As Fray's knights encircled him and his family, shielding them from the enemy, a signal was launched into the sky. In the blink of an eye, the scene unfolded with such rapidity that even Fray, observing as if from outside himself, could scarcely comprehend it.
Elisa lay on the ground now, her sword flung out of reach, while Fray stood over her—his expression blank, his stature enlarged, his hair defying gravity as if imbued with its own life force, poised to deliver the final blow.
In his fury, Fray had not discriminated friend from foe; his knights lay slain alongside those who had come with Elisa. Yet the true architect of the chaos remained unscathed.
Elisa trembled with palpable dread, anticipating the end at Fray's hand. It was perhaps the first instance of Fray witnessing fear etched on Elisa's visage—a fear so profound it seemed her very soul was rattled by the formidable aura emanating from Fray's younger self.
