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Willow stepped forward, planting his feet. He began an incantation in a tongue that sounded like grinding stones. A barrier of shimmering light flickered into existence, catching a bolt of necrotic energy launched by the Lich. The air hissed. The smell of ozone filled the clearing.

"He's coming for us," Elora whispered, her voice cracking. "I can feel him in the air." Willow stepped forward, planting his feet

"Magic isn't a sword, Elora," Willow said, his eyes scanning the treeline. "You don't just swing it. You have to want the world to change. You have to command the air to be fire, the earth to be a shield." The air hissed

Beside her, Silas, the loyal squire, gripped his sword. He wasn't a hero of legend, just a man who believed in a promise. "Then we move faster," he countered, though the sweat on his brow told a different story. "I can feel him in the air

Willow smiled, a rare spark of hope in his eyes. "That is exactly how it starts."