“Alaric,” the voice that spilled from Morgan’s throat was not hers. It was colder, sharper — dripping with confidence and menace. “You never understood the truth, did you?”

Alaric’s breath hitched, but he squeezed her gently, unwilling to let go. “Morgan, fight it. Please. You’re stronger than this.”

A low laugh, dark and amused, rolled from her lips. “I am Morrigan now. The shadow beneath your light, the power you’ve feared. The sword you seek... it is not merely a weapon. It is a key — a key to everything.”

Her gaze swept over the still, misty lake behind them, the thick fog swirling like a living thing. “This place... it feeds on fear, on death. And I will wield that power to reshape what is broken.”

Thomas stepped back, unease crawling over his skin. “What does that mean? What are you?”

Morrigan’s eyes glittered cruelly. “I am the storm within Morgan, the darkness she feared but could not escape. And soon, the world will know what that means.”

Alaric’s hands trembled, but his voice was steady. “I know there’s still a part of you in there. Fight this. Come back.”

For a moment, the wild glint flickered, as if doubt threatened the darkness. But then Morrigan’s smile widened. “No. This is only the beginning.”

Before tensions could rise again, Alaric stepped forward, raising a hand. “Stop! No more fighting — not here, not now. If her body is damaged, we will lose her forever.”

The group fell silent, each breathing heavily, watching the strange figure before them.

Suddenly, Morrigan’s expression shifted — a flicker of pain, and then weakness. The glowing eyes dimmed, her posture slumped, and her voice lost some of its menace.

“It seems... I am not yet whole,” she admitted, voice wavering. “Morgan’s last defense... a shadow of resistance I cannot overcome.”

Alaric’s hope surged. “Then there’s still a chance.”

Morrigan nodded slowly. “I have lied before. The ‘eighteen’... the takeover isn’t fixed to a date. It’s a gradual battle for control, one she has been fighting all along.”

Thomas frowned, eyes narrowing. “So the warning was false? Why keep us in the dark?”

“Because,” Morrigan hissed, “if you had known the truth, you would have tried to stop it. And I cannot allow that.”

The air thickened with tension, but Morrigan’s tone softened slightly. “There is more pressing matter. The riddle carved into the stone you found here—it holds the secret to locating the Sword of Kings. Without it, none of us will survive what is coming.”

With no other choice, the group gathered around the stone once more. Morrigan recited the riddle, explaining its cryptic clues with eerie precision:

“Where waters rest in silent shroud,
The King’s true blade is not allowed.
Beneath the mirror’s lifeless face,
The throne awaits in shadowed place.”

She continued, “The sword is hidden beneath the lake — but not this one. You must find the ‘mirror’s lifeless face.’ A place forgotten by time, shrouded in shadows deeper than this mist.”

Morgan — or Morrigan — gestured toward the map, indicating a distant lake hidden beyond a mountain range.

The night deepened as the group settled around their campfire, the flickering flames casting long shadows on their weary faces. The loss of Morgan’s true self weighed heavily on all of them.

Thomas broke the silence, voice rough with emotion. “We’ve lost her… but not really. Something else is here now — something darker.”

Alaric stared into the flames, fists clenched. “I won’t give up on her. Not ever.”

Morrigan’s wicked smile returned, unsettling yet oddly sincere. “For all my darkness, I am your only hope now. I will help you find the sword. But be warned — this path will demand everything from us all.”

The fire crackled, the night air thick with uncertainty, yet bound by a fragile thread of uneasy alliance.

Together, they sat — no longer just travelers, but reluctant partners against a shadow rising from within.