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.
Elora Danan, the girl who had spent her life as "Dove," the kitchen maid, looked at her hands. They were trembling. Only hours ago, she had been captured by the , agents of a darkness she barely understood. She had escaped, but the woods felt like a cage. Every snap of a twig sounded like the clicking teeth of the Lich , the terrifying sorcerer-assassin hunting her through the brush.
Willow stepped forward, planting his feet. He began an incantation in a tongue that sounded like grinding stones. A barrier of shimmering light flickered into existence, catching a bolt of necrotic energy launched by the Lich. The air hissed. The smell of ozone filled the clearing. Elora closed her eyes
"Elora! Now!" Willow shouted, his face contorting with the effort of holding back the darkness. "The spark is in you! Use it!"
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. She reached for that warmth and pushed it outward
"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.
Willow smiled, a rare spark of hope in his eyes. "That is exactly how it starts." Only hours ago, she had been captured by
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.