Don't be too quick to claim victory

The battle between Morgathra and me had escalated beyond the realm of mere spells and incantations. It was a clash of wills, a testament to our unyielding spirits. The outside of the castle grounds, once a place of regal majesty, now bore the scars of our conflict, the air thick with the residue of our expended magics.

Morgathra was relentless, a tempest of fury and flame. Her attacks were a blur, each strike a deadly whisper that threatened to tear the very soul from my body. I parried and dodged, my own spells weaving a protective cocoon around me. Yet, for every barrier I erected, Morgathra's erasing magic tore it down, her power an unceasing tide that sought to overwhelm me.

"You fight well, Zephara," Morgathra conceded, her voice a grudging purr amidst the cacophony of battle. "But I am inexorable, as inevitable as the setting sun."