Page 40 of His Darkest Devotion

I still shiver remembering how I learned of Vaelin’s predicament. Rumors from travelers trickled in: the Overlord summoned him back to Orthani, punishing him for his failure to capture me. Then a hushed courier from an unnamed source reached my coven’s outskirts, bearing a message that Vaelin was imprisoned within the fortress walls, locked in a battle against some vile conditioning. My heart clenched reading those words. Despite the suspicion from the coven, I refused to let fear stop me.He saved me once. Now it’s my turn.

Lightning snaps across the clouds overhead, briefly illuminating the fortress’s towering spires. The guards at the gate glance upward, momentarily distracted. Taking my chance, I shape a thin veil of illusions around myself—warping the dim courtyard into a deeper swirl of shadows. My illusions aren’t perfect; if the guards stare too hard, they’ll see through me. But with the rolling fog and flickering torches, I hope it’s enough.

I slip across the muddy ground, careful to avoid stepping on loose rubble that might crunch underfoot. My heart roars with each step, pulses of adrenaline fueling me. A few paces from the gate, I pause, inhaling the sharp scent of wet stone.Focus.I weave a faint trick of air manipulation, coaxing the wind to howl from behind the guards. They turn, halberds at the ready, attention pulled away from my path.

With a trembling exhale, I slide through the narrow gap at the edge of the portcullis. The illusions swirl around me like a watery distortion, almost dissolving under my pounding nerves. Once inside, I duck behind an upturned cart by the fortress’s side, pressing a hand to my racing chest.I’m in.

The courtyard behind the gate is a sprawling space lined with stables and storerooms. Lanterns sputter in the drizzly wind. Most of the Overlord’s troops presumably rest or patrol deeper inside, but pockets of guards roam here. Each passing minute intensifies the risk of discovery. I recall Vaelin’s whispered descriptions of the fortress layout from our tense nights on the run—he once admitted to me how the Overlord’s throne room sits in the highest tower, with a labyrinth of corridors beneath. Vaelin’s private quarters or a small cell might lie deeper underground, or in some side corridor.

I pray the rumors are correct: that he’s not simply locked away in public view, but hidden somewhere only a few loyal enforcers can access. Another lightning flare reveals a broad doorway to the left, flanked by ominous statues of coiled serpents.That might lead to the lower levels.

Steeling myself, I scramble toward the doorway, illusions wavering as raindrops pelt my hood. When I reach the threshold, I peer inside. The corridor slopes downward, lit by arcane torches that cast purplish glows on the slick walls. My nostrils pick up a faint odor of damp stone and something sharper, like chemicals or potions.This has to be the right direction.

I press forward, footsteps echoing lightly on the polished floor. The corridor branches off at intervals, each passageway suffused with that same eerie violet light. Occasionally, voices drift from behind closed doors—harsh instructions or clipped conversation. I flatten myself against the wall whenever I sense movement, illusions pressing me into the gloom. My shoulder twinges from old bruises, but I ignore the pain.I have to find him.

At last, I reach a heavy iron door etched with runic symbols. Faint arcs of energy shimmer across it—a ward, no doubt. Two Miou soldiers stand guard, each armed with swords and wearing the Overlord’s sigil on their breastplates. My illusions waver dangerously close to them, but they don’t stir. Perhaps they’re half-asleep or not expecting an intruder.

I bite my lip, considering my options.I can’t barge in. They’ll raise an alarm.Instead, I close my eyes and mold a subtle transformation in the lock mechanism—coaxing the metal inside to warp, as though it’s worn with age. If it works, the bolt might slip free. Gently, I guide my magic into the door, feeling my pulse hammer with each second. The transformation flickers in my mind’s eye, turning rigid steel pliant enough to shift.

A soft click echoes. The lock slides open. My heart leaps. The soldiers perk up, glancing around, halberds angled. I freeze, illusions hugging me close, and hold my breath. They exchange uncertain looks. One tries the door’s handle from the outside, confusion obvious when it doesn’t move. I realize I must have only half-unlatched the bolt.Damn.

Slowly, they settle back, likely dismissing the noise as the fortress’s old bones. Grateful for their complacency, I inch closer to the door, magic swirling in my fingertips. Carefully, I push the door inward just a crack, enough to slip through. The illusions ripple around me as I squeeze past. The guards remain oblivious, though my heart nearly explodes when one shifts his stance mere inches from me.

Inside, the air grows even colder, the wards etched along the walls glowing with sinister intensity. A broad staircase descends into flickering gloom. Each step resonates with my pounding pulse.This must lead to the deeper cells… or the Overlord’s arcane chambers.

My thoughts drift to Vaelin’s battered face, the quiet torment in his eyes.I have to believe he’s still alive.

I take the stairs, illusions flickering with each new wave of tension. At the bottom, a dim hallway stretches left and right. At the far end, an iron gate stands open, revealing a small antechamber beyond. Low voices murmur, though I can’t make out details. I focus on the timbre—one belongs to Charon Verthis, the Overlord’s advisor. My gut twists. If he’s here, Vaelin might be close.

Pressing myself to the wall, I inch down the hall. The flickering torchlight reveals etched runes upon the floor—like snaking lines that lead toward whatever arcane experiments the Overlord conducts. Whispers swirl in my head about his rumored cruelty and twisted breeding programs. My teeth clench.They’re hurting him.

When I reach the gate, I peer into the antechamber. Charon stands by a small pedestal, fiddling with an orb that pulses red—an orb reminiscent of the one others described, the cursed device that augments the Overlord’s hold. My heart clenches.So it’s true.

Then I see Vaelin. He’s on his knees, arms shackled by metal cuffs etched with runes, the chain looped through a ring in the floor. His midnight hair hangs limp across his face, obsidian skin marred by bruises. My chest tightens at the sight of him, battered and pale.Gods…

Charon’s voice drifts across the stone. “The Overlord wishes you to remain here until we hear from the Red Purnas. You’re not to leave again. You should have run away the first time you got the chance to hide in that watch tower. Once they have a lead on Elira’s location, you’ll be unleashed. Consider this your… penance for letting her go.”

Vaelin raises his head, eyes dazed with pain, but flickers of raw defiance burn behind them. He says nothing, lips pressed tight.

Charon sets the orb on the pedestal, adjusting its position so the swirling red energies reflect on Vaelin’s face. A spasm contorts Vaelin’s features, like something inside him writhes in response. My nails dig into my palms.That’s the Overlord’s vile method for controlling him.

Heart pounding, I slip through the gate, illusions hugging me close. Charon must sense something, because he pauses, brow furrowing as he surveys the antechamber. I hold my breath, praying he dismisses the flicker in the torchlight. Seconds feel like eons. Eventually, he exhales, seemingly unconvinced of any intrusion, and returns his focus to Vaelin.

I seize the moment. Without hesitation, I unleash a soft wave of illusions around Charon, conjuring a swirl of phantom movement at the corner of the antechamber. He spins, startled, reaching for a dagger at his belt. Vaelin’s gaze snaps to the swirling illusions, confusion crossing his face.

Charon marches toward the illusions, cursing under his breath. I slip behind him, silent as a ghost, and hasten to Vaelin’s side. Up close, I see the lines of pain etched into his features. He senses me before he sees me—his eyes widen in shock. My illusions fade around my face so he can recognize me.

“Elira,” he chokes out, voice raw.

My chest constricts with relief, but there’s no time to dwell. “Stay quiet,” I whisper, fumbling with the shackles. They’re etched with wards, likely keying into Vaelin’s gargoyle side. I press trembling fingers to the runes, coaxing my transformative magic to warp the metal. Sparks of feedback sting my palms, but I clench my teeth.Come on, come on.

Vaelin shudders as the orb’s glow intensifies. “He’s… in my head,” he rasps. “I can’t fight it much longer.”

A pang stabs my heart. I glance back. Charon stands at the opposite corner, slicing through illusions with an arcane blade. He’ll realize the trick any second. I force more power into the shackles, ignoring the searing pain in my veins. The metal groans, runes flickering. At last, with a snap, the left cuff pops open, then the right. Vaelin collapses against me, free of the chain but drained.

Charon whirls, eyes blazing with fury. “Purna,” he snarls, brandishing his dagger. The orb’s red glow pulses behind him, saturating the room in malevolent light.

Vaelin tries to stand, but his legs buckle.I can’t fight both Charon and that orb’s power in normal ways.Desperation pushes me to a choice. I recall the deeper technique I studied in the old texts about Space-Time magic, a method of creating a bubble of slowed or folded reality. If I can isolate Vaelin and me from Charon’s immediate influence, we might sever the Overlord’s hold.But it requires contact—deep, intimate contact.

---