Page 49

I nod. “My coven has purnas skilled in battle magic, illusions, and protective wards. If the Overlord and Red Purnas unite, we’ll have to gather sympathetic enclaves of humans and maybe lesser-known tribes. Waira, or drifter clans, if we can find them in time.”

He exhales, lips thinning. “It’s a tall order.”

My heart clenches. “I know. But what choice do we have?”

We resume our trek, conversation lapsing into tense silence. By late afternoon, we reach the outskirts of my coven’s domain—jagged mountain paths guarded by hidden wards. I sense them in the air, subtle vibrations that ripple across my magical awareness. Usually, these wards are invisible to outsiders. Now, I see them flicker, partially undone.The Red Purnas’ betrayal must have compromised them from within.

A cluster of figures waits at a rocky outcrop, all in simple cloaks. My pulse leaps—these are Purna purnas loyal to the Matriarch, presumably stationed as lookouts. The moment they spot us, illusions shimmer around them, and they brandish staves. My illusions fade in response, revealing Vaelin and me plainly.

“Elira!” one of them calls, stepping forward. It’s Olyssia. Relief fills me at the sight of her fiery curls, though her face is drawn with tension. Another wave of purnas fans out behind her, expressions wary. Their gazes snap to Vaelin. Anxiety flares in their stances.

I raise a hand. “He’s with me!” I shout, climbing the last rocky step. “We come in peace, to speak with the Matriarch.”

Olyssia rushes over, staff lowered. “Elira,” she breathes, voice cracking with relief. “Thank the Goddess you’re alive. The Matriarch’s telepathic summons nearly flattened half the coven with urgency. We thought you might not—” She cuts herself off, glancing sideways at Vaelin.

I place a hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze. “We made it. The Overlord and Red Purnas unites. Gargoyles are rising. We have little time.”

Her brow furrows. “We know. The Matriarch is gathering everyone in the high valley, preparing defenses, but we’re disorganized. Some purnas fled, others refuse to fight. She’s hoping you can tip the balance, especially with… well, the prophecy.” She grimaces, eyes flicking to Vaelin’s obsidian skin.

I steel myself. “I’ll do whatever I must.”

One of the purnas behind Olyssia, a stern-faced woman named Falene, crosses her arms. “And him?” she demands, voice laced with suspicion. “The Dark Elf enforcer? After everything we’ve heard?—”

Vaelin stands tall, posture guarded. “I stand with Elira,” he says simply, though tension underlies his words.

Olyssia glances between us, doubt warring with hope in her expression. I force my tone calm. “We can’t afford old grudges. Vaelin is free from the Overlord’s control. He helped me. We need every ally to stand against the combined threat of gargoyles, Red Purnas, and the Overlord’s armies.”

A hushed silence follows. Then Olyssia nods, stepping aside. “The Matriarch said to bring you straight away. Let’s go.”

We ascend a winding path carved into the mountainside, illusions from the guard purnas rippling to mask us from overhead threats. The journey is grueling, but adrenaline propels me onward. Vaelin’s breathing grows shallow, though he stubbornly keeps pace. My heart twists at the memory of how battered he’s been, how far we both have to push ourselves.

Finally, we reach the high valley—a broad plateau ringed by jagged peaks. Normally, the coven’s central halls nestle here, wards shimmering around communal gardens and carved dwellings. But now, signs of conflict scar the land: collapsed walls, scorched patches of earth, and purnas hurrying to reinforce barricades. A cluster of novices huddles near an improvised infirmary, while a senior witch tends to them with shaky hands.

My throat tightens at the devastation. Olyssia leads us through the chaos to a large clearing overshadowed by spires of rock. There, the Matriarch stands with a cadre of elders, each radiating a mixture of dread and resolve. The moment she spots me, her eyes flick to Vaelin, a fleeting shadow of distrust crossing her features. Yet she beckons us forward without hesitation.

“Elira,” she greets, voice subdued but warm. “You received my summons. Good. The situation is worse than we feared. The Gargoyle Warlord—Bladrik, they call him—has awakened in the fortress of Ghalarak. Rumor says he’s begun assembling his kin. The Red Purnas offered the Overlord an alliance, promising him domain over these lands if he helps them subdue or exploit the gargoyles.”

Vaelin stands at my side, fists clenched. “If that alliance holds, they’ll sweep across Protheka. The gargoyles’ numbers alone might dwarf what your coven can muster.”

The Matriarch nods grimly. “We’ve lost many purnas to the Red Purnas’ treachery. Our wards have been compromised from within. Humans in the outlying settlements are terrified or fleeing. We must unify any remaining enclaves if we hope to stand a chance.”

I exchange a look with Vaelin, recalling our brief success persuading that small farmland.We can do more.I step forward, voice wavering with the weight of the prophecy. “We’ll face them head-on. I’ll gather what loyal Purnas remain, plus any humans or allies who’ll join us. We can’t let the Overlord and Red Purnas harness the gargoyles. The cost would be unimaginable.”

A murmur spreads among the elders. Some look uncertain, others relieved to see me take the lead. The Matriarch’s gaze rests on Vaelin. “And you, Dark Elf? Do you truly stand with us?”

He meets her eyes without flinching. “I do. The Overlord betrayed me as well—he made me into a monster, but I refuse to do his bidding.” His voice grows tight. “Elira saved me from his control. I owe her my life. I’ll fight to protect her coven, if you’ll let me.”

A tense hush follows. The Matriarch studies him, then finally inclines her head. “Very well. We have no luxury to turn away capable help.”

Relief courses through me, though I sense some elders stiffening at the idea of a half-gargoyle Dark Elf among us. The Matriarch extends a hand, beckoning me closer. “Elira, the prophecy has always pointed to you. Whether we like it or not, the final stand revolves around your ability to seal the gargoyles or free them. Right now, the Red Purnas and Overlord want to exploit that power. The Gargoyle Warlord likely wants to destroy you out of vengeance. All converge here.”

A tremor seizes my legs, but I force myself to stand tall. “I won’t run,” I whisper, voice tight. “We’ll gather an alliance, stand against them. I might not be fully prepared, but we have no choice.”

Her stern features soften, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “Then let us begin. We’ll send scouts to the human enclaves, to wandering tribes, even to rumored orcish settlements if they’ll listen. Meanwhile, we fortify what remains of our wards, especially around the pass to Ghalarak. If we can intercept the gargoyle forces there, we might keep them from sweeping across the continent.”

“Thank you, Matriarch,” I say quietly. “We’ll need your best purnas. I can’t do it alone.”

An elder steps forward—Quelina, her hair pulled tight in a severe bun. “We’ll stand with you. But remember, the Red Purnas know our tactics. They’ll be ready to counter illusions and transformations. We must be creative.”