Amara’s heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, each step echoing like thunder in her ears.

How did they find me?
Is that boy his son?
Is he married to  hıs lover?

The questions tore through her mind like shards of glass, fueling her panic.

She reached her room and pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind her. Her hands trembled as she moved quickly, pulling back a loose panel beneath her bed. Hidden within was her cache — a gleaming sword and a ring engraved with a sigil she had sworn never to wear again. The ring that marked her true identity.

She slipped it onto her finger. The cold metal bit into her skin — a reminder of everything she’d lost.

As she grasped the hilt of her sword, a familiar voice echoed through the room.

“Amara!”

Her breath caught. That voice — she knew it better than her own.

“Ethan…” she whispered, turning slowly. Her oldest friend. Her comrade on the battlefield.

He’s here too.

“I don’t have time, Ethan,” she said urgently. “Please, just let me go.”

But Ethan’s eyes were full of conflict — sorrow and duty intertwining like a cruel fate.
“I can’t,” he said quietly. “I have orders… Amara, I can’t let you leave.”

Her grip tightened on her sword. “I understand, Ethan. But I won’t let myself be captured again.”

Ethan nodded, sadness flickering across his face. “I’m sorry, Amara… but you should listen to him.”

“I’m sorry too, my friend,” she said — and before the words even faded, she struck.

The room filled with the clash of steel as they engaged in a fierce duel. Their movements were swift and precise, a testament to their years of training together.

As the clash of swords echoed through the room, Amara's relentless assault forced Ethan onto the defensive. Her strikes were precise and filled with a determination born from her desperate desire to escape. With a swift maneuver, she disarmed Ethan, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground.

"Amara , as your friend, I implore you to stop running," he pleaded, his voice laced with concern. But Amara's anger surged within her, and she couldn't fathom the idea of relenting.

Laughter escaped Amara's lips, but it held a bitter edge. "Ethan, did you really think you would win? Look at yourself," she retorted, her voice laced with defiance. Though her heart ached, she knew she had to keep pushing forward.* I need to be hurry *

Ethan's expression wavered between frustration and understanding. "I wasn't trying to win," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse. "I was only bait."

Before Amara could fully comprehend his words, a strong grip seized her shoulder from behind. Fear coursed through her veins as she recognized the presence of the man who had pursued her relentlessly. "I've caught you," he declared triumphantly.

As Amara felt herself being rendered immobile, a shiver ran down her spine. The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning—her captor was indeed employing a powerful form of magic. Panic welled up within her as she struggled against the invisible force that held her in place.

"You can't win, you know that," he whispered into her ear, his voice dripping with a mix of arrogance and malevolence.

Determined not to succumb, Amara summoned every ounce of strength left within her. " I Will" she managed to utter, her voice barely audible.

Yet, despite her fierce determination, the magic gradually took its toll. The world around her began to blur, and her eyelids grew heavy as darkness encroached on her vision. She slipped into unconsciousness.