The battlefield was a chaotic mess of destruction. Cracked streets, fallen structures, and the scent of blood in the air. Electricity sizzled in the atmosphere, flames licked at the ruins, and the sound of clashing weapons echoed.
Riyan wiped blood from his lips, his expression unreadable as his red eyes scanned the battlefield. Ava was already on her feet, her muscles tensed, her breathing ragged, but her katana still glowed with white-hot intensity. Raven's golden eyes burned with unrestrained fury, her body crackling with corrupted thunder, fists clenched tight.
And then—Syra.
She stood at the center of a spiraling storm, her hair flowing unnaturally as if caught in an unseen wind, the silvery-green tips shimmering ominously.
Her green eyes swirled with motion, resembling the ever-shifting currents of a raging storm. The air itself seemed to bend around her, making her appear almost untouchable—like a force of nature that had taken a human form.
