The figure emerged from the darkness, its features illuminated by the faint moonlight. Ryan's heart skipped a beat as he took in the stranger's appearance.
The stranger was a woman, tall and lithe, with piercing green eyes and jet-black hair that fell to her shoulders. She was dressed in a flowing black cloak, and a sword hung at her side.
Eryndor's eyes narrowed, his hand on the hilt of his own sword. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The woman smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. "My name is Lyra," she said. "And I've been sent to escort you to Eldrador, Prince Arin."
Ryan's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know who I am?" he asked.
Lyra's smile grew wider. "I have my ways," she said. "But we don't have time to stand around talking. We need to get moving. Now."
Eryndor's eyes flicked to Ryan, then back to Lyra. "What's the hurry?" he asked.
Lyra's expression turned serious. "We're not the only ones looking for Prince Arin," she said. "There are those who would stop at nothing to prevent him from reclaiming his throne."
Ryan's grip on his sword tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that he had to be prepared for anything, that the fate of Eldrador rested on his shoulders.
"Let's move," he said, his voice firm.
Lyra nodded, a hint of approval in her eyes. "Follow me," she said.
And with that, the three of them set off into the night, bound for the kingdom of Eldrador.