The sea was calm, a stark contrast to the tempest they had faced just hours before. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck as Elara leaned on the ship's railing, her gaze fixed on the receding Isle of Winds. The once-foreboding island now seemed peaceful, almost serene, bathed in the golden light of dawn. The mist that had shrouded it was gone, revealing the jagged cliffs and rocky shores in stark clarity.
Elara took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill her lungs. It was over. The battle had been won, the darkness defeated—but the weight of what had happened still lingered, pressing down on her shoulders like an unseen burden. She could feel the residual ache in her muscles, the fatigue that seeped into her bones, but it was the memories that haunted her the most. The whispers, the shadowed figure, the darkness that had nearly consumed them all—it would take time to process everything, to truly understand the magnitude of what they had faced.
