The Mad Ҡìղց

Crystal

Ayana stood outside for hours, her gaze locked on the fading colors of the horizon. The cool air kissed her skin, but it did nothing to quell the tempest swirling in her mind. Her heart thudded beneath her chest, but her face was an unreadable mask. She clenched and unclenched her fists, feeling the tingle of power radiating through her fingertips. Why do things always have to happen this way? she wondered, her thoughts spiraling. She bit the inside of her cheek, stifling a scream that begged to escape.

"Then again, the fate does not need a reason for something to happen," she muttered under her breath. "Sometimes, I wonder if they know what they're doing."

The horizon seemed to pulse, its colors bleeding together as though the world beyond was as unsettled as she was. Before she could let herself sink further into her musings, a sharp current of energy crackled in the air around her. In the blink of an eye, the world shifted.

Ayana was no longer standing in the grassy plains; she was now in the chamber high atop the mountain, standing behind the elder of the mountain clan. The woman's eyes were like stone, ancient and unyielding. Her face held no expression, only the weight of centuries past.

"Where's Zhan?" Ayana's voice cut through the heavy silence, startling the elder. Her tone was sharp, demanding.

The elder turned slowly, her gaze meeting Ayana's with deliberate slowness. "Who dares to enter my chamber unbidden?" she asked, her voice a cold echo that resonated off the stone walls.

"Cut the crap and give me Zhan," Ayana replied, her words as sharp as blades. Her eyes were like frozen fire, cold yet burning with purpose. There was no warmth in her tone, only the unrelenting force of a storm that had finally reached its peak.

The elder's lips curled into a sneer, the first hint of emotion crossing her face. "He killed my son. I'm afraid I can't give him to you," she said, each word dripping with disdain.

Ayana's eyes narrowed, but her face remained still. "He didn't kill your son," she said slowly, her voice low but firm. "The shadow realm did. Zhan was just a tool—a desperate man trying to save his mate."

"I don't care," the elder snapped. "His sword cut through my son's life. Leave now, or you will meet a far worse fate."

A chuckle escaped Ayana's lips, soft but dangerous. "You don't understand. I'm not asking—I'm telling you. Don't push me. You wouldn't want to see what happens when I get angry. I'll drain your mountain's magic dry and see how long your people last."

The elder stiffened, but her expression remained cold. "What makes you think I care about your threats?"

Ayana smiled, a slow and ominous curve of her lips. "I'll just drink up the river beneath your mountain."

The elder's eyes widened, the first crack in her stony composure. The river beneath the mountain was a closely guarded secret, known only to a select few. Its waters were the source of the mountain's magic, the very lifeblood of the land.

"Who... who are you?" the elder demanded, her voice trembling slightly. Fear flickered in her eyes, but she masked it quickly.

"Me?" Ayana raised an eyebrow. "I am Ayana."

The name sent a jolt of recognition through the elder. Ayana—the woman who had once saved their ancestors, who wielded powers beyond their comprehension. Her father had told her stories of Ayana, of how she had protected them from the dark forces of the world. But those were just legends, weren't they?

"You're lying," the elder hissed, though her voice wavered. She scanned her memories, trying to make sense of the name. Could it really be her?