Sylvaine stood in the center of her lair, her silver hair glinting in the dim, magical glow emanating from her artifacts. With a fluid motion of her hands, the air before us shimmered and twisted until a void opened—a window into another time and place.
Magnus and I held our breath as the vision sharpened. A dark cemetery came into view, the air thick with mist and dread. Two figures loomed near a crumbling grave.
The first woman was chanting in a language that felt both ancient and malevolent, her voice carrying an unnatural resonance. Her presence exuded power and malice.
"That's Morgana," Sylvaine whispered, her tone laced with disgust.
The second woman was eerily familiar. Her cold determination was etched into her features as she assisted Morgana in pouring a shimmering, venomous liquid onto the skeletal remains lying in the grave.
My breath caught as recognition struck. "No…" I whispered, stepping back in shock.
