Time warped as gravity seized hold, yanking Elara and Zain and Eiravyne into a disorienting freefall.
The world became a whirlwind of blurred colors and dissonant sounds.
The sheer drop amplified the terror, the stomach-churning descent akin to a rollercoaster spiraling out of control.
The wind roared in their ears, drowning out any attempts at communication.
Panic and adrenaline surged through their veins, each passing moment stretching into an agonizing eternity.
The cliff walls rushed past, a blur of jagged rocks and twisted vines.
Elara and Zain clung to the carriage, their knuckles white with the strain.
Eiravyne, still unconscious, was held by Elara so strong that she wouldn't be hurt .
The abyss loomed below like a hungry maw, ready to devour them.
The impact, when it came, was a thunderous collision that rattled bones and stole breath.
The carriage crumpled upon itself, absorbing the force of the fall.
Shards of wood splintered in all directions, creating a storm of debris. The occupants were buried within the maelstrom of destruction.
Amidst the wreckage, Zain and Elara lay unconscious, their bodies bruised and battered from the impact.
Eiravyne, still in the throes of fevered dreams, remained oblivious to the chaos around her.
The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of splintered wood and the metallic tang of blood.
The once one-piece carriage, now reduced to a twisted carcass, bore witness to the intensity of their fall.
Time seemed to stand still as the ravine echoed with the aftermath of the crash.
Then..
A mysterious figures, dressed in dark, meticulously crafted robes adorned with golden symbols, appeared on the edge of the cliff.
They were no strangers to the perilous terrain. Trained with an otherworldly expertise, they descended the cliff with calculated precision.
The dark robes billowed around them, capturing the essence of their enigmatic presence.
As the carriage plummeted, these figures wasted no time. Their descent was deliberate, almost ceremonial, as if they were guided by a higher purpose.
The mysterious figures, their faces concealed by hoods, advanced with a synchronized cadence.
It was evident that their pursuit was not a mere reaction to the carriage's fall but a well-executed plan, unfolding in accordance with an arcane script known only to them.
They reached the wreckage of the carriage with an eerie grace, their dark robes trailing behind them like shadows.
Three of them, all towering in height, approached the fallen carriage with a deliberate and calculated movement.
As they approached, one of the figures lifted the hood.
A profound stillness settled in the clearing, as if the very air acknowledged the arrival of a figure carrying the weight of ages.
Strands of golden hair cascaded around his face, catching the ambient light in an enchanting display.
With the hood now pushed back, his eyes emanated a supernatural radiance, a striking gold that hinted at depths beyond the ordinary.
Leaning down with deliberate grace, his hands brushed against the shattered remnants of the carriage.
Illuminated by moonlight, a scar on his jaw told silent tales of battles fought and challenges overcome.
This was Ilkar Skivarion, the person Eiravyne's father considered her biggest enemy.
His entrance echoed with a shocking gravity, seizing the attention of all present without the slightest hint of ostentation.
Ilkar's steely gaze fell upon the intricate design of the overturned carriage, his mind unraveling the intricate patterns etched in the wood.
The recognition of the Romani family's mark on the carriage fueled his disdain, transforming his words into a venomous decree.
"The Romani bastards dared to touch what was made solely for me," he declared, his voice devoid of any trace of warmth. "They even lost it, and now I will burn them all to ashes.
I will rip them apart limb by limb, bathing in their blood to reclaim what is mine.
Sangrever belongs to me, and if I have to break her, bleed her dry, or put her in the very heart of danger to get what I want, so be it. Her fate is sealed. She will either bend to my will or be destroyed by it."
He turned around to reach his horse.
"Burn that carriage," he ordered with a callous detachment, his gaze unwavering.
The companions, their features still concealed in the shadows of their hooded robes, stood motionless.
One of the two guards behind him approached after removing his hood.
The figure now-standing alongside Ilkar was none other than Roland Thorne, a formidable guardian and a steadfast companion.
Towering and heavily built, Roland's muscular frame bespoke years of rigorous training and battle-hardened experience.
His complexion, tanned from countless hours under the sun, served as a testament to a life spent on the front lines of protection.
Roland's head, crowned with a cascade mix of dark hair and grey hair, bore the distinguished marks of time.
His eyes, sharp and perceptive, scanned the aftermath of the carriage's descent with a practiced gaze.
The scars on his skin, a roadmap of battles fought and enemies vanquished, told a story of resilience and unyielding determination.
Though he stood at the age of 24, his countenance carried the weight of someone who had weathered the storms of life with unwavering resolve.
In the presence of Ilkar, Roland exuded a sense of loyalty and unwavering commitment.
His role as a guardian went beyond the physical; it delved into the realms of camaraderie forged in the crucible of shared struggles.
Roland approached Ilkar, leaning in to convey crucial information. "Karl scanned the whole area; there is no other Romani. This is the only carriage in our lands. Our guards spotted them from afar ..they are not armed and their magic powers are useless …they don't look like a threat ..perhaps spies!"
Karl, Ilkar's second in command and loyal companion, stepped forward after he removed his hood too.
His long white hair with subtle blue shades at the ends framed his tall frame.
Purple eyes, sharp and discerning, surveyed the wreckage. He reported, "Inside the carriage, I could sense three people. One of them is on the verge of dying with no magic powers…probably not a Romani. Two of them have weak magic energy…I am certain they are"
Roland, taking charge, instructed the other guards to extract the bodies from the wreckage.
With a mere wave of his hand, they began the task of carefully retrieving the occupants.
Ilkar, his instincts urging immediate action, contemplated burning the carriage along with the bodies…What the Romani did to the Verenth family complicated all of his plans that is why he wanted to punish all of them .
However, Roland insisted on confirming the situation before taking such drastic measures.
"Two girls and one guy," one of the guards reported.
Roland approached to verify, and as his eyes fell upon the occupants, shock painted his expression.
" Wait..is this!" he said .