Lady Eris sat alone in her chambers. Her hands rested on the arms of her chair, her gaze fixed on the dim glow of the flame. The room was still, yet her mind was anything but. She could feel the weight of her own magic, lingering in the air like a thread stretching across the distance between her and the queen. The spell she had cast was one of protection, designed to ensure the queen would survive the journey to the front lines. Yet the connection left her feeling exposed, as though something unseen tethered her fate to the queen's.

A faint tug at the edges of her consciousness nagged at her. It was subtle at first, like the gentle pull of a current beneath the surface of a calm sea. Then it intensified, a sharp tug, followed by a sudden rush of cold. Her breath hitched in her throat, and before she could react, pain surged through her body—an agonizing burst that stole the air from her lungs.

Eris gasped, her vision blurring as the pain radiated from her abdomen, sharp and searing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as though she'd been struck by an invisible blade. But this wasn't her pain. It was too sudden, too foreign. Panic flared in her chest, though she didn't fully understand why.

Her vision darkened, her senses overwhelmed by the burning sensation coursing through her veins. She tried to stand, to fight against the waves of pain that washed over her, but her legs buckled beneath her. The world spun, the shadows closing in around her until, finally, everything went black.

When Eris opened her eyes, she was no longer in her chambers. The air around her was cold, unnaturally so, and the ground beneath her feet was hard, like stone. A dim, eerie light illuminated the space, though its source was unclear. She glanced around, her heart pounding in her chest as a sense of unease settled over her.

The room—or was it a crypt?—was cavernous, its walls lined with dark, heavy curtains that billowed gently, though there was no breeze. The shadows between the curtains seemed to move on their own, shifting and twisting as though alive. Eris's footsteps echoed unnaturally as she moved, her instincts screaming at her to leave, yet something compelled her to press on.

Ahead, a figure lay on a bed of stone, covered by silken sheets that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The closer Eris came, the more her chest tightened with a growing sense of dread. She didn't know why, but the figure seemed familiar, painfully so.

Her breath caught in her throat when she reached the bedside. The figure beneath the sheets was a woman, her face pale and gaunt, her skin ashen and sickly. The woman's chest rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths, as though she clung to life by a thread. Eris's heart pounded in her ears, her pulse quickening as she leaned closer, trying to make sense of the vision before her.

The woman's features... They were hauntingly familiar.

The Queen.

The realization hit Eris like a physical blow, her breath catching in her chest. The queen lay before her, pale and frail, her bright golden eyes now dull and lifeless. Her lips were dry and cracked, her hair limp and orange against the stark white of the sheets. Her hands lay at her side, unmoving.

"Your Majesty..." Eris whispered, her voice barely audible. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she moved to touch the queen's face. But as her hand neared her skin, the air grew cold, unnaturally cold, as though the very essence of life was being drained from the space around them. Eris recoiled, a deep sense of wrongness filling her chest.

Suddenly, the queen's eyes fluttered open. They locked onto Eris. Her eyes were hollow, empty, as though the life had already left her body.

A deep voice echoed through the room, reverberating off the walls, though no figure appeared. "It won't be much longer..."

Eris's pulse quickened, her eyes darting around the room, searching for the source of the voice. She could feel the weight of it pressing down on her, suffocating her, but she couldn't locate it.

"The raven's flight will mark her final breath."

"What?" Eris whispered, shaking her head as the voice closed in, creeping into her very bones. "The raven's flight..."

The shadows seemed to tighten around her, drawing her back as her outstretched hand was yanked away from Berenice. Her legs stumbled, but there was no ground beneath her to catch her fall. The room spun, and the last thing she saw before darkness consumed her once again was Berenice's cold, lifeless eyes.

Eris's eyes snapped open with a gasp. She was back in her chambers, her body slick with sweat and her heart racing wildly in her chest. The pain from before had vanished, but her limbs trembled, still weak from whatever had just happened. She lay there for a moment, breathing heavily as she tried to piece together the fragments of the dream—or vision—that lingered in her mind.

"Eris." The voice was soft, gentle, and concerned.

She turned her head to find her mother standing beside her bed. Her siblings hovered behind her, their faces pale with worry.

"What happened?" she asked, kneeling down beside her. "You were unconscious. We couldn't wake you."

Eris shook her head, her voice hoarse. "It's the queen," she muttered, her mind still spinning. "She's hurt. I... I felt it."

Her mother's eyes narrowed with concern, but Eris didn't have time to explain. She needed to know if what she'd felt was real. The vision, the pain—it all pointed to something having gone terribly wrong.

Eris pushed herself up, ignoring the protests from her body, and stumbled to her desk. She retrieved the small black vial hidden beneath the scrolls and immediately began the incantation. 

Seraphine watched, her brow furrowed. "Eris, what are you doing?"

"I need to contact Lord Wren," Eris replied, her voice clipped and urgent. "I need to know what's happening to Berenice."

Her voice was low and steady as the air around her thickened with the familiar weight of magic. The connection to Lord Wren formed quickly, more quickly than usual, as though their bond had already been primed by the events at the camp.

Wren's face appeared, his brow creased with tension.

"Eris," he said, his voice distant but clear. "What is the meaning of this? Why have you—"

"What happened to Berenice?" Eris interrupted, her voice sharp. "I felt her pain. She's been attacked, hasn't she?"

A pause. Then, with clear reluctance, Wren nodded. "There was an attack. The queen was injured, but she is stable."

Eris's hands tightened around the edges of the tome. ""You were supposed to protect her, Wren!" she hissed. "How could you let this happen?"

"I was attending to the matter," Wren replied, his tone level, though a hint of defensiveness crept into his voice. "The queen's life was never in danger. We've neutralized the threat."

Eris's jaw clenched. "Not good enough. If she had died..."

She severed the connection before Wren could respond, her anger burning through her like a flame. She could not afford any more risks. Berenice's injury, the vision—it was a warning, one she would not ignore.

Without hesitation, she strode to the door, her voice commanding as she called for her attendants. "Prepare my carriage. I leave for the castle at once."

There would be no more mistakes. Not with Berenice's life, and not with her path to the throne.