Page 3 of His Darkest Devotion

Lumeria’s gaze flickers with empathy. “Prophecies are complex threads, each strand representing a possible future. We do not know for certain which path fate will choose. However, your abilities—Space-Time and Transformative Magic combined—are exceptionally rare. The last Purna we know of with such gifts shaped our history. For better or worse.”

Her words send a chill through my heart. I recall the legends of the Purna who fought the Dark Elves long ago, inadvertently creating the first gargoyles. That single misguided spell changed the course of Protheka. Could I wield magic so powerful? The possibility terrifies me more than anything.

“I don’t want to bring doom to our people,” I whisper.

Lumeria’s expression softens. “I know, child. That is why I believe in you. Your heart is kind, your intentions earnest. We just must ensure that fear does not drive you to rash actions.”

A trembling breath escapes me. The memory of the mountain sunrise returns—its fierce beauty overshadowed by the gnawing sense that something is about to change. I confide, “This morning, I could feel it in the air. As if the mountains themselves were tense. Does that make sense?”

She inclines her head. “It does. There have been signs for weeks—a subtle tremor in the wards, strange sightings near old gargoyle strongholds.” Her lips press together. “I think it might be wise for you to leave the coven for a short while. Travel to the lower passes, gather information. We have allies among the human villages. They may share news about gargoyle rumors or Dark Elf movements.”

Surprise jolts through me. “Leave? But my training?—”

“Will continue, in a different form,” she interjects gently. “Sometimes the greatest lessons are learned outside these walls. You’re not being exiled, Elira. I merely want you to see the bigger picture—to understand the fragile balance in Protheka beyond our sanctuary.”

The idea of venturing beyond Prazh’s hidden ridges fills me with a mixture of excitement and dread. I’ve rarely strayed far from the coven. But a part of me has always yearned for more. To help the humans suffering under Dark Elf rule. To see the world that my people left behind. Still, the notion of stepping into potential danger stirs the fear I try so hard to bury.

“I’ll go,” I say quietly, steadying my voice. “But I’ll come back. I’m not abandoning our coven.”

Lumeria smiles faintly. “I expect nothing less.”

She stands, extending a hand to me. I rise, and she places a comforting palm against my cheek. “Trust your instincts, child. They will guide you well.”

Her presence lingers like a fading warmth even after she departs. I remain in that chamber for a few more breaths, collecting my scattered emotions. If I am truly meant to be a pivotal piece in whatever is coming, then I have to act. Hiding in these halls won’t stop the gargoyles or the Dark Elves.

I leave the side chamber to gather my things, half-expecting Olyssia to leap out from a corner with questions. But she’s nowhere in sight. Perhaps the Matriarch has assigned her another task. Instead, I pass a few younger Purna practicing illusions in an alcove. Their ephemeral illusions shimmer like rippling water. One of them, a girl with freckles dusting her cheeks, glances at me with wide eyes. I force a reassuring smile, though I suspect rumors about me and the prophecy are spreading fast.

My quarters are sparse—a single bed, a low table, and a trunk for my few possessions. I shrug off my cloak and fold it neatly, then begin packing essentials for the journey: a few changes of clothes, a small satchel of herbs for healing or spell components, and a silver dagger. We’re not warriors by trade, but the Purna aren’t defenseless. Magic can fail under stress, and steel is sometimes the difference between life and death.

My fingertips drift over a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon lying atop my trunk. It was my mother’s, or so I’ve been told. She vanished when I was very young. Some say she died battling a wandering monster near Prazh; others whisper darker theories. I keep this pendant to remind me of her. Clutching it briefly, I slide it around my neck, letting it rest over my heart.

The air is cool in here, but my mind runs hot with a thousand warring thoughts. The day began with a simple sunrise watch, and now everything is shifting. Gargoyles…prophecies…leaving the coven. It all feels too sudden, yet part of me wonders if this was inevitable. The silver streak in my hair has always hinted that I’m not like the others—maybe my destiny was sealed from the start.

I sling my pack across my shoulder, gather my courage, and step out into the corridor. The hustle and bustle of the coven continues: chanting, practicing, hushed conversations about possible threats. Someone calls my name, but when I turn, there’s no one there. I suspect the tension in my magic has me on edge.

As I navigate toward the main exit, the rocky path that winds its way down to the lower slopes, I can’t help but scan the shadows. An odd paranoia prickles at the back of my neck, as though I’m being watched. The sensation reminds me of the stories about Gargoyles half-awake, observing the world through stone eyes. I shake off the eerie feeling. If there were a Gargoyle in our halls, we’d know—or be dead.

A final figure blocks my path near the exit. It’s Mistress Kiva, one of the coven’s older members. She doesn’t hold a position as high as the Matriarch, but she’s respected for her deep knowledge of curses and wards. Her expression is drawn.

“You’re leaving,” she says. It’s not a question, more of a statement tinged with worry.

“Matriarch’s orders,” I reply. “To gather information, maybe to confirm some of the rumors.” My voice comes out steadier than I expect.

Kiva’s eyes soften. “Be cautious, child. If anything stirs in the ancient places—especially the stone prisons—stay far away. We’ve lost too many good Purna to old feuds.”

I swallow hard, nodding. “I will.”

Her gaze shifts to the silver strands in my hair. She says nothing about it, but I see curiosity and concern in her furrowed brow. Then she steps aside, letting me pass with a parting nod. Beyond her, the path slopes downward through a tunnel wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Torches flicker along the walls, but the final few yards rely on daylight filtering in.

I emerge onto a narrow landing that overlooks a steep ravine. The sun has risen higher now, painting the rock faces in pale gold. My heart leaps into my throat as I realize this is it—the first step away from my sheltered world, the first real test of whether I can face whatever is out there.

A breeze tugs at my cloak, and I take a moment to close my eyes, inhaling the crisp mountain air. The bracing scent of pine and fresh snow stings my nose. I sense the hum of my magic again, that persistent, electric thrum. It’s as if the mountains themselves urge me onward, telling me destiny is waiting beyond these ridges. Or perhaps warning me to turn back. It’s impossible to decipher.

“Here goes,” I murmur. Gathering my courage, I begin the descent. Each step loosens the tension in my shoulders, but it also tightens the knot in my gut. I’m leaving behind the only home I’ve ever known, though I tell myself it’s temporary. I wonder if, by the time I return, everything will have changed.

Snowdrifts cling stubbornly to the path in shaded areas, so I move carefully, occasionally slipping on slick patches of ice. The route cuts along the cliff, offering breathtaking views of green treetops far below. I spot a waterfall cascading down the opposite ridge, glistening like a silk ribbon in the sunlight. A flock of birds bursts from the pines, swirling overhead in a chaotic dance before vanishing among the clouds.

One day, I might find such sights purely beautiful again, but right now, unease tarnishes the wonder. I can’t stop picturing gargoyles crouched in hidden lairs, slowly chipping away at their stone prisons. Are they truly stirring? Or is that just fear taking root in my mind? The Red Purnas, the Dark Elves, the unknown Overlords… I grit my teeth. If I’m to face any of them, I need more than illusions and half-mastered transformations. I need knowledge.

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