Page 7 of His Darkest Devotion

A faint pang of something close to envy jolts me. Not envy of her power, but envy of her freedom—if she has it. She was not molded since childhood to serve a single master. She did not spend her early years in a fortress, daily beaten into unwavering loyalty. She was likely raised among her own, taught the wonders of her gifts without condemnation or fear. For an instant, I imagine a life not bound by the Overlord’s will. A life of personal choice. A life where my every waking thought wasn’t geared toward carrying out someone else’s agenda.

A scowl twists my lips. That line of thought is dangerous. I clamp down on it, remembering the times I was punished for hesitation. My mind is a sword’s blade—clean, sharp, and cold.Obey, accomplish, execute.

Still, the whisper lingers:Would my life have meaning if I had free will? Would I be more than a tool?

I grit my teeth. Enough. I glance at the runic wards, verifying each is still active. They glow with faint red lines in my peripheral vision, pulsing gently. Satisfied, I exhale, letting a sliver of tension drain from my shoulders. I close my eyes, allowing a light doze to settle in. My senses remain honed, though, half awake and poised for battle at the slightest signal of intrusion.

Night descends completely. The stars shimmer overhead, and an uneasy hush blankets the hills. Sometimes, the wind carries the far-off howl of a beast, or the rustle of shifting undergrowth. The wards remain quiet, and no trace of movement disturbs the darkness. I drift in that half-sleep for hours.

Eventually, the sky lightens to a charcoal gray, heralding the approach of dawn. My eyes snap open, as if responding to an internal alarm. I rise, stretching the stiffness from my joints. No intruders, no strange occurrences. With crisp efficiency, I gather the wards, stow them in my pack, and prepare the zalkir for another ride. The hunt continues.

I mount up, guiding the beast along the winding trail into the deeper folds of the mountains. The air is cooler here, and the smell of pine intensifies. Clouds hang low, wreathing the peaks in an otherworldly mist that glows faintly gold in the earliest morning light. My breath condenses in front of me, a fleeting wisp in the crisp air.

As we travel, the path becomes narrower, lined with jagged rocks. Cliffs drop steeply to the side in some sections, forcing a cautious pace. The zalkir’s claws click on loose stones, occasionally dislodging pebbles that clatter into the ravine below. In the hush of dawn, the sound echoes like distant thunder.

My pulse remains steady. I check behind me from time to time, but see only the swirl of fog and the distant shapes of crooked pines. The Overlord’s instructions ring in my mind:Find her. Bind her. Bring her back.Simple. Achievable. I don’t question how she might feel about being captured. Emotions hold little sway over me. Compassion is a liability.

Though I do not realize it at first, the rhythmic pounding in my head begins to match the zalkir’s step. It’s as though my body tries to warn me of something intangible. I sharpen my focus, scanning the mountain flanks, but detect no immediate threat. Still, a subtle disquiet churns in my gut, reminiscent of the doubt that haunted me last night.Freedom or destiny?

I clench my teeth and sink deeper into the role.Destiny does not matter. My destiny is to obey. Freedom is an illusion.Once more, I bury any traitorous notion that suggests otherwise. The Overlord has chosen me as his weapon. That is purpose enough.

A part of me wonders whether capturing this Purna will be as straightforward as I hope. Rumors often outgrow truth, especially when it involves magic. Perhaps I’ll find nothing but a terrified girl huddling in a rundown cave, no real threat at all. Then again, the Overlord wouldn’t dispatch me personally if the mission were trivial. If the Overlord truly believes she can tip the balance of power, she must be formidable. Or perhaps something more than formidable—something destined to unravel the rigid order of Protheka.

The zalkir halts suddenly, nostrils flaring. It senses something ahead. Narrowing my eyes, I lean forward and study the trail. A set of footprints marks the damp earth, leading farther up the slope. They appear human in size and shape. Fresh. I dismount, pressing my palm against one impression. The soil is still malleable from recent rain. Whoever made these tracks passed through hours ago, maybe less.

I scan the surroundings. Not far away, the land dips into a narrow gorge shrouded by tall firs. The footprints head in that direction. My pulse flickers with anticipation. Could this be the path to the Purna? Or just a stray traveler? Either way, it’s the first sign of activity I’ve encountered.

Tying the zalkir to a hard trunk, I proceed on foot, stepping carefully to avoid betraying my presence. Every muscle is coiled, ready for a fight. My swords hang at my hips, eager to taste blood if needed.

The trail winds around a rocky outcrop, bringing me to a vantage point where I can see down into the gorge. Morning light filters through the canopy, illuminating the pine needles in shades of emerald and bronze. The air is quiet enough that I can hear the rush of distant waterfalls. My eyes sweep the ravine—and I spot a slight figure farther below, leaning over a small stream. A hood is drawn over their head, and they appear to be washing a cloth, perhaps a bandage. Their stance and build suggest a human, not a Dark Elf.

My breath catches. If this traveler knows anything about the local rumor of a Purna, I may glean some information. But I can’t be sure they’re unarmed. I place a hand on one sword hilt.Approach with caution. Interrogate if needed.That is the simplest approach.

Crouching low, I descend the incline. Loose gravel shifts beneath my boots, but I move with the trained stealth hammered into me since youth. The robed figure doesn’t notice me until I step onto a fallen log that crosses the water. Their head jerks up, revealing a gaunt, frightened face. A man, his eyes ringed with dark circles as though from lack of sleep. The cloth in his hands drips red-stained water.

He scrambles back, fumbling for a crude dagger at his belt. His entire frame trembles. “St-stay away,” he stammers, holding the blade in an unsteady grip.

I straighten, expression neutral. “I won’t harm you if you don’t threaten me.” My voice is as cold as the stream’s flow. The authority of a Dark Elf does most of the talking.

He clutches the dagger tighter, though fear etches every part of his face. His gaze darts over my obsidian skin, my black armor, and the swords at my side. He knows what I am—an enforcer, the Overlord’s deadly extension. “Please, I—I have nothing of value. I’m just trying to survive.”

I tilt my head. “I’m seeking someone—an unusual woman with strong magical abilities. You’ve traveled these paths recently?” My tone is even, carrying the implicit threat of violence if he lies.

His eyes widen. “I—I’ve seen no purnas, I swear!” The desperation in his voice sounds genuine. “Only travelers—humans. Some wounded. I tried to help them, but…” He glances at the bloodied cloth. “They’d lost too much blood.”

A flicker of pity tries to surface, but I quash it. “Then you’re of no use to me.” I consider letting him go. He has the look of a harmless refugee. One trembling hand grips that pitiful dagger. He’s no threat.

And yet, the Overlord’s standing order has always been to eliminate loose ends that might warn others. If he crosses paths with the Purna, he might reveal a Dark Elf enforcer in the region. That complicates my mission. My hold on my sword tightens for a heartbeat.

He must see the cold resolve flicker in my eyes, because he drops the dagger and raises his hands in supplication. “No, wait! I—I heard rumors, yes, about a Purna traveling with a wounded man, heading east. I never saw her, but that’s what the villagers said. Something about illusions. Please… I can’t tell you more.”

My heart pulses with renewed purpose. East from here, deeper into the range, perhaps. If that rumor is correct, it’s a likely lead. “Good,” I reply, letting my hand fall away from my hilt. “You’ve done something useful, at least.” I pivot to leave.

He collapses to his knees, relief flooding his features. But even as I turn away, a voice in my head warns me:A messenger can still betray your presence.I grit my teeth. Ordinarily, I would ensure silence permanently, but a twinge in my chest pulls me back from that final cruelty. Killing him feels… unnecessary. The Overlord demands efficiency, not wanton bloodshed.

Without a word, I start up the slope, leaving him alive and shuddering in the mud. My stride is brisk, betraying no second thoughts. By the time I reach the zalkir, my mind is already set on the next step: find the pass that leads east, track down any sign of this rumored Purna.

When I untie the reins, a whisper of a breeze carries the scent of resin and damp leaves. The mountains tower overhead, silent witnesses to the conflict brewing beneath their ancient slopes. Freedom or destiny? My place is carved in stone. I have my orders, and I will fulfill them.

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