Zesstra, a sarcastic smile stretching across her lips, remained unfazed. "Matron Ysora, always so impetuous," she retorted in a honeyed voice, her hair beginning to rise around her face as if lifted by an invisible force. "Do you think you're a match for me? If you want to fight, come on, I'm waiting." Her eyes began to glow with a reddish hue. The air around her seemed to crackle with palpable electricity, and an oppressive tension began to fill the room.
Ysora, not backing down an inch, spread her arms in a clear sign of challenge. Her hair rose into the air, floating around her like angry serpents. "Matron Zesstra, you talk a lot," she challenged defiantly. "Show me what you've got, or go back to playing the well-mannered matron."
The two women stood facing each other, their crackling auras mixing and clashing like energy waves. The other matrons, holding their breath, watched the scene with a mix of fascination and fear. The air had become almost unbreathable, thick with the electric tension of their powers threatening to explode.
But before the confrontation could erupt, an overwhelming energy swept through the room like an invisible but relentless wave. In an instant, the auras of both matrons were swept away, and the atmosphere grew heavy as if a crushing gravity had descended upon them.
Mervyln, the source of this power, stood in the center of the room, her merciless gaze fixed on Ysora and Zesstra. Zesstra, feeling Mervyln's grip, felt a cold sweat run down her neck. Her smile vanished, replaced by an expression of caution. She slowly sat back down, lowering her eyes in a gesture of submission, her hair gently falling around her face. Ysora, meanwhile, remained frozen, her gaze still defiant but her body unable to move under the crushing weight of the aura.
Mervyln watched them in silence, her presence dominating the room. Then, in a cold voice, she addressed Ysora directly. "Matron Ysora," she began each word resonating like a sentence. Ysora, struggling against the paralyzing effect of the aura, slowly turned her head towards her. "I will say this one last time: I will support Matron Almera on the front lines. You others will stay back to cover the rear."
Ysora, despite the terror in her eyes, slowly nodded, unable to respond otherwise. As if the oppressive aura had lifted, she collapsed to her knees, panting, her forehead beaded with sweat.
The other matrons watched the scene in silence, all too aware of the display of power they had just witnessed. Ignoring Ysora's distress, Mervyln turned to Xune and Nerys. "Is that clear to everyone?" she asked, her sharp voice cutting through the silence. The two other matrons nodded hastily, their faces frozen with barely concealed worry as they quietly sat back down. Mervyln stared at them for a moment longer before turning towards the exit.
Upon reaching the door, she paused momentarily, turning to the soldier who was still waiting, pale and nervous. "Up until now, I've been patient," she declared, her voice hardening with a threatening tone. "But after this matter, I will no longer tolerate any weakness or disobedience." She cast one last glance at the matrons, then left the room, the soldier hurrying to follow her, leaving behind an atmosphere thick with tension.
Meanwhile, Almera was already striding ahead down the hallway, her high heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The light from the chandeliers affixed to the stone walls cast dancing shadows that seemed to follow her every move. Almera's deep midnight blue dress lightly trailed behind her, as if she were floating above the ground. She moved with calculated elegance, but those who passed her in the dim corridor perceived only the coldness of her gaze and the determination in her stride.
The servants and soldiers, accustomed to seeing the matrons, felt an almost palpable fear in her presence. Some respectfully lowered their eyes, while others stepped aside in silence, hoping to avoid her piercing gaze. Those who were too close felt an inexplicable pressure as if the air had become heavy and difficult to breathe.
Almera, however, was lost in thought, her memories resurfacing with startling clarity. She vividly remembered that last conversation with Damaris, when the latter was still chained and imprisoned.
The memory sharpened in Almera's mind like a scene she had relived a hundred times, every detail etched deeply in her consciousness.
"Almera, my dear. Do you think these chains can hold me? Do you believe your little power play here matters at all? I will destroy everything you love. I'll start with your house, your family, your precious allies... and then I'll come for you."
These words from Damaris echoed in Almera's mind like a clap of thunder. Each word was a promise of destruction, a brutal reminder of the hatred Damaris harbored toward her. However, it was a hatred that was not one-sided.
Almera clenched her fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. She took a deep breath, trying to control the rage boiling inside her. Those words, spoken with a disdainful confidence, had awakened a cold anger in Almera, an emotion she had learned to hide behind her mask of calm.
Her fists clenched involuntarily, her nails pressing into her palms. She remembered every word, every look, and especially the way Damaris had spoken about her as if she were merely an obstacle to be removed. Almera quickened her pace, her face remaining impassive despite the storm raging within her. Her dress, now almost completely detached from the ground, floated gracefully behind her, reinforcing the impression that she was gliding rather than walking.
She murmured to herself, her words echoing in the deserted corridor. "You always knew how to move me, Damaris... A thorn that never stops causing me pain." A cold smile stretched across her lips, contrasting with the warmth of the flickering flames of the chandeliers. "But this time, it will be different. This time, we'll play by your rules."
As she approached the massive wooden door leading to the teleportation chamber, Almera straightened up, her shoulders lifting with a cold pride. She knew that on the other side of that door, her only "equal" awaited her. But one thing was certain: she never entered a battle to lose.
She took a deep breath. With one last determined look, she placed a hand on the cold, metallic handle, gripping it with newfound strength. "Damaris," she murmured, her voice barely audible, "this will be the final game, and this time, I'll make sure you never come back."
And with those words, she pushed the door open.