Page 17 of His Darkest Devotion

My eyes sting with tears I refuse to shed. “I understand,” I whisper. “But I’m scared.”

“Fear can be a teacher,” she says, voice gentle. “Trust your instincts. The map will guide you to an outpost we maintain with a sympathetic human tribe. Stay hidden. If the Dark Elves grow too close, move farther east. We’ll send someone to find you when the time is right.”

A flutter of panic seizes me. Once I step onto that mountain trail, I relinquish the familiar safety of the coven’s wards, the comfort of daily training, the warmth of Olyssia’s friendship. Ahead lies uncertainty—and the possibility that the prophecy might find me before I’m ready.

Still, I straighten my spine. “I will. Thank you, Matriarch.”

She inclines her head, sadness etched in the lines around her eyes. “Go, now, Elira. And may your magic protect you.”

I adjust the cloak’s hood over my dark hair, clutching the satchel. Without another word, I step onto the narrow path that clings to the mountainside, each footfall echoing in the stillness. The Matriarch watches until the bend in the trail hides me from sight. Then I’m alone with the vast expanse of Protheka before me.

The first hour of descent is almost mechanical. I follow the well-worn steps carved into the rock, trying to push aside the swirl of emotions in my mind. My boots skid on patches of loose gravel. The sun climbs higher, warming the air. Memories of this same route come unbidden—those brief trips I made to gather supplies or help refugees, always returning swiftly to the coven. Now, there’s no quick return. The finality hits me like a punch to the gut.

I pause at a scenic overlook where the trail widens. The vista is breathtaking: rolling slopes draped in evergreen forests, a winding river gleaming like silver far below. My heart clenches with longing for the safety behind me. Then I shake myself and press on, recalling the instructions to remain inconspicuous. The outpost is at least two days’ travel. If I move quickly, I can reach it before the Dark Elves get too close.

I keep my senses sharp, scanning the ridges and switchbacks for any sign of watchers. The slope descends gradually, soon merging with a narrower path flanked by thick pines. The trees’ boughs form a green canopy overhead, letting dappled sunlight filter through. The hush envelops me, broken only by birdsong and the distant rush of a waterfall. For a moment, I allow myself to believe this journey might be peaceful.

That hope shatters a few miles on.

I sense it first—an abrupt prickling of the hairs on my neck, the intangible pressure of a hostile presence. My footsteps slow, eyes flicking between the trunks. Something shifts in the undergrowth, too quiet to be an ordinary animal. I grip the strap of my satchel, heart pounding.

Then, from behind a gnarled pine, a figure lunges. I catch a flash of crimson-stitched robes. My breath hitches—another Red Purna? She moves quickly, electricity arcing from her fingertips. “Elira, wait!” she calls, though her tone is anything but friendly.

I pivot, adrenaline kicking in. My mind races:Why would a Red Purna follow me? Did Nerissa order this?She’s alone, from what I can see, but dangerously determined. The crackle of her lightning magic sets the pine needles quivering, filling the air with static.

“I’m not going back,” I shout, taking a step away.

Her lips twist in a snarl. “We don’t intend to drag you back, you fool. We want to make a deal. Join us—use your power, help us overthrow the Dark Elves, and we’ll support you.” The arcs of lightning in her hand spit sparks across the damp ground.

My pulse thrums. “I don’t want to start a war. The Matriarch said?—”

She laughs, the sound hollow. “The Matriarch lives in fear. You’ve seen how the Dark Elves treat humans. We can stop it, if only we had the nerve.” She edges closer, the aura of her magic unsettling the forest around us. “Come willingly, or I’ll force you.”

Panic surges. This is exactly why I left—the Red Purnas’ hunger for conflict. I have no desire to kill her, but I won’t let her drag me off to fulfill their violent agenda. “Stay back,” I warn, my voice trembling slightly. “I’m not above defending myself.”

She sneers, raising her hand. A bolt of lightning crackles toward me. I fling up an illusion in desperation, a shimmering distortion that warps the air. The bolt collides with the twisting light, scattering into sizzling sparks that scorch the ground instead of my body.

My illusions flicker with fragile brilliance, but I won’t be able to sustain them under heavy assault. The Red Purna narrows her eyes and prepares another strike, arcs dancing along her arm. I have seconds before she unleashes a more devastating attack. I need to escape.

In a flash, I recall the Matriarch’s training on Transformative magic.Use your environment.My eyes dart to the thick oak near me, its trunk gnarled with centuries of growth. A plan forms—a reckless one.

I pivot, channeling my power. Instead of aiming at the Red Purna or the air, I direct the transformation at the massive tree itself. My vision blurs with the surge of energy. The incantation spills from my lips, weaving a net of shimmering force that envelops the trunk. I’m not trying to turn it into an animal or object—this is a partial shift, aimed at making the tree malleable enough for me to passthroughit.

The oak’s bark ripples like liquid, branches twisting. My skin crawls as I push my hand against the living wood. At first, it resists, but my magic intensifies, compelling the fibers to soften and meld. For a brief instant, I feel the pulse of the tree’s life force. Then, with a gasp, I plunge my arm through the bark as though it’s thick mud.

The Red Purna hurls her second lightning bolt. It sizzles past my shoulder, grazing my cloak and leaving a scorched patch. Pain lances the skin beneath, but adrenaline keeps me moving. Gritting my teeth, I push my entire body through the warped trunk. My breath catches at the claustrophobic sensation—sap and wood pressing in on every side—before I emerge on the opposite side of the tree.

I stumble out, half expecting to be pinned by wood. But the trunk snaps back to solidity behind me, instantly sealing my passage. My stomach lurches at the exertion, vision swimming. I used more magic than I intended. I try to stay upright, ignoring the faint taste of iron in my mouth.

The Red Purna’s startled curse drifts from the other side of the oak. She can’t see me, and I doubt she can pass the same way unless she has mastery of Transformative spells. My heart hammers. This is my chance. Without pausing, I bolt down the slope, arms pumping. The forest whips by in a blur of green and brown.

Angry shouts echo behind me, muffled by dense foliage. I run as though demons chase me, feet pounding on the path. My mind whirls with shock at what I just accomplished. Transforming living matter so drastically is advanced, borderline dangerous for a novice. Yet it worked—for a moment, anyway—and that feat might have saved my life.

Branches scratch at my arms and cheeks. My lungs burn, but I refuse to slow. I don’t know if the Red Purna might find another route around that tree. She could be close behind. The only goal now is to put as much distance between us as possible.

Eventually, my dash falters. I stumble to a halt near a small clearing where sunlight pools on soft ferns. Panting, I brace my hands on my knees, head swimming. My entire body shakes from adrenaline and magical exertion. The cloak’s singed patch still smolders, so I yank it off and bat at the smoking edge. Beneath, my tunic sports a blackened patch on the shoulder. The skin underneath stings, but not severely. Another inch to the right and that bolt would have fried me.

Gritting my teeth, I scan the area for further threats. No sign of pursuit, not yet. A hush drapes the clearing, broken only by birdsong. My pulse is still a drumbeat in my ears. Slowly, I sink to my knees, pressing a hand against the bark of a nearby tree—this one untransformed—and try to steady my breathing.

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