Chapter 34 Eloria
Eloria
As they crossed the barrier’s threshold together, magic pressed upon Luna’s body like a crushing weight. She struggled to move, to even blink. It was like drowning without water, like she’d slipped beneath some dark current, forced to hold her breath or be pulled under.
All sense of time and direction dissolved. Though her body moved alongside Damien, she felt suspended. Caught between two realms, belonging to neither. Finally, they finished passing through, and the sensation lifted.
Magic still lingered in the air, but it clung lightly now, no longer suffocating. It stung her nose, and her nostrils twitched, a low snort slipping free.
“Breathe slowly.” Damien’s voice was raw, barely a whisper, as if a single wrong word might shatter her. He stood with his legs locked straight, his neck stretched towards her, the tension in him plain—as if he were holding himself back from reaching out. “It takes a moment to get used to.”
She tried, pulling in a deep breath. In. Out. Again. Until the tightness in her chest eased.
The other side of the barrier opened to a strange room: mirrored walls, a garden of flowers, and a path that led to a single empty desk. No doors. No exits.
But she didn’t panic. Unnerving calmness wrapped around her, thick with magic; she didn’t fight it, didn’t have the strength to try.
She stepped towards one of the mirrors.
A white unicorn gazed back at her. A horn spiralled elegantly from her forehead, her white coat pristine.
She was beautiful—or would have been, if not for her deformed hooves, roughly chopped mane, and the scar marring her leg where an arrow had once pierced her.
But it was her eyes—deep, sorrowful pools of blue—that caught Luna’s breath.
She turned away sharply, unwilling to face herself.
Through the barrier hole, grass swayed. For a moment, she almost considered running back, if only to escape her reflection.
A man appeared from thin air, stepping into the room.
He looked . . . Well, he looked exactly like someone from this world might look.
Large glasses perched upon his nose, brown hair tipped with silver curls, and white deer antlers crowned his head.
His ears were long and furry; a brown tail flicked behind him.
Without making eye contact, he sat behind the desk.
A book—massive, wider than Luna was tall—materialized before him.
He placed a hand over it.
“Names,” he said, voice creaking with age.
“Everett!” Damien snapped, pawing the ground, tearing flowers with his hoof. “You know damn well who I am.”
Everett didn’t flinch. He spoke in the same dull tone as before. “Protocol. State your name.”
Tension pulled at Damien’s muzzle, but he forced out the words. “Damien Farnever.”
The book flipped open on its own accord, pages whispering as they turned. When it stopped, Everett’s long finger traced the text until he found his place.
“Ah. Damien. Reason for visit to the human world listed as . . . official business. How interesting.”
His oversized eyes narrowed with distaste as he slowly—so excruciatingly slow that turtles could have lapped the earth twice—turned to face Damien. “That business has already returned. So, who is this?”
“My, um . . .” Damien hesitated, glancing towards Luna. “A friend.”
Did he trip on the word puppet?
“Name,” Everett intoned.
Luna cleared her throat. “My name is Luna—”
“Korvin,” Damien finished for her.
Luna cocked her head towards him. Korvin? Where had that come from?
Before she could think about it further, the book slammed shut. The suddenness startled Everett, and for the first time since she arrived, he looked at her. Ancient silver-white eyes pinned her in place, stripping her bare. She didn’t know what he saw, but it made her want to fold in on herself.
Wordlessly, he waved his hand.
The flowers at their hooves stirred, reaching upward. They twined around her, nipping at her legs, their delicate petals pinching. Luna jerked back, but they only climbed higher, tighter, layering over her until she could no longer see her own body beneath the mass of blooms.
A pulse of magic rippled through the vines.
Luna gasped and began to unravel—her unicorn form peeling away like silk threads. Her body shrank, reshaped, until she stood unsteadily on two human legs.
The flowers receded, scattering harmlessly back into the garden, leaving behind petals that moulded over her shoulders, tracing the curves of her breasts and merging at her stomach in a smooth, natural seam. From there, it wrapped her hips and thighs in close-fitted layers, stopping mid-thigh.
Unease bloomed low in her chest. Is this how they plan to deliver me to the Darkened One? Wrapped in something beautiful? Something breakable?
She swallowed the urge to tug at the petals, to strip it off.
Reeling, she turned, searching for an exit; she already knew there wasn’t one . . . Not unless she went back through the barrier, and that wasn’t going to happen.
Damien remained nearby, changed too—but not fully human.
He met her gaze and offered a reassuring smile.
His body resembled a human’s, yet some features were equine.
His hairline, for one, and the black spiralled horn that rose from his forehead—shorter than it had been in full unicorn form.
His ears were gone, replaced with horse-like ones perched high atop his head.
A black tail swayed lazily behind him, and flowers hung loosely around his hips, covering just enough.
Her gaze dropped lower. His legs looked human at first glance, but where toes should’ve been, there were smooth, glossy hooves. He stood on them effortlessly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her gaze snapped to the mirrors, to her reflection.
She hadn’t fully returned to human form either.
A small white horn protruded from her forehead; horse-like ears were pointed high atop her head too, and a short, choppy tail swished behind her.
For a long while, she just stared.
The thing in the mirror looked like someone she should know, and yet a stranger all the same.
Such thoughts should’ve made her sad, but she was too tired, too numb to care. Her fingertips tingled faintly. She pressed them together, then curled her hands into fists to hide her ruined nails.
Damien offered another soft smile.
She stared blankly back, unable to summon one in return.
“I cannot let you pass,” Everett said after an eternity. “Your name isn’t in the book.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Damien snapped. “She came with me. She’s leaving with me.”
“The protocols must be followed.” Everett’s voice remained bland—indifferent to their struggles, but there was no mistaking the finality beneath it. “Even you, Prince of Shadows, can not bend the laws.”
A fluttering sound filled the air. As if summoned by the topic of conversation, a single page drifted from the ceiling.
“Hold on a moment.” Everett lifted a hand, signalling a pause.
“There appears to be a side note.” He plucked it out of the air and scanned its contents.
“Interesting . . .” he drawled, scratching his chin.
“It appears the Council of All That Is anticipated Luna’s arrival.
” His gaze flicked to Damien. “Seems they disagree with my judgment.”
Turning to the page, he read aloud: “As earlier requested, Nina is no longer considered an exile. Therefore, her daughter, Luna is no longer an exiled child. She has been granted a probationary permit for entry.”
Luna’s mind tripped. Who was the Council of All That Is? And how did they know who I was? She shook her head. Would it matter? Soon, she’d be rid of Damien—free to vanish into some quiet hole and live a peaceful life.
When Everett was finished, he tossed the note behind him. A flower magically grew to snatch the paper in its petals and swallow it whole.
“There is one rule for your permit,” Everett continued. “If you show a human how to enter Eloria, it will be considered an act of treason. Your permit will be destroyed, and you will be exiled. Do you agree to these terms?”
Luna nodded automatically.
“I need a verbal confirmation—protocol.”
“Yes,” she rasped. “I agree to the terms of the permit.”
“Perfect,” Everett muttered, as if this were his thousandth soul to process. “Off you go.” He waved his hand with a sigh, feigning effort with that small gesture.
Before Luna could react, flowers closed in around her again, swallowing her.
Shadows caught Luna before she hit the ground, gently setting her upright.
They stood in a half-moon amphitheatre, rows of chairs fanning from where they’d emerged. Turns out the room hadn’t actually been made out of mirrors but glass. Luna could see the garden—and the empty desk; Everett had vanished.
“Well, this is something,” Luna muttered.
“The barrier hole is a spectacle here,” Damien said, walking between the empty chairs, his hand trailing over the backs.
“Like an execution, it draws spectators. It’s a rare treat to watch someone come through.
” He cast her a sideways glance. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate being on display, so Gregory cleared them out ahead of time. ”
He was right. The thought of strangers staring at her, at what she’d become, made her skin crawl.
Jagged mountains rose in the distance beyond the glass room. The barrier they’d passed through shimmered faintly, barely visible—just a ripple of magic in the air.
Above them, stars twinkled in the night sky, and as Luna stared up at them, she was struck by how familiar they looked. For a moment, it felt like she’d never left home. Like she was still that same innocent girl with hope in her heart.
But the moment passed, and she dropped her gaze.
In front of her, the mountains gave away to rolling green hills, like a sea caught mid-breath. Beyond that, a forest loomed in the distance.
“Winta and Felix’s place is over there,” Damien said, pointing to a towering wall of hedges growing atop a far-off hill.
Luna didn’t move. She drew in a breath, her eyes sweeping the open land. She could run. Try to escape Damien now before he could set his trading plans in motion.
But how far would she get?
She pressed her hoof into the grass, grounding herself. Then, without looking at him, she asked, “What is the Council of All That Is? And how did they know I was coming?”
“Marion or Corey likely gave them a heads up,” Damien replied. “But they do have their own ways of finding out information. The Council is made up of representatives from each ruling territory. They handle most, if not all, major decisions across Eloria—including who comes and goes.”
She turned to face him. “What would’ve happened if I didn’t get a permit?” A chill crept down her spine, but she kept her gaze steady, unreadable.
“Everett would’ve detained you. You’d have to stand trial before the Council. They’d decide your fate.”
“Is he part of the Council?”
“No.” Damien shook his head. “Everett is the Guardian of the Barrier. He reports who enters and leaves, and ensures the protocols are followed for exiles and human wanderers.”
Her mind flicked through her old lessons.
Humans who returned from Eloria were said to come back wrong—scattered, unable to remember what they saw.
With a sideways glance, she asked Damien if it was true.
He nodded and began walking towards the hedges. “The theory is if they kept their memories, they’d tell others how to reach us. We don’t force them to leave or stay, they do decide that on their own.”
She stayed behind, watching him go.
She wanted to scream at him to stop. To give her a moment. Heading to those hedges felt like walking into her own demise, but running blindly into a land she didn’t understand felt just as dangerous.
Standing her ground, she asked, “What do you do with them . . . ?”
Looking over his shoulder, he answered, “They take an oath agreeing to abide by laws.” He paused mid-step, realizing she hadn’t followed, and a brow lifted. “Then they’re released. Most end up in the Forest of Endlessness, and the fae deal with them after that.”
She’d only heard of fae in storybooks—wicked, heartless creatures that delighted in torment. “I didn’t know fairies were real,” she murmured, scanning the hill as if one might spring out of the grass.
“They’re one of many magical beings in Eloria. The fae are tricksters. They use glamour—illusions. A rock can look like a glass of wine. Or they can look like someone you trust.” His voice darkened, just slightly. “They mostly prank each other, but like cats, they enjoy tormenting prey.”
A flicker of sadness passed over his face; his eyes distant like he was caught in some old memory, but it vanished before she could ask.
“At any point, a human can request to return to their realm. If approved, Everett collects them. Someone wipes their memory, and they’re sent on their way.”
Damien raked his fingers through his hair, gaze still unfocused.
“Not all stay in the forest, though. Humans . . . seem drawn to trouble. Some venture north, probably hoping to wake the dragons. Others wander into unicorn lands. The unlucky ones end up as prey to nightwalkers—or worse, claimed by the demons beneath the Lake of Glenaridge, where even the bravest fear to tread. The deeper into Eloria they go, the less chance they have of getting out, even with the Council’s help. ”
Luna swallowed. “I didn’t realize how dangerous it was here.” Why had she believed a magical realm would be safe? She might’ve escaped her enemies, but now she was surrounded by monsters. Literal monsters.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for her, but he kept it at his side—and she was grateful for that. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Liar. He was so full of shit it made her want to find a rock and hurl it at him.
Damien’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t speak, but he watched her—as he always did—tracking every flicker of doubt, every move she made.
She cleared her throat, grasping for a reply. Nothing came.
She couldn’t pretend. Couldn’t smile and nod and act like she believed him. “I want to see Nina,” she said sharply, and marched past him, heading towards the hedges that were anything but inviting.
She’d leave after that, she decided. See her mother, get answers from her. Gather as much information about the lands as she could in the meantime, then she’d flee and disappear before anyone else could use her.