As zalria and lyra argument continue to heat up something eerie happened.
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Before Zalria could gather even a flicker of her power, the shadows erupted from the ground like writhing serpents made of pure darkness. Their cold, sinewy forms slithered swiftly, wrapping around her legs and arms with an unbreakable grip. The air around her chilled as if the very warmth of life was being sucked out. She struggled fiercely, her muscles straining against the crushing force, but the shadows seemed alive, moving with a will far beyond her control.
Her breath hitched, panic rising, but deeper than that was a sinking dread. *This isn't just some spell. It's a trap—no, a prison.* Her magic, the lifeblood of her soul, was being drained, silenced by the creeping cold. She felt powerless for the first time in years, and the fear clawed at her chest.
From the surrounding darkness stepped Lyra, her smile cruel and victorious. Her voice was cold, dripping with mockery. "You really believed you could follow me without consequence? How naive."
Zalria glared, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the fear rising in her throat. "Lyra's eyes gleamed with icy amusement. "Madness? No. This is survival. I'm no queen here—just a servant in the House of the Fallen. And you… you're a prize."
The shadows pulsed around Zalria like living things, tightening their hold. Lyra's voice softened into a whisper, but every word struck like a blade. "The House of the Fallen isn't just a place—it's a nightmare made real. A kingdom of exiles, cast out and forgotten by the Demon Realm, condemned for sins so dark they stain the very air."
She stepped closer, her words weaving fear into Zalria's heart. "The shadows you feel? They are the chains and claws of those cursed souls. They hunger for pain and feed on terror. They don't obey me—they obey the Fallen Lords, rulers of this forsaken domain."
Zalria's mind raced. The legends she had heard as a child… were true. *A place where the damned linger, plotting revenge, forgotten by all but feared by many.* Her throat tightened with terror and anger.
Lyra's smile grew colder. "I serve their will, but I am no master. You were foolish to think otherwise. You're bait, Zalria—a lure to bring enemies of the Fallen into their snare.The shadows constricted, colder than the deepest abyss, stealing warmth from her very bones. Zalria's vision blurred as the crushing weight of despair settled over her. The House of the Fallen wasn't just a prison—it was a tomb for death, a place where even the strongest magic withers and dies.
Her thoughts spiraled: *How could I be so blind? How did I fall into their trap? What will become of me here, in this realm of eternal night?*
Lyra's mocking laughter echoed in the hollow silence. "Welcome to your new prison."
And with that, the shadows dragged Zalria deeper into the darkness—into the heart of the House of the Fallen.
Back at the inn.
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Lyrien paced the dimly lit room, every shadow seeming to whisper Zalria's name. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the labored breaths of Nathaniel lying weakly on the bed.
"Nathaniel," Lyrien's voice cracked, desperation seeping through. "Zalria… she's been gone for hours. I don't know where she went. I fear something's wrong."
Nathaniel's eyes fluttered open, pain etched deep in his gaze. "You must… be careful," he rasped. "Lyra… she's not who she seems."
Lyrien stopped, heart pounding. "What do you mean? Lyra's been our ally… hasn't she?"
Nathaniel coughed, clutching his chest. "Trust… no one… especially not her. There are forces in motion you don't understand. Zalria's powers… they make her a target."
Lyrien clenched his fists. "I'll find her. I won't let anything happen to her."
A faint smile crossed Nathaniel's lips, weary but firm. "Remember… sometimes, the greatest danger lies… within."
The room fell silent again, thick with unspoken fears. Lyrien's resolve hardened. He would uncover the truth. Could lyra not be who she claimed to be?.
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