Chapter 20: The Edge of Vengeance

The night was eerily silent as Lysandra stood alone in the courtyard of their hidden manor, the cool breeze playing with the hem of her gown. The weight of the past hours hung heavily on her shoulders. The revelation about Elara's connection to Zephyrion had taken her by surprise, and yet, it explained so much of Elara's relentless pursuit of them. It wasn't just about power—it was personal.

Lysandra's thoughts raced as she tried to piece together the puzzle that was Elara. What had turned her from a noblewoman with a thirst for ambition into a ruthless leader who would stop at nothing to control and destroy? The answer eluded her, but she knew one thing for certain—Elara's obsession with power would be her downfall.

"Lysandra."

She turned at the sound of Zephyrion's voice. He stood at the entrance of the courtyard, his expression unreadable. The moonlight cast a soft glow on his features, highlighting the tension that had been growing between them since his confession.

"We need to talk," Zephyrion said quietly as he approached her.

Lysandra folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What else haven't you told me?"

Zephyrion sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Nothing, I swear. But there's something I need to ask you."

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"What are we willing to do to stop her?" Zephyrion asked, his voice filled with the weight of the question. "Because Elara won't stop. She'll come after us with everything she has. And if we don't strike first—if we don't take the initiative—she'll tear us apart."

Lysandra's jaw tightened. She knew Zephyrion was right. Elara had proven time and time again that she would stop at nothing to achieve her goals. But the thought of becoming just as ruthless, just as cruel, was something that gnawed at Lysandra's conscience.

"I don't want to become like her," Lysandra admitted, her voice soft but firm. "But I also know we can't afford to hold back. Not anymore."

Zephyrion nodded slowly. "I'm with you, Lysandra. Whatever it takes, we'll end this. But we have to be prepared for what that means."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken fears and uncertainties. Lysandra knew that they were at a turning point—a moment where they would either rise to the challenge and defeat Elara, or be consumed by the darkness she had unleashed.

"We'll do what we have to," Lysandra said finally, her voice steady with determination. "But we'll do it on our terms. We won't become the monsters we're fighting."

Zephyrion's eyes softened as he looked at her, a flicker of admiration crossing his face. "That's why I follow you, Lysandra. You never lose sight of who you are."

Before Lysandra could respond, a voice called out from the entrance to the manor. It was Lord Ashford, his expression urgent. "We've found something. One of the prisoners is willing to talk."

Lysandra and Zephyrion exchanged a glance before hurrying inside, following Ashford down the winding corridors of the manor until they reached a dimly lit room where the captured Raven was being held.

The man was shackled to a chair, his face bruised and swollen from the earlier interrogation. But there was a glint of defiance in his eyes, a spark that told Lysandra he hadn't been broken yet.

"You have something to tell us?" Lysandra asked, her voice cold and commanding as she stood before him.

The man smirked, his lips curling into a sneer. "Maybe. Depends on what you're offering."

Zephyrion stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You're in no position to make demands. Talk, or we'll make you wish you had."

The prisoner chuckled darkly. "You think you can scare me? You're wasting your time. But if you want to know where Elara is hiding, you're going to have to play nice."

Lysandra's patience was wearing thin, but she knew they needed this information. Without it, they would be wandering blind, giving Elara more time to regroup and strike. She leaned forward, her voice low and dangerous. "Tell us what we want to know, and I'll make sure you're not handed over to the authorities. You'll live, for now."

The man's eyes flickered with something—perhaps fear, perhaps calculation. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "There's a safe house. In the mountains, west of here. She's hiding there, regrouping, waiting for her moment to strike."

Lysandra's heart raced at the mention of the mountains. It was a remote and dangerous area, perfect for someone like Elara to hide and plot in secret. But it was also their chance—if they moved quickly, they could catch her off guard, end this before she had time to fully recover.

"How many men does she have with her?" Zephyrion asked, his voice sharp.

"Not many," the prisoner admitted. "She's keeping a low profile. But don't underestimate her. She's got plans, and when she's ready to strike, it'll be bigger than anything you've seen."

Lysandra straightened, her mind already formulating a plan. "We leave at dawn."

Zephyrion nodded, and Lord Ashford stepped forward to relay the orders to their allies. But as Lysandra turned to leave, the prisoner's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You think you've won just because you know where she is?" he sneered. "You don't know what's coming."

Lysandra didn't respond. She didn't need to. They had what they needed, and the time for talk was over. Now, it was time for action.

As she left the room, her heart was pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. The final confrontation with Elara was drawing closer, and Lysandra knew that this time, there would be no room for mistakes.

The fate of everything she had fought for hung in the balance.

To be continued.