As they made camp that night, the atmosphere remained tense. Isolde had sensed the undercurrents between Marcus and Elara and had quietly tried to lighten the mood, but her efforts were met with little success. Marcus remained distant, and Elara, though trying to remain upbeat, was clearly preoccupied with her thoughts.
The fire crackled in the center of the camp as Garrick sat down next to Elara, offering her a piece of bread. "You need to eat," he said, his voice gentle but firm.
She took it, though she had little appetite. "I keep thinking about the vision," she admitted. "My mother… the pact she made with the Ancients. I don't know what it means for me, for us."
Garrick leaned in closer. "We'll figure it out together. Whatever burden you carry, we'll share it. You're not alone in this, Elara."
She looked at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. Garrick had been her rock through this entire journey, steady and unwavering in his support. She knew that whatever came next, he would be by her side.
But just as she was about to respond, Marcus's voice cut through the quiet night. "We need to talk."
Elara turned, startled by the harshness in his tone. Marcus stood at the edge of the camp, his arms crossed and his face dark with frustration. The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the tension in his features.
"Marcus, I—" Elara began, but he cut her off.
"No, Elara. You've had your say. You've had your victories. But this can't go on." He stepped closer, his voice rising. "Every trial, every test, it's all about you. The temple responds to you like you're the only one who matters. What's the point of the rest of us being here if you're the chosen one?"
Elara stood, her heart racing. "That's not true. I've never wanted to outshine anyone. We're in this together."
"Are we?" Marcus snapped. "Because it feels like I'm just a background character in your story. You don't need me. You don't need any of us."
The camp fell silent. Garrick tensed beside Elara, ready to intervene if necessary, but he waited, giving Elara a chance to respond.
"I need all of you," Elara said, her voice firm but soft. "I can't do this alone. Yes, the temple responded to me, but that doesn't mean I'm more important than any of you. We each have our part to play."
Marcus shook his head, his fists clenched. "It's easy for you to say that when you're the one with all the power. You've been chosen by the elements, by the Ancients. You're destined for greatness, and the rest of us… we're just along for the ride."
Elara stepped toward him, her eyes filled with hurt. "Marcus, I never asked for this. I didn't ask for any of it. I'm just trying to do what's right—for all of us, for the kingdom. You've always been my friend, my ally. Don't let this tear us apart."
Marcus's jaw tightened, his anger warring with something deeper—hurt, insecurity. He turned away, unable to face her. "I don't know if I can do this anymore, Elara. I don't know if I belong here."
Before Elara could respond, Marcus walked away from the camp, disappearing into the darkness.