Magic Undaunted (The Grimm Files #6)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

ELYRIA

C hambers of the Fae High Council

Celestia, Fae Realm

One Year Ago

T he Fae High Council Chambers in Celestia, the shining capitol of the fae realm, had always been a place of reverence for Elyria. The hall was carved from living crystal, the walls shimmering with every color of the twilight sky. Pillars of pure light rose from the floor, casting soft, shifting shadows that danced like restless spirits across the ground. Above her, the ceiling was a vast dome of starlight, where constellations moved in strange, unknowable patterns, veins of glowing silver pulsing like the lifeblood of the realm itself.

Elyria stood in the center of the room, feeling both insignificant and defiant. Her armor, once a proud testament to her centuries of service as a fae warrior, had been stripped from her, and her wings gleamed faintly in the ethereal light. Her pink-tinged silver hair hung loose around her face, stirred occasionally by a faint breeze.

She was aware of the subtle change in herself, a darkness that clung to her like a shadow. It wasn't her fault. She hadn’t chosen this fate. The mortal wolf-shifter had claimed her, forcing a bond upon her she hadn’t wanted. Still, it was a mark that the fae could not—and would not—overlook.

At the far end of the chamber, the Fae High Council sat upon their thrones, each one as imposing as the fae lords themselves. Their faces, normally aloof, now seemed colder, harder. Elyria felt the weight of their judgment, but she stood firm, her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

The head of the Council, a regal fae with a crown of silver flames and eyes that glowed like the sun at dusk, rose. His voice rang out, cold and authoritative, echoing in the vast chamber.

“Elyria Knightshade, once a warrior of Celestia, you stand here accused of being claimed and tainted by a mortal. The wolf-shifter's mark upon you is undeniable, and it festers in your very essence. You are unclean and an abomination in our eyes.”

Her throat tightened as she spoke, her voice trembling despite her efforts to remain strong. “I didn’t choose this,” she argued. “I fought against him, but he was too strong, and he’d had me stripped of my magic. He forced the claim on me.”

The plea fell on deaf ears. A tall fae with skin like moonlight and eyes of endless blue responded, his disdain unmistakable. “Choice is irrelevant. The taint exists. You are no longer pure. You no longer belong to our realm.”

Elyria’s heart pounded in her chest, her anger rising. How could they dismiss her so easily? After everything she had done for them, for Celestia?

“I have served this realm for centuries. I’ve shed blood for our people, and now you cast me aside because of something I couldn’t control?”

Another council member, her voice soft but no less damning, cut through the air like a blade. “The integrity of Celestia and the blood of the fae must be preserved. You are a danger to our world, Elyria, no matter how unwillingly this bond was forged.”

Her pulse roared in her ears. Elyria fought to steady her breathing, her hands shaking with rage. They didn’t care. They didn’t care that she hadn’t wanted any of this. In their eyes, she was tainted. Corrupted. A threat to the purity of their world.

The head councilor raised a hand, silencing any further argument. His eyes bore into her, final and unyielding. “Your service is not forgotten, but it does not absolve you. You are now tainted by the mortal realm, by its chaos and impurity. Our laws are clear. You are banished from Celestia.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Before she could protest, a pulse of sharp energy swept through the chamber. The crystalline walls seemed to hum in response, and she felt the Council’s magic begin to gather around her. Tendrils of shimmering light wrapped around her, binding her in place. Pain flared through her body, as if the very essence of Celestia was rejecting her.

Elyria gasped, struggling against the burning magic, but there was no escape. She could feel the bond to her realm, the magic she had always drawn strength from, being severed. Her wings flickered with fading light, the once-brilliant glow dimming as the connection shattered.

Tears of rage and helplessness filled her eyes as she stared at the Council, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re wrong.”

But they had already turned away, their gazes cold and dismissive. To them, she no longer existed.

With one final pulse of energy, the light enveloping her flashed, and in an instant, Elyria Knightshade was gone—banished from the realm she had once sworn to protect, cast out into the mortal world, where the mark of the wolf-shifter would forever stain her soul.

S t. Piran’s Abbey

Cornwall, England

Six Months Ago

Elyria stood tall on the wind-battered ramparts of St. Piran’s Abbey, her form stark against the storm that raged around the ancient fortress, her gaze locked on the horizon where the ocean met the sky. The wind whipped around her, tugging at the folds of her robe, but she remained unmoved, as if she were one with the elements, a part of the storm itself.

The abbey’s stone walls, worn by centuries of wind and rain, rose up around her, dark and resolute against the violent storm. Beneath her feet, the rock seemed to tremble as the sea crashed against the jagged cliffs far below. The sight of the crumbling human architecture was so different from the ethereal beauty of her kind, a reminder of how fragile this mortal world truly was.

Lifting her staff toward the roiling maelstrom above, her expression was calm, focused. Her pale eyes were locked on the dark heavens, where the storm raged. Below her, the sea churned violently, waves rising and crashing against the cliffs in thunderous roars, the wind whipping her hair around her face, though she stood unmoving.

With a commanding gesture, Elyria activated the power within her staff. The crystal at its head flared to life, emitting a brilliant pulse of light. Slowly, the storm clouds began to twist and spiral above her, bending to her will. A vortex formed in the heart of the storm, swirling with raw energy and pulling the surrounding chaos into its center. The clouds parted, revealing a gaping void of starless blackness beyond, a gateway to something far more dangerous.

Tendrils of magic began to snake down from the vortex, crackling with power as they descended toward the earth. Elyria could feel the storm bending to her control, could sense the vast forces she was summoning from beyond the human realm. The wind howled furiously, but within the eye of the storm she had created, there was only an eerie calm. The stillness was unsettling, a silence that hinted at the immense power she now commanded.

A cold wind swept across the ramparts, and behind her, Mercy Bowen reached out to her, but the moment Mercy’s fingers grazed the fabric of Elyria’s robe, the robe fell away.

Elyria was gone.

There, amidst the swirling storm clouds, a disturbance formed—a vortex, spinning slowly at first but then gaining speed. The dark clouds churned violently, and from the center of the vortex, a single silver slip of light appeared, shimmering with an otherworldly glow. It hung there for a brief moment, like a shooting star caught in the atmosphere, before it shot upward, disappearing into the depths of the vortex before it closed.

F ae Outpost Outside

New Orleans, Louisiana

Present Day

The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie silver light over the dense, mist-laden forest as Elyria led her team through the shadows. Beyond the edge of the bayou, where the marshes faded into shadowed mists, the fae High Council had a hidden outpost nestled on hidden, jagged cliffs rising from the murky waters, their sharp peaks cutting into the sky like forgotten sentinels.

Beneath them, the sounds of New Orleans faded away, replaced by the crashing waters and the eerie hum of ancient forces. Few knew of this place; fewer still could even see it. For those that could, the earth seemed to crack open where the bones of the past met the secrets of the deep, swirling water.

Lirael and Finnian moved in sync beside her, their steps as silent as her own. Lirael’s dark hair was pulled tight against her scalp, her bow slung across her back, and her eyes narrowed with focus. Finnian, on the other hand, had a faint grin playing on his lips, his dual blades glinting in the moonlight. The three of them had been through so much together, bonded by blood, war, and survival. They knew each other’s movements before they even happened, trusted each other with their lives.

"Stay close," Elyria whispered, her voice barely more than a breath on the wind. Lirael gave a sharp nod, and Finnian flashed her a reassuring smile, but there was tension behind his usual bravado. They all knew what was at stake tonight.

The outpost wasn’t heavily fortified—not the way some of the larger High Council strongholds were—but it was still dangerous. The Council had grown bolder, more ruthless in recent months. Reports of fae disappearing without a trace were becoming more frequent. That was why they were here—to gather intelligence and find answers.

Elyria crouched beside the outer wall, her fingers tracing the faint glow of the ward etched into the stone. It pulsed gently under her touch, a reminder of how close they were to danger. "I’ll take down the wards. Be ready to move once they’re down," she said, glancing back at Finnian and Lirael.

As Elyria murmured the incantation under her breath, her magic responded eagerly, despite the pain that still lingered from her severed connection to Celestia. She channeled the energy carefully, siphoning off the magic woven into the barrier. With a soft hum, the wards flickered and died.

"Now," she said, rising to her feet.

The three of them slipped inside, moving like shadows through the outpost’s courtyard. It was quiet—too quiet. Elyria signaled for Lirael to scout ahead while Finnian kept watch by the gate. She moved swiftly through the narrow corridors of the outpost, her instincts on high alert.

Something wasn’t right. The unease that had settled in her bones earlier had now become a full-blown alarm.

Lirael returned a moment later, her face pale, her bow at the ready. "There’s no one here, Elyria. The place is abandoned."

Elyria’s eyes narrowed. "That doesn’t make sense. The scouts said this place was fully operational just days ago."

"I checked every room," Lirael continued, her voice low but laced with urgency. "There’s… something else. You need to see this."

She led Elyria and Finnian to a chamber at the far end of the outpost. Inside, a table was covered with maps, scattered documents, and a strange, foreboding symbol scrawled in dark ink. But it wasn’t the maps or the papers that caught Elyria’s attention. It was the cages. Three large iron cages, tucked in the corner of the room, each one covered in dark stains.

Blood.

Elyria’s stomach twisted. "What the hell happened here?"

Finnian knelt beside one of the cages, his fingers brushing the metal bars. "These weren’t just for holding someone… whoever was in here was tortured."

Lirael pointed to the symbol etched on the table. "I’ve never seen this mark before. It’s not High Council. It’s not even fae magic."

Elyria’s pulse quickened, a sense of dread washing over her. "This isn’t just about the High Council anymore." The disappearances. The empty outpost. And now this. Something far darker was at play.

They had to leave. Now.

"We’re pulling out," Elyria ordered, her voice hardening. "This isn’t what we expected, and I don’t want to find out who or what did this."

The retreat was quick but tense, every shadow seeming to pulse with unseen danger as they made their way back to their hidden base in the Whispering Woods. By the time they reached the outskirts of New Orleans, the sky was beginning to lighten, the faint glow of dawn touching the horizon.

The base, nestled on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, was a stark contrast to the eerie silence of the outpost. The Whispering Woods buzzed with life, the thick trees offering them both protection and secrecy. But Elyria’s mind was far from at ease.

Back in the central hall of their makeshift fortress, Elyria stood alone, staring at the flickering flames of the hearth. She still wondered how she had come to be the rebels’ leader—she who had dismissed their concerns and hunted them relentlessly. Her people now trusted her to keep them safe and to lead them against the High Council’s tyranny. But now she wasn’t sure if that was enough. The threat they faced was something she didn’t fully understand, and that frightened her.

"Elyria?"

She turned at the sound of Tavish’s voice, the sight of him bringing her a small measure of comfort. The master weapon maker was at his workbench, hammering out a new blade, the rhythmic clang of metal-on-metal steady and grounding. He was one of the few people she confided in, one of the few who had seen her at her worst and hadn’t judged her for it.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," he said, his eyes lifting from his work.

"Not a ghost," she muttered, pacing toward him. "Something worse."

Tavish set down the blade he’d been working on, his dark eyes narrowing in concern. "What happened?"

Elyria let out a long breath, rubbing the back of her neck as she explained what they’d found at the outpost—the cages, the symbol, the blood. By the time she finished, Tavish’s expression had darkened.

"This isn’t just about the High Council anymore," Elyria said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever this is, it’s bigger. More dangerous. And it’s coming for us."

Tavish nodded grimly. "I’ll start crafting something stronger. We’ll need better weapons if we’re going to face whatever this is head-on."

As Tavish turned back to his work, Elyria felt the pull of the danger of whatever lay ahead. This new threat would force her to confront the demons of her past and to face the very people who had banished her. This time, there would be no turning back.