Chapter 82: Shadows in the Night

The sun had set hours ago, and the forest was alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures stirring in the darkness. A heavy fog settled in, and Lysandra found herself unable to sleep. Elara's words echoed in her mind, each syllable like a dark tendril seeking to pull her back into doubt.

She left her tent and wandered through the camp, her steps quiet on the forest floor. She was aware of every sound, every movement, her senses heightened. As she approached the edge of the clearing, she spotted Zephyrion, standing watch near the perimeter. He glanced over at her, his eyes softening when they met hers.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Lysandra shook her head. "No. Too much on my mind."

Zephyrion motioned for her to join him. She stepped closer, and he extended his cloak around her shoulders to ward off the chill. The gesture was comforting, and for a moment, Lysandra allowed herself to relax against him, drawing strength from his presence.

"Elara's trying to get inside your head," he said softly, his breath warm against her ear. "Don't let her. She's just playing her games."

Lysandra looked up at him, searching his gaze for reassurance. "What if she's right? What if I can't control it?"

"You're stronger than you think," he replied, his voice steady. "And you're not alone in this. I'm here, Lysandra, and I won't let the darkness take you."

His words were like a balm to her troubled soul, but even as she listened, the lingering doubts refused to completely fade away. She reached up to touch the amulet around her neck, a small symbol of light that seemed to glow faintly in the dark.

"Maybe," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But sometimes, I wonder if I'm fighting a losing battle."

Zephyrion's grip tightened around her shoulders, his eyes darkening with intensity. "You're not losing," he said firmly. "Not as long as you keep fighting."

As he spoke, a distant sound broke through the quiet—faint footsteps approaching from the woods. Zephyrion stiffened, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. Lysandra's pulse quickened, and she gripped her dagger, ready for whatever might come.

The figure that emerged from the trees was not Elara, but a young boy, no more than fourteen, with wide, frightened eyes. His clothes were torn and dirty, and he stumbled forward as if he had been running for miles.

"Please… help me," he gasped, collapsing at the edge of the clearing.

Lysandra was at his side in an instant, her concern overriding her wariness. "What happened? Are you hurt?" she asked, helping him to sit up.

The boy shook his head, his breathing ragged. "The shadows… they're coming," he stammered, his eyes darting around as if expecting an attack at any moment.

Zephyrion crouched beside them, his expression grave. "What do you mean? What shadows?"

"They took my family," the boy whispered, tears glistening in his eyes. "They came out of nowhere and… and they just swallowed them up. I ran, but they're following me. Please… don't let them get me too."

Lysandra felt a chill creep up her spine. The boy's terror was palpable, and it stirred a deep unease within her. She exchanged a glance with Zephyrion, who was already scanning the surrounding forest, his jaw set with determination.

"Stay close," Zephyrion ordered, his voice calm but commanding. "We'll protect you."

As the boy huddled close to Lysandra, a faint whispering seemed to rise from the forest, carried on the wind. It was almost inaudible, like a distant echo, but it made Lysandra's skin crawl. She gripped her dagger tighter, her heart beating faster.

The darkness was closing in, and she could feel its malevolent presence growing stronger.

To be continued…