Lyra's POV
The air in the dungeon was suffocating. Each step I took seemed to echo endlessly against the cold, damp stone walls. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows that danced and swayed, mirroring the turmoil in my chest. Kael walked beside me, his silence louder than words.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice breaking the quietness.
"Yes," I replied, barely above a whisper. My determination was ironclad, but my heart betrayed me, pounding erratically in my chest.
We reached the bottom of the stairs, and there she was—Melora. She sat nonchalantly on the cold floor of her cell, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out before her. Her eyes gleamed with a sinister amusement, her lips curling into a smirk the moment she saw me.
"Well, well," she drawled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. "Look who decided to visit the big, bad witch."
Her tone sent a shiver down my spine, but I steeled myself.
