Elara’s steps echoed softly in the vast chamber as she wandered deeper into the heart of Raventhorn. The intricate carvings on the walls seemed to shimmer faintly, alive with latent energy. The sensation was overwhelming, but not unpleasant. Her magic pulsed in rhythm with the room, as if greeting an old friend.

Kael walked silently beside her, his tall figure imposing but not unwelcome. He had revealed much, but not enough to quell the questions swirling in her mind.

She stopped before a carving depicting a battle—shadowy figures clashing against warriors bathed in light. “What is this?” she asked, her fingers grazing the ancient stone.

Kael’s silver eyes lingered on the image. “A memory of the North. Long before Raventhorn was built, the ley lines were a source of endless conflict. Some sought to protect their power, others to exploit it. This castle stands as a guardian of balance, a ward against the chaos that nearly destroyed us.”

“And now?” Elara pressed. “What threatens the balance now?”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “There are forces that wish to break the lines, to sever them from their natural flow. If they succeed, the North will fall into ruin, and the magic we both wield will turn against us.”

Elara frowned, her gaze shifting back to the carvings. “And you believe I can stop them?”

“I know you can,” he replied, his voice steady. “But only if you learn to wield your power fully. The ley lines respond to you in ways I’ve never seen before. If you harness that connection…”

Elara turned to him, her expression firm. “If I agree to help you, I need the truth—about everything. No more half-answers or veiled warnings.”

Kael studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Very well. But be careful what you wish for, Elara. The truth is rarely kind.”

Later that night, Elara found herself back in her chamber, the weight of Kael’s revelations pressing heavily on her mind. She sat by the fire, its flickering light dancing across her face as she turned a small crystal over in her hands.

Kael had given it to her in the ley line chamber, explaining it was a conduit—a tool to help her channel her magic more precisely. She held it up to the light, watching as it refracted a kaleidoscope of colours.

“What are you hiding?” she murmured to the crystal as if it could answer.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Lyria entered, her expression hesitant.

“My lady, someone is asking to see you,” she said, her voice low. “He says it’s urgent.”

Elara frowned. “Who is it?”

“A man from the village, I believe,” Lyria replied. “He didn’t give his name, but he looked… desperate.”

Against her better judgment, Elara stood, slipping on a warm cloak before following Lyria to the main hall. There, by the grand entrance, stood a hunched figure cloaked in rough wool, his hands clasped tightly as he paced.

When Elara approached, the man stopped and bowed deeply. “Lady Elara,” he rasped, his voice rough from the cold. “Forgive my intrusion, but I had no choice.”

Elara studied him carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my daughter,” the man said, his voice breaking. “She’s sick… but it’s no ordinary illness. It’s the curse.”

A chill ran down Elara’s spine. “The curse?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding fervently. “The same one that’s been spreading through the northern villages. The healers can’t help her, but I heard… I heard you have magic.”

Elara hesitated. She had little control over her abilities, and the thought of using them on a living person filled her with dread. But the desperation in the man’s eyes struck a chord deep within her.

“I’ll try,” she said finally. “Take me to her.”

The village lay shrouded in darkness, its narrow streets lined with snow-dusted houses that seemed to huddle together for warmth. Kael had insisted on accompanying her, his expression unreadable as he guided her through the icy night.

They arrived at a modest home, its windows glowing faintly with firelight. Inside, the air was thick with the acrid scent of herbs. A young girl lay motionless on a straw bed, her skin pale and damp with sweat. Her breaths were shallow, and her small hands twitched involuntarily.

Elara knelt beside the bed, her heart aching at the sight. She placed a hand gently on the girl’s forehead, feeling the heat of her fever. But beneath that, she felt something else—a dark, coiling energy that pulsed faintly, like a living shadow.

“She’s been like this for days,” the father said, his voice trembling. “Please… help her.”

Elara closed her eyes, reaching deep within herself for the magic that had always eluded her control. The crystal Kael had given her grew warm in her palm, its light pulsing faintly. She focused on the dark energy, willing it to retreat, to release its grip on the girl.

The magic surged through her, wild and powerful as if responding to her determination. She felt the shadowy energy resist, twisting and writhing like a serpent. Sweat beaded on her brow as she fought to contain it, to banish it without harming the girl.

Suddenly, the darkness broke, dissipating like smoke in the wind. The girl’s breathing steadied, her cheeks regaining a faint flush of colour.

Elara exhaled shakily, her hands trembling as she pulled away. The father dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, my lady.”

Kael, who had watched silently from the corner, stepped forward, his gaze lingering on Elara. “You’ve done well,” he said quietly. “But this is only the beginning.”

As they left the village, Elara’s thoughts churned. The darkness she had felt wasn’t natural—it was magic, corrupted and malicious. Whatever force threatened the North, it was growing stronger.

And Elara knew she would have to face it, no matter the cost.