Draven's eyes scanned the glowing magic whiteboard, taking in the intricate symbols and patterns he had laid out. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of arcane energy emanating from the runes. He stood there, observing the array with an intense gaze, processing each element of the design. Amberine watched from the side, her eyes wide as she tried to comprehend the work Draven was doing. The way his mind operated, the rapid calculations and deductions—she couldn't help but feel awestruck.
He reached out and made a quick alteration to the symbols. Each movement of his hand was precise, like the strokes of an artist painting a masterpiece. Amberine could feel Ifrit stirring beneath her robe, his fiery presence growing curious.
"He's good," Ifrit whispered, a crackling murmur only Amberine could hear. "The way he blends the flames into the binding... it's almost like art."
