"He's coming for us," Elora whispered, her voice cracking. "I can feel him in the air."
Elora closed her eyes. She didn't think of queens or prophecies. She thought of the kitchens—the warmth of the hearth, the smell of fresh bread, the feeling of safety she used to take for granted. She reached for that warmth and pushed it outward.
The silence returned, but this time it was peaceful. Elora sank to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Willow walked over and placed a small, weathered hand on her shoulder. "You did it," he said softly. "I just wanted him to go away," she replied. "He's coming for us," Elora whispered, her voice cracking
"Protect the girl!" Silas roared, charging forward. But with a casual flick of a withered hand, the Lich sent Silas flying into a cedar tree, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.
"Magic isn't a sword, Elora," Willow said, his eyes scanning the treeline. "You don't just swing it. You have to want the world to change. You have to command the air to be fire, the earth to be a shield." She thought of the kitchens—the warmth of the
They weren't alone for long. Out of the shadows stepped Willow Ufgood. He looked older than the legends said—tired, his robes frayed at the edges. In his hand, he gripped a carved wooden wand, its tip pulsing with a faint, uncertain amber glow.
A blinding white light erupted from her palms. It wasn't a bolt of fire, but a wave of pure, stubborn life. Where it touched the Lich’s shadow, the darkness dissolved like ink in water. The Lich let out a hollow, metallic shriek before vanishing back into the depths of the forest. Elora sank to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps
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.