Page 24

For a second, we stare at each other. My mouth goes dry, an unfamiliar reaction. The Overlord’s conditioning tries to clamp down, urging me to strike fast. But something about her roots me in place, a silent war raging behind my eyes.

She shifts her weight, one hand lifting. Magic radiates from her palm in a subtle swirl. “Stay back,” she warns, voice trembling on the edge of desperation. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Her tone sends a pang through my chest. There’s no arrogance, no malevolence. Only fear and a quiet determination. I recall the Overlord’s pronouncements:She’s a threat. Her power must be contained.Yet here, in the half-light, she seems more cornered prey than cunning predator.

I draw one sword, letting the steel catch the flicker of the torch. “Elira,” I say, tasting her name on my tongue. It reverberates through me, stirring that strange ache at my core. “I have orders to bring you in.”

She exhales sharply, illusions rippling around her face. Now I see the tension in her jaw, the flicker of resolve in her eyes—those eyes, a deep violet hue that seems to glow with suppressed magic. “You’re the Overlord’s enforcer,” she murmurs, voice tight with loathing. “The one everyone fears.”

I should relish that fear, but the hint of accusation in her tone pierces me. My grip on the sword tightens. “I am Vaelin Duskbane.” The formal words taste hollow, yet I force them out. “If you come quietly, I won’t harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes her. “You think I believe that? The Overlord’s blade, sparing the life of a Purna? I’ve seen your kind hunting humans for sport. Why would I trust you?”

Frustration flares in me. I know the cruelty of my people toward humans. I’ve witnessed it, carried out some of it under orders. Yet something about her accusation stings deeper than it should. “I serve a purpose,” I say tersely, stepping closer. “I don’t kill without reason.”

She recoils as I approach, magic sparking around her fingertips. A swirl of power shapes itself into faint illusions—phantom shapes flickering at the corners of my vision. One resembles a monstrous creature with fangs, another a serpent coiling near my feet. I clench my jaw, ignoring them. “Your illusions won’t stop me,” I warn.

Her gaze narrows. “I can do more than illusions.”

Before I can blink, she thrusts out her hand, releasing a surge of force that knocks me off balance. I stagger back, boots sliding on the cobblestones. A fresh wave of adrenaline spikes in my veins.She’s strong,a detached part of me notes, impressed despite the situation. She’s not the typical witch, dabbling in trifling illusions. This power is raw, potent.

My sword snaps up, deflecting a second blast of magic that crackles around the blade. The courtyard’s debris scatters, shards of wood clattering across the stones. I lunge forward, seeking an opening. She ducks, nimble as a dancer, illusions swirling to obscure her exact position. I slash at the hazy outline, but it dissolves under my blade, leaving me slicing empty air.

“Damn it,” I hiss, pivoting to track her movement. She reappears a few steps away, chest heaving. The illusions flicker—she’s losing her grip on them. Perhaps the extended chase has taxed her magical reserves. Or maybe she’s simply panicked.

I charge again, hoping to overwhelm her before she can conjure a more dangerous spell. She braces, eyes widening, and tries to raise another wave of force. This time, I anticipate it, twisting aside so the brunt of her magic slams into a toppled cart instead. Wood explodes in a shower of splinters.

In one fluid motion, I swing my sword down in a controlled arc, intending to knock her unconscious with the flat if possible. The Overlord wants her alive, after all. She manages to duck, but not fully—I catch her shoulder, sending her spinning. She gasps in pain and tumbles to the ground, cloak tangling around her legs.

Pinning her would be easy now. I move in to seize her arms. But the moment my fingers graze her wrist, a jolt of energy courses through me, electric and unsettling—like static that sears my skin from the inside. A half-formed image flares in my mind: stone claws scraping rock, followed by the sound of a distant, anguished roar.Gargoyles.My breath falters, knees buckling under a surge of inexplicable terror and longing.

That mental chaos is all she needs. She slips from my grasp, rolling across the cobblestones. By the time my head clears enough to refocus, she’s on her feet, one arm cradling her bruised shoulder. Anger burns in her gaze, but there’s also a flicker of… conflict? I sense she’s grappling with something, but I can’t name it.

We lock stares again in the torchlit gloom. My pulse thrashes. I should lunge, end this chase. Yet that flicker of awareness from earlier returns—an odd, magnetic pull. My chest tightens, a sensation strangely akin to longing.Why?I’ve faced purnas before, all cunning illusions and frantic spells, none of them stirring this confusion.

“Elira,” I murmur, feeling her name pulse through me. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

She presses a hand to her temple, as if warding off her own dizziness. “You don’t understand.” She steals a glance at the single flickering torch, its flame sputtering in the growing night wind. “You serve a master who wants to control me, to use my power for conquest. I’d rather die than become his pawn.”

Something in me twists. I recall the Overlord’s words:She will tip the balance of power in Oshta. Harness her or destroy her.A portion of that vow rings hollow now, hearing her say it so plainly. Yes, Rython Vatoris wants her under his thumb, wants to shape her magic to further his ambitions. Another wave of guilt stirs in me. Why is this so difficult?

I tighten my jaw. “I have my orders.”

Her laugh is brittle, pained. “Orders. Right.” She glances past me, as though weighing the possibility of flight. But the courtyard’s exits are narrow, and I’m blocking one. She stands in the center, cornered by toppled carts and walls. The tension thickens.

Resolving to end this, I surge forward one more time, sword at the ready. She reacts instantly, summoning an incantation I can’t quite decipher. The air warps around her, a swirling distortion.Space-Time magic?The Overlord’s intelligence claimed she could manipulate reality itself. A wave of dread and awe crashes over me.

I drive forward, stepping into the distortion, blade extended. My mind reels as the world blurs. For a disorienting heartbeat, the cobblestones under my feet shift, stretching like molten wax. My sense of direction snaps in half—left becomes right, forward bleeds into sideways. Nausea clenches my gut. I fight it, forcing one step after another, determined not to yield.

Elira stumbles too, though she stands at the heart of the distortion. She’s no master of this art yet. I see panic flicker across her features. If she can’t control her magic, it might tear us both apart. My muscles strain, fighting an invisible gravity that presses me from different angles.

In that moment, our gazes lock again. Despite the swirling chaos, I see her eyes fill with fierce resolve—tinged with sorrow.She won’t let me take her.The realization cuts deep. A pang of regret stabs at me.Why am I hesitating?

With a cry, she hurls the distortion outward, forcing me to stagger back. The alley behind me snaps into sharp relief, normal space reasserting itself. The force knocks me onto one knee, sword clattering from my grip. My vision spins, dread clawing at my throat. This is no simple illusion; she’s actually warping the fabric of reality around us, if only briefly.

By the time I scramble to my feet, the distortion dissipates. The courtyard reappears in its ordinary dimensions, the torchlight flickering. Elira is gone, the space where she stood empty except for the swirl of her cloak fluttering on the ground. She must have seized that moment to slip away, perhaps using illusions or a short teleport-like shift. My heart pounds, fury and relief tangling in a knot that leaves me breathless.

Snatching up my sword, I whirl, scanning the gloom. The corners are empty, the stalls abandoned. A few echoes of footsteps sound far down an alley, but I can’t confirm they’re hers. She vanished like a phantom.