Page 19 of His Darkest Devotion

I follow the footprints to where they vanish into thicker vegetation. Sunbeams pierce the canopy in golden shafts, illuminating swirling motes of pollen. Birdsong weaves through the hush, making the world seem almost idyllic—until I sense a trace of magic in the air. A subtle pressure, like a shift in atmospheric weight. Purnas’ illusions often leave such a residue. I concentrate, drawing on the flicker of Chaos magic the Overlord’s conditioning allows me to wield. My senses sharpen, revealing faint ripples in the light. Illusions have been cast here, though recently or with minimal force.

I exhale, unsettled. She might be close, or it might be an entirely different Purna. Either way, it’s progress. I backtrack to my mount, deciding to search along the ridge where the footprints seem to head. Leading the zalkir, I circle eastward until the slope grows too steep, forcing me to take a winding descent. The forest here stands silent, as if holding its breath.

At last, the trees thin, exposing a broader stretch of land. My gaze snags on fresh signs of disturbance: broken branches, boot prints, and a deep slash of scorched earth near a thick oak. Something—or someone—released a blast of intense fire magic recently. I kneel beside the scorched groove, picking up a fragment of burnt pine needle. It crumbles in my hand. A day old? Maybe two. My instincts tighten.Elira, I think, though I have no proof. The Overlord’s intel said she might be adept with illusions, but Purnas come in many skill sets. Could be someone else. Still, there’s no question a violent confrontation happened here.

I gaze up at the massive oak. The trunk bears odd scars—ridges and indentations that resemble melted grooves. My brow furrows. This does not look like damage from mere flames. It’s as if the wood itself warped, then solidified again. I run a hand over the grooves, feeling faint residual magic. Transformative spells, perhaps? That’s one of Elira’s rumored specialties. A surge of anticipation flares in my chest.

Suddenly, my vision flickers, and I’m overwhelmed by an onslaught of images. Stone wings scraping against a cavern ceiling, monstrous snarls echoing in the darkness, and a voice—hauntingly soft—calling my name.Vaelin.The tone is gentle yet urgent. My heart pounds as though I’ve been physically struck. For an instant, I’m not here in the forest. Instead, I stand somewhere vast and echoing, my hands pressed against cool granite, my chest tight with unrecognizable longing.

It passes in a heartbeat. I gasp, staggering back against the oak’s rough bark. My stomach roils. “Get… out of my head,” I mutter. But there’s no intruder, just my own mind betraying me. Could it be a residual effect of dark magic, some side effect of the Overlord’s conditioning? Or is it something else? I clamp down on that thought quickly, forcing my breathing to steady.

I refocus on the path ahead. The footprints continue downhill, crossing a stream where the water flows swift and icy. My zalkir snorts at the bank, refusing to wade deeper, so I dismount and coax it across carefully. The chill seeps into my boots, but I ignore the discomfort. On the far side, the footprints are muddled, as if the individual tried to hide their trail. A wise move, but my gaze picks out fresh indentations near a line of rocks.

Advancing, I catch the tang of fear in the air, or maybe it’s my own tension reflected back at me. The trees stand closer now, limbs gnarled into eerie shapes. Shadows swirl beneath the canopy. Twilight must be approaching, though the thickening cloud cover provides no direct sun. My muscles coil, ready for conflict.

I’m so intent on the tracks that I almost miss the figure lurking behind a pine trunk. A flicker of motion draws my attention—a hooded person crouched low, eyes gleaming in the gloom. My hand darts to my sword, and I pivot just as the stranger lets out a startled hiss and flees. “Stop!” I shout, lunging forward. But they vanish into the underbrush with uncanny speed.

“Dammit.” My frustration lashes out. I leap over a fallen log, pursuit pounding in my veins. The zalkir behind me rumbles in agitation. I consider leaving it tethered, but I can’t risk losing my mount in this wilderness. Instead, I snap the reins around a trunk, trusting the beast not to stray. Then I sprint into the thicket.

Branches whip at my face. Each footfall squelches in damp soil. I hear the intruder crashing ahead—less stealthy than a practiced witch, perhaps. My vision blurs again, but this time I fight it.Stay in the moment, Vaelin.The memory echoes—stone claws, a roaring wind, a whisper.No.I force the images away, focusing on the chase.

The figure glances over their shoulder—a flash of pale skin beneath the hood. They curse and shove a sapling aside, hoping to slow me. I vault over it with ease, using a burst of Force magic to push the obstacle away. The forest grows denser, leaves slapping my face, the ground sloping beneath us.

Finally, the stranger’s foot catches on a root, sending them sprawling with a yelp. I close the distance in two swift strides, sword half drawn. “Don’t move!” I bark, standing over them, chest heaving. My heart rattles against my ribs from the sprint and the unsteady swirl in my mind.

They look up, hood slipping to reveal a young man, human by the look of him, with sweat-slick hair and haunted eyes. Terror etches his features. He scrambles back, hands raised. “P-please… I didn’t mean to spy.”

I remain poised, blade glittering in the dim light. “Why run, then?” My voice is deadly calm, a tone I’ve perfected through countless interrogations.

He gulps. “I—I thought you were a bandit or a slaver. I’ve seen Dark Elves… do terrible things.”

His words stir a flicker of guilt I shove down. “You’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet.” I pause, scanning his tattered cloak and the scratched skin on his knuckles. “What’s your business in these mountains?”

He trembles, swallowing. “I… I was traveling with a merchant caravan that got attacked by—by something. Could’ve been a monstrous beast, maybe a gargoyle. We fled in all directions. I’ve been wandering, trying to find a safe route down.” His voice quivers, though he makes an effort to steady it.

The mention of gargoyles tugs at my memory. The Overlord’s warnings ring in my head. I keep my sword angled toward the man’s chest. “And you saw no sign of a Purna witch, a young woman traveling alone?”

He eyes me warily, realization dawning in his expression. “You’re hunting one of those purnas, aren’t you?” The fear deepens. “I… might’ve overheard a rumor. There was talk of a witch fleeing her coven. Some said she came down the mountain pass not more than a day ago.”

My pulse quickens.Elira.Or at least one of her people. “Where?”

His gaze flicks to the side. “I can’t say exactly, but I saw footprints near a large oak that looked… wrong. Like it had been twisted by magic.” A faint shudder rolls through him. “I followed the trail, hoping to find shelter or at least confirm it was safe. Then I saw you and ran.”

This aligns disturbingly well with what I found. I press my advantage. “If you help me locate her trail, I might let you live.”

He nods rapidly, sweat beading on his brow. “Alright, yes, I’ll help. Just… please, don’t hurt me.”

I lower the blade a fraction, though my posture remains tense. “Lead the way.”

He scrambles upright, favoring a twisted ankle. Despite his limp, he moves quickly, as if terrified I’ll strike him down if he falters. Maybe he’s not wrong. I track him through the trees, emerging back near the scorched oak. My zalkir still waits where I left it, pawing the ground in annoyance.

The man gestures nervously at the warped bark. “I was here… followed footprints that led north, but I lost them when the ground got rocky.” He points to the distant slope, thick with brambles.

I consider my options. I could force him to guide me, but he seems ignorant of any real specifics. “Very well,” I say. “Get out of my sight.”

He hesitates, fear and relief warring on his face. “Th-thank you.” He edges away, eyes darting as if he expects a killing blow. When none comes, he half-runs, half-hobbles into the undergrowth, vanishing from view.

Exhaling, I return to the zalkir. My eyes sweep the surroundings. The man’s information confirms what I suspected: Elira likely came this way. She may even be days ahead, but each clue tightens the circle. Overlord Rython wants her brought back before she grows too confident or the gargoyles awaken.I can’t fail him.

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