth, spurring the zalkir onward, descending the ridge before night fully swallows the land.

As I ride, the last pale glow of twilight clings to the peaks. A swirl of thoughts assaults me: the spy’s revelations, the dead man with the prophecy note, the roars echoing in the gorge. And beneath it all, the slow unraveling of my unwavering obedience. Something within me cracks, a voice that wonders if capturing Elira might lead to solutions or disasters. I can’t tell.

But I do know that once I find her, everything will change— for me, for Orthani, for Protheka. The Overlord demands compliance, the prophecy hints at cataclysm, and some part of my soul stirs with an unnameable longing. That thought coils tight in my chest, leaving me raw and uneasy.

I glance at the bruise-colored sky one last time before darkness overtakes the mountains. My course is set, yet the path forward feels anything but certain. Shadows flicker at the periphery of my vision, whispering that fate moves swiftly. Whether that fate belongs to Orthani or a lone Purna in the hills remains to be seen.

With no better compass than my grim purpose, I ride on into the deepening night.

5

ELIRA

Iawake to a tremor in my chest, a prickle of magic needling my senses. It’s still early—the first uncertain rays of dawn filter through the high windows of my chamber, illuminating motes of dust that swirl in the pale light. The stone walls seem colder than usual, as if the entire coven is holding its breath.

I rub the grit from my eyes. My dreams last night were restless—images of stone monsters coming to life, of dark elf armies at our gates, of the Red Purnas watching me with calculating eyes. The taste of dread lingers on my tongue. I can’t shake the feeling that time is running short, even though I’m supposed to be safe within these walls.

As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a knock sounds at my door. “Elira?” a voice calls softly. It’s Olyssia. She never rises this early unless something urgent’s happened.

I drag on a fresh tunic and open the door to find her looking tense, her fiery curls pinned haphazardly behind her head. Shadows smudge the skin beneath her eyes. “The Matriarch wants you in the main cavern,” she says without preamble. “Something about… leaving the coven.”

My heart stutters. We’ve already debated me leaving. After the prophecy reveal, the plan was for me to remain and train—hone my magic, stay under protection. “Wait,” I say, confusion tumbling into my voice, “she changed her mind again?”

Olyssia’s lips thin with worry. “It seems so. She’s calling it an ‘urgent measure for your safety.’ I don’t know the details, but she’s in that mood that suggests no one should argue. ”

I swallow my unease. The halls are strangely empty as we make our way through twisting corridors lit by glowing orbs of arcane energy. The usual hum of Purna activity—teachers instructing novices, discussions over breakfast—has died to a hush, replaced by an undercurrent of dread. Where is everyone?

It’s only once we reach the Gathering Hall that we find them. At least two dozen purnas cluster at the center of the vast space, talking in low, urgent voices. The Matriarch stands on the dais, her posture rigid, staff in hand. A handful of elders flank her, faces grave. The scene reminds me of the day she announced her vision about the gargoyles. That day changed everything.

A hush descends as Olyssia and I approach. “Elira,” the Matriarch calls, her gray eyes fixed on me, “come here.”

I hesitate at the foot of the dais. My gaze darts around, searching for clues. The crowd includes a handful of Red Purnas—Nerissa’s faction. Their expressions range from smug to restless. I glimpse Nerissa herself off to one side, arms crossed, chin high. A flicker of challenge lights her eyes. Tension crackles in the air like a storm about to break.

The Matriarch raises her voice for all to hear. “We have received new information. The Dark Elves are combing the foothills, searching for a powerful witch. They suspect she is tied to a prophecy that talks about sealing or freeing the gargoyles.” She pauses, scanning the crowd. “Our wards remain strong, but we cannot risk confrontation if they pinpoint our location. This is a direct threat to the entire coven.”

Murmurs ripple through the purnas. My heart races. So the Dark Elves know enough to be dangerous. If I remain, I might endanger everyone. But I thought we agreed that training me here was worth the risk.

The Matriarch shifts her gaze onto me, her expression torn between concern and resolve. “Elira, I have decided to send you away—beyond the immediate range of our wards. You’ll travel east, through the lesser-known passes, and rendezvous with a small group of human allies who can shelter you. We must keep you out of the Dark Elves’ grasp until we learn more about how to control your role in this prophecy.”

My stomach churns. “But…” I begin, my voice almost lost in the cavern’s hush. “My training… we only just started harnessing my Transformative spells more safely. Isn’t that essential if the gargoyles are truly stirring? How am I supposed to learn if I’m out there alone?”

A flicker of sympathy crosses her face. “I know it seems counterintuitive, child. But if you stay, you risk drawing a horde of Dark Elves upon us—and the Red Purnas might exploit your presence as well. Tensions run high, and this coven cannot withstand an open conflict on multiple fronts.” Her voice lowers, meant only for my ears. “I will send an elder to you eventually, once it’s safe. You won’t be abandoned in your learning.”

I clench my fists, frustration mingling with fear. A small part of me understood this day might come. The prophecy’s gravity hangs over me like a guillotine blade. Still, parting from my coven—a place that has always been my refuge—feels like stepping off a cliff blindfolded.

Before I can reply, an acerbic voice cuts in from the throng: “Running away again?” My head whips around to see Nerissa emerging from the cluster of Red Purnas, her posture exuding sharp confidence. “We’re letting our most promising weapon slip through our fingers. I say we stand and fight. Let the Dark Elves come. Let the gargoyles come. We have a means to break them.” She narrows her eyes at me, as if I’m a resource to be seized.

Heat flares in my cheeks. “I’m not a weapon.”

A faint sneer twists her lips. “Aren’t you? Your power can rewrite entire species, can it not? You turned creatures to stone once, eons ago, or so the legends say about our ancestors with your same gifts.” Her gaze flicks to the Matriarch. “Sending Elira away only prolongs the inevitable confrontation.”

The Matriarch exhales sharply. “We will not debate this again, Nerissa. We do what is best to protect Elira and the coven. Your ambition does not overshadow the rest of our safety.”

Nerissa’s eyes flash with hostility, but she holds her tongue for the moment. I can practically feel the tension simmering between the Red Purnas and the rest of us. If there weren’t so many watchers, I suspect Nerissa might try a more overt challenge.

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