Chapter 45: Shadows of the Past

The castle grounds were eerily silent as Lysandra and Zephyrion descended from the tower. The air felt heavy with anticipation, as if the very walls were bracing for the coming storm. Lysandra's hand brushed against the cold stone as they walked, her thoughts drifting to the memories that still haunted her.

Elara's name echoed in her mind, a reminder of the darkness that had once consumed the land. The sorceress had always been a formidable opponent, driven by an insatiable lust for power. She had vanished after their last encounter, but Lysandra knew better than to believe she was truly gone.

Zephyrion's presence beside her was a comforting warmth, and as they reached the castle's courtyard, he took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "We need to prepare the guards," he said. "Elara won't strike without making her presence known first. We'll have time to anticipate her moves."

Lysandra nodded, but doubt lingered at the edges of her mind. "Do you really think she'll come for us so openly?" she asked. "What if she has another plan in place—something we haven't foreseen?"

Zephyrion's expression hardened. "Then we'll adapt. But I refuse to let her catch us off guard again."

The courtyard was abuzz with activity as the guards trained under the moonlit sky. Weapons clashed, and voices shouted commands, creating a chaotic symphony of steel and sweat. Lysandra watched, her gaze shifting from the soldiers to the shadows that seemed to dance around the perimeter.

A sudden sense of unease washed over her. It was as though the darkness itself was watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. She turned to Zephyrion, her grip tightening on his arm. "Something doesn't feel right," she whispered.

He followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the edges of the courtyard. "You're right," he murmured. "Stay close to me, Lysandra."

Before she could respond, a chilling laugh echoed through the air, sending shivers down her spine. The guards paused, their movements faltering as a figure stepped out of the shadows. The woman's long dark hair flowed like a river of ink, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"Elara," Lysandra breathed, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Did you miss me?" the sorceress taunted, her voice laced with venom. "I told you I'd return, didn't I?" Her gaze flickered to Zephyrion, a cruel smile curling her lips. "And it seems you've found yourself a little companion. How sweet."

Zephyrion's eyes blazed with fury as he drew his sword. "Leave now, Elara," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I'll make you regret coming here."

Elara's laughter echoed once more, and with a flick of her wrist, a dark mist began to swirl around her, growing thicker with each passing second. "You haven't seen anything yet," she hissed, her eyes locking onto Lysandra's. "This is just the beginning."

As the mist closed in around them, Lysandra felt a cold dread creep into her bones. She clutched Zephyrion's arm, her voice barely a whisper. "We need to fight," she said, determination flooding her veins despite the fear coursing through her.

Zephyrion nodded, his grip tightening on his sword as the mist engulfed them, casting everything in an inky blackness. "Stay with me, Lysandra," he murmured. "We'll get through this together."

To be continued…