The world was darkness. Not the kind of darkness that came with nightfall, soft and quiet, but a deeper, suffocating blackness that crawled under the skin. It wasn't just the absence of light; it was the absence of everything.
Elyra struggled to open her eyes, but the weight of the fog pressed down on her, keeping her in place. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each inhale like swallowing shards of glass. She couldn't see, couldn't feel anything except the cold tendrils of the fog wrapping tighter around her, pulling at her mind.
"Kael?" Her voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the oppressive void. "Kael?"
The fog responded, its tendrils tightening, a chorus of whispers brushing against her skin like phantom hands. The air was thick with the taste of iron, of something wrong.
"Hold on," came a voice, low and steady. Not Kael's, but something else—something familiar, yet distant.
The fog shifted, swirling around her in a dizzying whirl. She felt like she was falling, spiraling downward into an abyss, her body weightless, as if the very air was pulling her apart.
Then, out of the void, a figure emerged—a shadow within shadows, a shape she almost recognized, but twisted and broken. The face was hers, but not hers. The eyes glowed with that same eerie blue fire she'd seen in the wraith, hollow yet full of malice.
Elyra screamed, but the sound was muffled, swallowed by the fog.
The figure raised a hand, and Elyra's chest constricted, as if a vice was closing around her heart.
"I told you," the figure said, its voice not her own. "You're already lost. You just don't know it yet."
"No," Elyra gasped, trying to move, to fight it, but her limbs wouldn't obey. "No, I'm not—"
"You already belong to the Pale Flame," it interrupted. "It's in you. It always has been."
The words cut through her like a knife. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't even scream. The figure's hand reached for her, its fingers icy cold, and as they made contact with her skin, the darkness in her mind exploded.
Flashes of fire. A blood-soaked blade. A scream. Her scream. A child—her child—writhing in agony, its eyes wide with terror.
The vision was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but the damage had been done.
Elyra's body trembled, her heart racing with fear and confusion. She couldn't make sense of what she'd seen, what it meant. But the whispers were still there, pressing against her, twisting in her mind like a song she couldn't escape.
"Stop," she gasped, trying to fight it off, to break free from the grip of the Pale Flame. But her voice was drowned out by the chorus of whispers, the cries of a thousand lost souls.
The darkness closed in, suffocating her.
And then, as if a switch had been flipped, the pressure lifted. The fog receded, and Elyra's vision snapped back into focus. She gasped, sucking in air like a drowning person. The ground was solid beneath her now, the chaos of the fog replaced by the cold, harsh reality of the ruins.
But something was different. The air was heavier, thicker. Her mind was clouded with a sense of… wrongness. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall.
Kael was kneeling in front of her, his face hard, his eyes searching hers. "Elyra?"
She looked at him, feeling the weight of his gaze like never before. But it wasn't the same.
Something had changed.
"Are you… are you okay?" His voice was rough, like he'd been shouting, but there was an undercurrent of something else in it—something that made Elyra's chest tighten. Something almost... desperate.
But she couldn't focus on that. Not now.
The fog was gone, but the feeling remained. The darkness wasn't just out there, somewhere. It was inside her.
"I—I'm fine," Elyra lied, pushing herself up, ignoring the way her legs felt unsteady beneath her. "Let's just get this over with."
Kael didn't move, his gaze still locked on her. He didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press her further. Instead, he turned his attention to the pedestal again, his expression grim.
"We don't have much time," he said, his voice flat, as if he was talking to himself. "If we don't destroy it now, we'll all be consumed."
Elyra nodded, even though she wasn't sure if she could trust her own mind at the moment.
"We need to finish this," she said, though she barely recognized her own voice. It was too soft, too far away.
"Then let's do it," Kael said, and for the first time, Elyra saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But it was gone in a flash, replaced by that cold, calculating resolve she had come to know too well.
Vespera stepped forward, her face hard, her eyes sharp as ever. "We destroy the flame," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "Before it destroys us."
Kael nodded, and the three of them approached the pedestal once more, the air around them thick with the promise of violence. The silence was broken only by the sound of their footsteps, the quiet rasp of Kael's breath, and the soft rustle of Vespera's cloak.
They were close. So close to ending this. But Elyra couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.
And as they neared the pedestal, the whispers started again, louder this time, almost aching in their intensity. Elyra's chest tightened, and the weight of the Pale Flame pressed down on her once more.
But this time, she didn't stop. This time, she moved forward.
They had to end it.
One way or another.