POV Elizabeth
The girl just shook her head at Sora's behavior: why would she do that? It was clear that this mage was used to being rude to others, used to wiping his feet on everyone, so why was it necessary to create conflict? Doesn't Sora understand that? It was quite possible that she did, which made it a little frightening. It wasn't that there weren't a lot of fighters in their group, but it was still less than the number that would make them feel calm. It was a good thing that all of the group's operatives now carried a "Puncher" — an artifact for piercing anti-portal magic.
Nick had long talked about his ability to make his own Punches, but they needed storage — large gems, since only they had the most suitable structures for storing energy. But such gems were too expensive. And Sora, after learning about it, used some crystals that turned out to be almost ideal. It was good that things were much better with silver and bronze. The girl touched her arm, a wide bracelet with an oblong crystal could be felt under her robe. It was good that they could all escape now — it made life much easier.
But this was a scene that would have to be discussed with Megan. Lizzie glanced to the side, where her friend stood a few feet away from her, her hood pulled up just like the blonde's. Dangerous. This man was clearly one of the elite, he would definitely cause trouble, and her life experience was already calculating the size of future trouble.
How could they have enough people and the guy wouldn't need to hire additional forces. Elizabeth glanced at the boy who had leisurely approached the large fire. The girl sighed heavily. He seemed to be an adult, and he knew a lot, and he was strong, but sometimes he acted like a normal teenager.
Sometimes, the girl even wondered if it was the maternal instinct in her that made her get involved with this Japanese guy. What's so special about him? Although, yes, there's nothing wrong with him. What's the bad? He's too arrogant, believes in his own laws, a code, and he's a dog. The girl slowly looked around at the teenage girls, focusing her attention on the slender blonde. She couldn't see her figure under her robe now, but she had been able to appreciate the French girl earlier.
Well, slim with a good waist, nice hips — no argument here, Lizzie's legs and hips are closer to the "model" standard, but her breasts are much bigger and more beautiful, and her face is no worse — Playboy doesn't hire ugly women. So why is he running around with this blonde? Elizabeth didn't even see the other girls as rivals: how could teenagers compete with a fully formed woman? And the fact that they were looking at him only proved that she'd made a very good choice.
Still, she had to take matters into her own hands, or it would be a disaster at this rate. The girl nodded to her thoughts and looked at Sora again, attracted by his movements.
The boy had been facing the fire before, his hands folded in a gesture of prayer. Now he turned around, pulled a fan from behind his belt and spread it out, covering the lower part of his face for a few seconds. The white fan is decorated with a drawing of a cherry blossom branch.
He raises his hand with the fan, lowers it gently, and makes a circular movement, turning in his seat to follow the movement. The small fires that have been set but not lit erupt one by one at his gesture. When he is done, Sora returns to his original position and covers his face with the fan again, but the expression of his eyes, which had been radiating light, has become mischievous. The fan collapses with an unnaturally loud snap, sending sheaves of multicolored sparks from all the fires upward, swirling several meters above his head.
The simple sparks somehow flowed naturally into little butterflies and fairies of blue, green, and fiery colors. Lizzie heard a delighted gasp and caught Sora's perfectly foxy grin as his eyes began to glow brighter, the pupils stretching into silver lines and the sclera filling with blue light. The boy turned his head and looked around at the people. A dance step, a half turn, a smooth graceful movement of the hand with the folded fan, a full turn, the fan unfolded and lowered in one smooth motion. The fire in the small fires fell abruptly, crackling and tinkling.
— Coming, crawling, flying and floating! — the boy said, holding the folded fan to his chest. — Our reverence! — the boy bowed deeply, and all the others followed suit, as agreed. — I am pleased to invite you all into the light of our fires! — he said and bowed again, but less deeply. How does he keep his hat on? — Greetings to the glorious ancestors!
As if by magic, the man had a ball in his hand, which he threw into the fire. All the participants followed his example, only small envelopes with a mixture of dried herbs were thrown into the fires nearest to the people. The fragrant, acrid smell of burnt magical and not-so-magical herbs rose.
The branches of the surrounding trees swayed, the leaves rustling, and a shiver ran down my spine. And then suddenly all sound was gone, as if it had been turned off, even the fire stopped crackling. Instead, there was a faint but growing whisper of voices.