If she was honest with herself, Syris might have admitted she was worried. Even if Altair had unnatural control over his mana, all it took was a single mistake, a lapse in judgment, or a single distraction that could lead to his death.
The Ninth Grade Shard in his hand was breaking apart, falling into small colorless shards that shattered into small fragments at the slightest touch.
Syris watched it all, watched the sweat seep from out his pour. She felt the hammering of his heartbeat through the vibration of the ground and felt the harsh storm of mana coiling around him, diving into his meridians like a wild storm.
His hair was flailing, flitting back and forth with the flow of the mana. It wasn't until half an hour had passed that Altair opened his eyes. The shard in his palm collapsing into small fragmented dust.
"Arise, Vaiga Darkfire. Arise Anew."
