Page 59 of Demonic Affliction

We descend into darkness for what feels like hours. Willow's grip on me doesn't loosen the entire way down, and neither does mine on her.

When it finally bottoms out, we land in a large, dark, circular chamber. The ice-rock walls here are a deeper blue than anywhere else we've been, so dark they’re almost black, swallowing what little light the pulsing red roots provide.

My eyes take a moment to adjust, but when they do, I realize just how large this place really is. Big enough to fit at least three of Vhalthor’s forces and still have room for more.

Dozens of darkened passages branch out from the cavern, varying in size but not much else. I don't know which one to take. None of us do.

Does that stop Vhalthor? Of course not.

The king of the Southern Isles is already charging toward one of the many tunnels to our right, his dagger drawn and eyes gleaming with bloodlust. His soldiers follow dutifully, but I can tell by their grim expressions that even they have doubts about their leader’s decision.

One look at my mate, and I know I have to stop him.

“Vhalthor! Wait!”

He freezes, turning around with an expression like thunder, dark wings rustling in irritation. Narrowing his eyes in a glare, he stomps over to me, standing so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him.

“You dare speak to me that way? I am a king⁠—”

“If you go that way, you and your soldiers will die.” Willow’s voice is low and eerily monotone—as if the serafyn is speaking through her. “If you wish for a swift end, then please, be our guest.” She gestures toward the tunnel he was about to travel down, the red ring around her eyes glowing brightly.

I watch Vhalthor's inner battle flash across his face until, finally, his pride seems to yield to his better senses. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Where would you have us go?”

Willow turns in a slow circle, raising a finger and pointing at a small tunnel just to my left. “That way. The path to the core is through there.”

“Are you sure?” Vhalthor demands.

“Yes.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “It calls to me…”

Well, that’s… concerning.

Before I can voice this, Vhalthor orders his soldiers onward, and they all fall into formation behind their king, filing into the passage two at a time.

We have no choice but to follow.

Eventually, the tunnel widens enough to hold a dozen demons walking side by side, and the ceiling arcs high overhead, offering space to fly if needed. It’s less claustrophobic than the tunnels, though it makes me feel far more exposed.

“Keep an eye out,” I tell Nyx and Rhune. “I don’t like it here.”

“You feel it too?” Nyx glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Someone watching?”

I nod, not wanting to speak my fears aloud. That someone—or something—has noticed our arrival. “Let’s keep moving.”

We continue walking as the tunnel slopes steadily downward. The air grows thinner with every step, and an icy chill settles in my bones—but I’m not sure if it’s from the temperature or my mounting fear.

Willow alternates between walking and resting in my arms, and I don't complain when she asks for a rest. As small as she is, carrying her is no burden at all. Plus, I don’t like the way she tends to stumble when her muscles grow tired from walking. The road is rough, the journey is long, and her human body feels the wear and tear more than anyone else.

Halfway through the cycle’s journey, Willow loses the battle and passes out in my arms. She tried to go as long as she could—bless her—but in the end, she was no match for the rugged terrain and the endless miles of marching.

“How is she doing?”

I look up, surprised to find one of Dagny’s mates walking beside me. The purple one. Roark, I think? “She is tired, but she is a fighter. She will be okay.”

He nods, scratching his thick beard, seemingly lost in thought. “Do you truly think this journey will accomplish anything?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “But I trust my mate and her instincts. The serafyn knows things the rest of us never will, things we could never understand even if we did. The core is where this world ends and begins, so it’s not a far stretch to imagine that’s where we need to go to save it.”

Roark nods, but he’s still frowning. “That, or it’s where the serafyn needs to go to end it.”