Page 52 of His Darkest Devotion

VAELIN

Iadjust my cloak in the predawn chill, watching the makeshift camp stir to life around me. A smoky haze drifts across the valley as purnas, humans, and scattered allies emerge from ragged tents and flickering fires. Their faces reflect tension and determination—some sharpen old weapons, others double-check newly etched wards on armor or staves. Nearby, a group of novices huddles around Olyssia, practicing illusions to hide supply carts. The hum of anxious whispers reminds me we’re on the brink of a confrontation that could reshape Protheka.

Elira stands at the center of it all, guiding volunteers to their posts. The wind stirs her dark hair, revealing the silver streak that frames her face, a mark of her rare gifts. Each time she speaks, illusions shimmer faintly around her, as if her magic is restless. I sense the tremor in her movements, but she cloaks it with resolute calm. My heart aches for her. We’re forging a fragile alliance from scraps of loyalty and fear, facing an enemy that includes monstrous gargoyles, a treacherous Overlord, and the Red Purnas.And now, I must add my own gargoyle heritage to the maelstrom.

A bitter taste forms in my mouth at the memory of yesterday’s revelations: the Gargoyle Warlord, Bladrik, apparently knows I share his blood. He wants me. A wave of nausea roils my stomach at the thought.Will I betray everyone by succumbing to that primal call? Or can I twist it to our advantage?

I step away from my vantage point near the supply wagons, heading toward Elira. She sees me approach and offers a weary smile, relief mingling with the determination in her eyes. “Good, you’re here,” she says softly. “We’re nearly ready to move. The scouts report that Bladrik’s forces have advanced from Ghalarak—some gargoyles have been spotted near the southern ridges.”

My chest tightens. “So he’s on the move sooner than expected.”

She nods, glancing at the slope where a few humans in patched armor prepare to march. “Yes. The Red Purnas and Overlord’s soldiers might also converge, so we must keep our lines flexible. The Matriarch is forging smaller squads to guard vantage points. We want to funnel the fight to a more favorable terrain, if possible.”

My gaze sweeps over the ragtag army: purnas gripping staves glowing with runic energies, farmers clutching spears, a handful of orcish scouts scowling warily. The Overlord’s cruelty inadvertently pushed them together.Will it be enough?My gut twists at the memory of gargoyle roars, the savage might they wield.

Elira steps closer and whispers, “Olyssia told me something urgent. One of our scouts overheard mention that the Gargoyle Warlord specifically asked about ‘the hybrid Dark Elf.’ That must be you.”

My pulse quickens. “So Bladrik truly knows about my gargoyle lineage.”

Her eyes reflect worry. “Apparently he wants to recruit you—use you as proof that the gargoyle race can be reborn or expanded. Some rumor about forging a new brood. The Overlord’s experiments gave them ideas. The Warlord might even offer you a place of power if you abandon us.”

I snort, bitterness coating my tongue. “As if I’d betray you for an existence I never asked for.” But a chill scrapes down my spine.Could that savage part of me be swayed?

She touches my arm, illusions flickering around her fingertips. “Vaelin, I know you. But we can’t underestimate how the gargoyle call might sway your blood.” Her voice trembles with concern. “That’s why we must have a strategy in place.”

I exhale slowly, recalling how I offered to meet Bladrik alone if it would buy Elira time to organize. My conscience balks at the risk—Bladrik might tear me apart or sink his claws into my mind. Yet I see no other path. If the gargoyles crash against our hodgepodge forces at full strength, we’ll be annihilated. If I buy time by parleying, we might funnel them to terrain better suited for illusions and wards.

“I’ll go,” I say, voice low, my heart hammering. “I’ll meet him on neutral ground. If I can stall him long enough, you and the coven can set traps or position yourselves advantageously.”

Elira’s grip tightens on my arm, eyes flashing with anxiety. “It’s too dangerous. He’s no simple gargoyle—he’s their warlord. He might sense your fear or your gargoyle side and use it against you.”

My chest constricts. “I’m aware. But if we face them head-on with no plan, we might lose everything.”

She studies me, conflict etched on her face. Then she nods with quiet acceptance. “Alright. But promise me—promise you won’t go alone without some plan of escape.”

My lips curve into a wry smile. “Escape is all I’ve done lately. But yes, I’ll do what I can to survive.”

Reluctance fills her gaze, but she leans in, pressing her forehead against mine. For a moment, the chaos around us fades, overshadowed by the gentle warmth of her closeness. Her illusions brush against my senses, tinged with frantic devotion.She doesn’t want me to risk my life.

A distant horn blasts, jolting us. Olyssia appears, panting, staff glimmering with faint flame. “Elira, Vaelin—scouts have sighted a gargoyle vanguard crossing the next ridge. We must move now or lose the advantage.”

Elira draws back, stealing one last soft glance at me. “We’ll march in half an hour. Are you sure about meeting Bladrik?”

I square my shoulders, forcing courage into my tone. “Yes. I’ll find him. Give your forces the time they need.”

The next hour is a whirlwind. Purnas dismantle the campsite, novices weaving illusions over supply lines to keep them hidden from any gargoyle scouts. The Matriarch organizes squads of purnas to reinforce specific choke points. Some humans and orcs, armed with rudimentary weapons, guard flank paths. Elira is a constant presence, her illusions flickering in controlled bursts as she coordinates. She casts me worried glances each time we pass.

My chest throbs with conflicting impulses: the desire to stay by her side, protect her from the chaos, and the conviction that I must confront Bladrik alone. Eventually, I gather a small kit of supplies, including a handful of bandages, a waterskin, and a steel dagger etched with minor runes.A pathetic arsenal against a gargoyle warlord, but stealth and cunning might serve me better.

Near midday, as the allied forces mobilize, Olyssia directs me to a rocky trail leading east. “Scouts say Bladrik’s main force is further north, but he’s sent a delegation or vanguard to test our strength. They might be near that gorge. If the warlord himself isn’t with them, he’ll be close by.”

I nod, exhaling a tight breath. “I’ll find him. Stall him. Give Elira time.”

She nods, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Be careful. If he senses your gargoyle blood, he might try to provoke it or bind it to his will.”

“I know,” I reply, swallowing dread.

We part ways. On the outskirts of camp, I find Elira waiting with arms folded tight, illusions dancing around her ankles in nervous tpurnas. My heart warms at the sight, but it’s tinged with sadness.We might not see each other again if this goes wrong.

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