On the other side of the castle, a squad of elite mages and swordsmen raced through the winding corridors, their boots pounding against ancient stone. The oppressive aura growing stronger with every step pressed against them like an invisible weight—the unmistakable signature of something ancient and malevolent.
Lyra Ashford stumbled, her small frame struggling to keep pace with the longer strides of the knights surrounding her. Her oversized robe, embroidered with the insignia of the Royal Mage Corps, flapped behind her like wings too large for her body. Sweat plastered her braided red hair to her forehead, and her staff—a beautiful thing of polished white wood topped with a crystal that pulsed with soft light—threatened to tangle between her feet.
"Wait... wait!" She gasped, doubling over as they reached a junction. "I need a moment! Just... one moment!"
