"Let's go, Eira," he commanded, picking up the sword from the ground where he had been stabbed.
"Yes!" Eira impulsively agreed, followed closely behind him.
In the elven kingdom, certain rules prevailed. Even with the king still still alive, the elves obeyed the one who possessed the heart, and it was essential for him to determine who held it.
Arnar gazed at Eira, a smile played on his lips. "Do you remember the witch queen?"
Eira raised her eyebrows, curious. "A little. Why?"
"We're going to her to seek a vision," he explained.
"Earnestly?" Eira questioned, perplexed.
Though Eira knew the king always obtained what he desired, she couldn't fathom why he needed to visit the witch queen, let alone demand something from her.
Arnar and Eira set off from the elven kingdom, embarking on a journey northward towards the land of the black witch.
The dense forest enveloped them as they ventured deeper into the unknown, guided by the faint whispers of the wind.
The path ahead was treacherous, but Arnar's determination burned brightly in his eyes.
Eira kept a watchful gaze on their surroundings, her senses heightened as they navigated through the shadows of towering trees.
After hours of relentless trekking, they arrived at the outskirts of a desolate village.
Smoke billowed from the chimneys of decrepit huts, hinting at signs of life within.
It was a place where the black witch was said to dwell, her dark arts known to echo through the forsaken woods.
Arnar turned to Eira, and with a voice low yet resolute. "This is where we shall find the witch queen. Prepare yourself, Eira, for she is cunning and her intentions remain veiled."
Eira nodded, as she could feel how her chest felt heavy with her heart pounding faster. "I will stand by your side, Arnar."
They made their way into the village, drawing curious gazes from its inhabitants. The air was heavy with an otherworldly aura, as if the very ground they walked upon held ancient weapons.
As they reached the center of the village, an eerie figure emerged from the shadows.
The witch queen, draped in a cloak of midnight black, stood before them with piercing eyes that seemed to see through their souls.
Arnar stepped forward, with a calm voice. "We seek your wisdom, witch queen. Grant us a vision, for we must discover the truth that lies within the elven kingdom."
The witch queen's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Visions come with a price, young king. What are you willing to sacrifice for the answers you seek?"
Eira tightened her grip on her small knife. "We will pay any price necessary. The fate of our kingdom rests upon the truth."
The witch queen nodded, her gaze shifted between them. "Very well. Prepare yourselves, for the visions shall come, and with them, the unveiling of secrets that may forever change your world."
As the witch queen began her incantations, the air crackled with ancient energy.
Arnar and Eira braced themselves, ready to face the revelations that awaited them, "do something, witch."
The awkward silence lingered in the air, pregnant with tension and uncertainty. Arnar's patience wore thin as doubt gnawed at him.
In an abrupt surge of fury, he seized the witch queen by her throat, with a firm and unyielding grisp.
"You think you can play your illusion tricks on me?" Arnar's words seethed through gritted teeth, his eyes blazed with a golden intensity. With a forceful motion, he flung her away, anger and betrayal etched upon his face.
Eira's eyes widened, witnessing the transformation in Arnar. His once faded eyes now glimmered with a radiant golden hue, an otherworldly manifestation of his true power.
"Arnar," Eira called out, her voice tinged with concern, but his command echoed in her ears, ordering her to wait.
He ventured into a darkened house, its walls cloaked in shadows that seemed to dance with eerie delight.
The atmosphere was suffused with the scent of poison, a haunting reminder of the witch's presence.
Inside, the true witch awaited, exuding an air of sinister elegance.
Her long, pink hair cascaded down her back, contrasting sharply against her jet-black eyes that bore into Arnar with a predatory intensity.
Behind her, butterfly-like wings stretched out in a mesmerizing display of purple hues, showcasing her mystical nature.
"You are smart," she spoke, her voice laced with a chilling allure. Her words were hanging in the air, punctuating the gravity of the situation.
Arnar stood before her, his look was unwavering despite the tempest of emotions swirling within him. He recognized the witch's cunning and the immense power she possessed.
Their encounter would test his wit and resilience, pitting the strength of the elven king against the cunning of the dark witch.
Arnar, his initial anger subsiding, cautiously approached a nearby seat and settled into it.
He couldn't help but admire the witch's undeniable beauty, even though he knew it was a facade, a mask she wore to conceal her true nature. In his heart, he sensed her loneliness, an echo of despair hidden beneath the illusion she had crafted.
As he glanced around the illusory town she had conjured, Arnar saw the vibrant houses, bustling streets, and seemingly content residents. But he knew the truth - it was all a mere mirage, a spell woven to deceive and entrap.
The walls of the houses, painted in dark colors, stood tall like guardians of an artificial reality.
Yet, Arnar could feel their hollowness, the absence of genuine life and warmth.
He inhaled, detecting the faint scent of enchantment that masked the underlying decay.
The witch sat before him, her ethereal form emanated an allure that belied the darkness within. Her pink hair shimmered under the muted light, flowing down her back in delicate waves.
Her black eyes held a haunting beauty, like portals into a forbidden realm.
Adorning her were butterfly-like wings, a captivating display of elegance tinged with an otherworldly essence.
"You've crafted an intricate illusion," Arnar said, "But you cannot hide the truth forever. This town, no matter how convincing, remains captive under your spell."
The witch's gaze met his, her black eyes locked onto his golden ones. A hint of vulnerability tinged within her glances, momentarily exposing the cracks in her carefully constructed facade.
"You are perceptive, elf king," she replied. "Loneliness can drive even the most powerful to weave intricate illusions. But know this, my power is not to be underestimated."
Arnar's eyes softened, sympathy mingled with his resolve. He understood the depths of her isolation and the immense strength it took to maintain such a complex illusion.
"Your power may be great, but true strength lies in facing reality," Arnar responded,. "Together, let us unravel the tangled webs of illusion and find a path towards freedom and connection."
The witch regarded him, her wings fluttered softly as a faint smile graced her lips.
In that moment, a glimmer of hope ignited within her black eyes, hinting at the possibility of redemption and a chance to break free from the lonely confines of her illusory world.