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"He's coming for us," Elora whispered, her voice cracking. "I can feel him in the air."
Beside her, Silas, the loyal squire, gripped his sword. He wasn't a hero of legend, just a man who believed in a promise. "Then we move faster," he countered, though the sweat on his brow told a different story.
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.
The road to the was still long, and the Crones were still watching, but for the first time, the girl who was a kitchen maid felt like a queen.
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