As the Cambion loomed before Altair, its grotesque form covered in throbbing boils, Syris felt her essence intertwining with the winds. She became one with the gentle breeze, as light as a feather and as soft as a blade of grass.
With the agility of a ghost, Syris moved, her form blurring as she traversed the battlefield like a wind sprite, silent as a shadow. Her silver dagger, a symbol of her fury, was far from gentle. Embers danced in the wind, igniting the air to flames as Syris attacked, her blade slicing through nothing but air.
She missed. Her eyes followed the agile creature that had somehow evaded her surprise attack. Unable to sense a domain, it was baffling how the Cambion had not only detected her but also dodged so swiftly.
