The storm raged through the night, its fury pounding the village with sheets of rain and relentless wind. The trees groaned under the strain, their branches whipping against one another in a chaotic dance, while the villagers huddled inside their homes, praying for the tempest to pass.
But inside Elara's mind, the storm was mirrored by a tempest of her own.
Sleep eluded her as she lay in bed, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. The events of the day churned in her thoughts—the arrival of the Black Wolves, Thalia's warning of the spreading sickness, the looming threat of new enemies rising from the west. It was as if every decision she made only brought more uncertainty, more challenges that threatened to unravel everything they had fought for.