Page 21 of His Darkest Devotion

Vaelin.

It’s both promise and warning—and somehow, it feels like destiny is closing around me with each breath.

7

ELIRA

Icrouch behind a sprawling bush of stunted juniper, heart pounding in my ears as I peer at the village just beyond. Wooden fences encircle humble huts, each structure perched on uneven ground. This settlement is small—perhaps only a dozen families. From my vantage, I see a few meager gardens behind the huts and a scattering of animals penned under rickety lean-tos. It’s the kind of place that clings to life beneath the ever-looming threat of Dark Elf patrols.

A pang clenches my chest. I’ve encountered villages like this before—wary humans who labor from dawn to dusk, never sure when the Overlord’s soldiers might appear demanding taxes or worse. I know they have little reason to trust outsiders, especially purnas. Yet, I can’t pass by without at least learning if they’ve heard rumors that could help me. My path forward remains uncertain, and each day away from the coven heightens my sense of isolation. If they’ve seen the Overlord’s forces, or that mysterious enforcer I keep hearing about, I need to know.

I take a calming breath, letting the crisp morning air fill my lungs. The forest behind me rustles with a gentle breeze, carrying the tang of damp leaves. The slopes of Prazh lie northward, hidden behind swathes of gray clouds. I left them days ago, but the memory of pine-scented ridges and hidden wards still haunts me. My journey thus far has been a lonely shuffle between caution and fatigue. At least now, as I near these human dwellings, I have a chance to glean information—and maybe help, if they’ll let me.

Easing out of the juniper, I lift a hand and whisper a minor incantation. The magic thrums within my chest, its familiar warmth a reassuring presence. I shape an illusion around myself: a subtle shift of light, a tiny distortion that dulls my distinctive features and the silver streak in my hair. I’m not rendering myself invisible, just… unremarkable. If someone looks closely, they’ll see me. But they won’t notice I’m anything special—just a traveler with a dusty cloak, perhaps.

The illusions flicker around me like heat haze. Satisfied, I step onto the narrow dirt path that leads to the village’s gate—though calling the crude, half-collapsed fence a gate might be generous. Two men in threadbare shirts stand guard with crude spears. Their eyes widen at my approach, though I see no immediate malice. If anything, they look more frightened than threatening.

“Hold on,” one calls, voice wavering. “You from around here?”

My heart stutters, but I remind myself the illusions should make me appear harmless. I force a friendly smile. “Not exactly. I’m just passing through. I need food and maybe a roof for the night. I can pay.” I pat the small pouch of coins at my belt—human coin I scavenged along the way.

He narrows his gaze. “It’s not safe, stranger. Overlord’s scouts have been sighted. Fewer travelers risk these parts.”

I tilt my head. “I heard rumors of that. Still, I was hoping your village might trade supplies.”

His companion, older and wiry, mulls this over. They exchange a reluctant glance. “We don’t have much,” the older one admits, “but if you’re peaceful and can pay, we won’t turn you away.” He steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. The younger man watches me closely, spear clutched tight. I sense their desperation. Likely they’ve fended off bandits or hungry wanderers before. People on the edge of survival cannot afford generosity lightly.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, slipping through the gap in the fence. A wave of relief courses through me as they let me pass without pressing further. Inside, the village is a hodgepodge of low huts constructed from wattle and daub, most with thatched roofs patched by scraps of cloth. A single muddy lane winds between them, dotted with puddles from the previous night’s rain.

Children peek from behind doors, their eyes dark with wariness. One small boy darts across the lane, bare feet splashing in puddles, while a gaunt woman chases after him. An old man sits on a stool near a chicken coop, whittling a piece of wood with a knife. A subdued hush blankets everything, as though even normal chatter might draw unwanted attention.

My illusions remain in place, but I keep my demeanor subdued, projecting the image of a lone traveler who means no harm. As I pass the stooped old man, he glances up from his whittling. “You picking a bad time to visit,” he mutters, voice rough. “Dark Elves sniffing around these hills, chasing some… witch, they say.”

My pulse jolts, but I carefully school my expression. “A witch?” I feign ignorance, forcing a hesitant laugh. “Surely you mean the usual slave raids?”

He shakes his head, expression grim. “We all know about the raids, but this is different. The Overlord’s enforcer is out there. He’s not just gathering slaves—he’s after someone specific.” His fingers carve small curls of wood, each movement mechanical and tense. “He passed through a village south of here, so folk say. Terrible thing to see—an obsidian-skinned fiend with eyes like ice. Humans vanish behind him, never seen again.”

A chill snakes down my spine. The Overlord’s enforcer. The rumors have always circulated, but hearing it from these villagers is an unsettling confirmation. The memory of the Red Purna’s words—about a lethal Dark Elf searching for me—clamps around my lungs.He’s close,I think, though I keep my face neutral.

“Sounds… dangerous,” I say softly.

The old man snorts, flicking shavings from his lap. “Only question is if he’ll find what he’s hunting. Doesn’t matter to us either way. Whoever he thinks might know something about this witch, or help her, might get burned out. We can’t fight him—none of us can.”

Sympathy twists my chest. I already dreaded attracting trouble to these vulnerable settlements, and now it appears the Overlord’s hound might terrorize them even without my presence. I wish I could reassure them that I mean no harm, but revealing my identity would only put them in more jeopardy.

“I hope you stay safe,” I manage. Then I dip my head and continue along the lane, ignoring the suspicious stares that follow. My illusions should be enough to keep me from standing out, but the thought of a lethal Dark Elf so near sets my whole body on edge. My entire body thrums with restless worry.

Passing the largest hut, which I guess might serve as a community storehouse, I catch sight of a middle-aged woman in patched skirts feeding a donkey from a basket of withered vegetables. Her gaze flicks up as I approach. She doesn’t look surprised to see me, more resigned. I step closer, trying a gentle smile. “Excuse me. I’d like to purchase some bread or dried goods if possible.”

She eyes me up and down. “We have a little. What’s your trade?”

I hesitate. “I—I’m just traveling. Had to leave my home… up in the mountains.” It’s true enough, though I don’t elaborate. “I can pay.”

Her expression softens slightly at my admission. “You’re not alone in fleeing. We’ve seen plenty of drifters with fear in their eyes. Some from other villages, some from battered caravans. War, or rumor of war, drives people from all corners. I’ll sell you what I can spare, but only at a fair price.” She names a sum that’s not cheap, but not cruelly inflated either.

I dig out the coins. “I appreciate it,” I say, handing them over. She disappears inside the hut for a moment, returning with a cloth-wrapped bundle. The faint smell of stale bread and herbs makes my stomach grumble. She also includes a small pouch of dried peas and a lump of hard cheese.

“Thank you,” I murmur, stowing the items in my satchel. Before I move on, I add, “Do you know if the Overlord’s soldiers have come here?”

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