Page 58 of His Darkest Devotion

My pulse hammers as I focus all my energy on the final incantation. The air crackles with lethal tension—my illusions meld with the Matriarch’s wards, weaving space-time distortion into a sealing force. The ring glows brighter, arcs of magic striking Bladrik and the gargoyles within. They shriek, wings thrashing. Each gargoyle battered by illusions that threaten to petrify them anew.

Pain lances my mind, the cost of drawing on such potent spells. The circle intensifies, each pillar shining with ancient runes. Gargoyles swirl inside, some turning to stone inch by inch. Bladrik resists, roaring defiance. My vision spots with black.Just a little longer.

He lunges at the circle’s edge, claws rending illusions. Elders cry out as the strain of holding him in place overwhelms them. The ground cracks. My illusions shiver, close to collapse.If he breaks free now, we’re doomed.Summoning the last thread of my space-time power, I direct it at Bladrik, forcing a final wave of transformative petrification.

A monstrous howl tears from him as stony flesh creeps across his chest, his arms locked mid-lunge. The rest of the gargoyles trapped in the ring likewise stiffen, reverting to living statues. My ears ring with the shrieks of those who attempted to escape too late, half inside, half out. The chaos of swirling illusions and wards erupts in a final blinding flash. I scream as the backlash slams into me, magic crackling across my body.

Then… silence.

My head swims, every muscle trembling. Slowly, the light fades, revealing the ring of pillars scorched, runes smoking. The gargoyles inside stand frozen in half-turned stone forms, including Bladrik, his horned head contorted in a silent roar. A pang of grief and relief washes through me.It worked.We sealed them again—but at what cost?

I collapse to my knees, illusions sputtering out. The Matriarch and other elders sag in exhaustion, some fainting outright. Olyssia rushes to my side, tears streaming. “Elira! Breathe, just breathe.”

I blink, chest raw with half-spoken sobs. “We… we sealed them,” I rasp, voice cracked.

She nods, hugging me tightly. “Yes. The threat from the gargoyles is contained—for now.”

My eyes dart around for Vaelin. Panic seizes me. He was outside the ring… “Where is he?”

Olyssia points through the settling dust. I see a limp shape sprawled near a shattered obelisk. My heartbeat stutters.No, no, no.Ignoring the pain in my body, I scramble to him, illusions flickering with every ragged breath.

He lies on his back, sword clutched in a limp hand. Blood dribbles from his temple, his tunic shredded. My trembling fingers hover over his chest.Please…

I sense a faint pulse. Relief makes me dizzy. “Vaelin,” I whisper, cradling his head. He stirs, eyelids fluttering open. Pain shadows his expression, but a flicker of recognition warms his eyes.

“You did it,” he murmurs, voice weak. “The gargoyles— I felt them vanish.”

Tears spill down my cheeks. “Yes, they’re sealed again.”

He tries to smile, a pitiful sight with blood streaking his face. “Then we survived.”

My illusions swirl around protectively. Past the ring of pillars, the Red Purnas or Overlord’s forces might still threaten. But as I glance around, I see them in disarray: many have retreated or been scattered by the orcs and purnas. The Overlord’s banner is nowhere in sight, perhaps pulled back once the gargoyles fell. My heart quivers with relief.We won a crucial victory.

A hush settles over the ancient battlefield. Broken illusions and wards flicker in the aftermath, casting surreal glows on the columns of petrified gargoyles. Some moan or groan in partial entrapment, but the sealing is firm. The Matriarch’s exhausted figure kneels near the ring, trembling. Allies slump everywhere, battered but alive. The Red Purnas, leaderless or in disarray after the circle’s success, flee into the crags or surrender.

Cradling Vaelin’s head, I exhale a shaky laugh mingled with sobs. “It’s over,” I murmur, stroking his damp hair from his forehead. “At least for now.”

He reaches up, brushing a finger against my cheek. “You look like you’ve just fought an entire war alone,” he murmurs, trying for levity.

I sniff, tears splashing his hand. “We fought it together. Don’t you dare forget that.”

He chuckles weakly, then winces, pain flitting across his face. Guilt tugs at me. He needs healing. Gently, I help him sit upright. Olyssia rushes over with a novice carrying a pouch of salves. “We’ll tend him,” she promises, breathless.

I dip my head in thanks, illusions dimming further as I let exhaustion creep in. The sun breaks through storm clouds above, rays slicing across the bloodied stones. Survivors gather amid the rubble, checking on friends, searching for the fallen. My coven members, battered but defiant, form a huddle around the Matriarch, exchanging tearful embraces. My chest feels hollow, remembering those who died in the chaos.

Despite the tragedy, a fragile sense of accomplishment swells. The gargoyles are sealed. The Overlord and Red Purnas are beaten back—though not destroyed, they’ll think twice before another assault. For now, we have breathing space to rebuild.

My eyes roam the battlefield’s edges. Jagged columns of stone stand sentinel, each etched with new cracks from the magical collision. The ring in the center glows with a faint aura. Bladrik and his gargoyles are silent, locked in stone slumber. A chill skates over my skin. I recall the prophecy that I might either seal or free them. I chose sealing—but that doesn’t guarantee forever.We must remain vigilant.

I return my attention to Vaelin, crouching beside him while Olyssia and the novice apply healing salve to his wounds. He grimaces at each touch, but a rueful smirk tugs his lips. “I’ve had worse,” he jokes, though sweat beads on his brow.

I cup his cheek, illusions softly swirling. “You’re insufferable,” I tease, voice trembling with relief.

He leans into my touch. For a moment, the entire battlefield fades, and it’s just us—two survivors who defied fate to stand side by side. My heart overflows with gratitude and love, a fierce ache that dwarfs the lingering fear.

At length, the Matriarch calls out, rallying the coven. The Red Purna remnants have scattered or surrendered, Overlord’s troops fled. The gargoyles’ unstoppable fury is contained. There’s no immediate threat, but the cost is visible in the anguished faces around me. We’ll need to tend the wounded, count the dead, piece our alliance back together. The future remains uncertain, but at least we’re not overshadowed by monstrous wings or the Overlord’s cruelty at this moment.

I stand, offering Vaelin a hand. He takes it, standing unsteadily, leaning on my shoulder. My illusions move around us, warm and gentle. His eyes meet mine, a silent question:What now?

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