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The silence returned, but this time it was peaceful. Elora sank to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Willow walked over and placed a small, weathered hand on her shoulder. "You did it," he said softly. "I just wanted him to go away," she replied.

"He's coming for us," Elora whispered, her voice cracking. "I can feel him in the air." The silence returned, but this time it was peaceful

"Magic isn't a sword, Elora," Willow said, his eyes scanning the treeline. "You don't just swing it. You have to want the world to change. You have to command the air to be fire, the earth to be a shield." "You did it," he said softly

Elora closed her eyes. She didn't think of queens or prophecies. She thought of the kitchens—the warmth of the hearth, the smell of fresh bread, the feeling of safety she used to take for granted. She reached for that warmth and pushed it outward. "I can feel him in the air

Elora Danan, the girl who had spent her life as "Dove," the kitchen maid, looked at her hands. They were trembling. Only hours ago, she had been captured by the , agents of a darkness she barely understood. She had escaped, but the woods felt like a cage. Every snap of a twig sounded like the clicking teeth of the Lich , the terrifying sorcerer-assassin hunting her through the brush.

A blinding white light erupted from her palms. It wasn't a bolt of fire, but a wave of pure, stubborn life. Where it touched the Lich’s shadow, the darkness dissolved like ink in water. The Lich let out a hollow, metallic shriek before vanishing back into the depths of the forest.

Suddenly, the forest went silent. The birds stopped mid-chirp. From the darkness, a figure emerged—tall, skeletal, and draped in tattered black silks. The Lich. He didn't speak; he didn't need to. The ground beneath Elora’s feet began to wither, the grass turning to ash in a perfect circle around the dark sorcerer.