The night outside Velra's hideout deepened, cloaking the forest in silence. Moonlight spilled through the cracks of the old caves ceiling, painting her pale skin in silver. The air trembled faintly—an omen of movement, of armies closing in.
Yet Velra stood still, serene amid the encroaching storm.
Her crimson eyes wandered toward the broken remains of the orb on the floor. The faint hum of its fading magic was the only sound left in the chamber.
"So… they're finally coming."
Her voice, calm and melodic, echoed through the stone walls. The shadows around her stirred as if responding to their queen's call.
A thousand years ago, she would have been surrounded by legions of her kind—warriors of the night clad in obsidian armor, waiting for her command. Now, she stood alone. Yet the way she carried herself—effortless, graceful, regal—made the emptiness around her feel like reverence rather than solitude.
