Forma had joined the fight alongside the rest of the Crimson Crane. To her, and to many of its members, the Crimson Crane wasn't just an organization, it was family. They had fought together, bled together, survived together. And deep in their hearts, they all felt a debt toward Alba for allowing them to become what they were.
For Forma, that debt ran especially deep.
However, the strain of using her weapon in major battles over the years had taken a severe toll on her mind. Every time she used it, she paid a price. It wasn't just physical exhaustion. It wasn't simply drained Qi.
It was pain. Real pain.
The curse attached to her weapon ensured that every arrow she fired returned its suffering to her. Every wound inflicted, every scream caused, it echoed back through her own body.
Because of that, it had become harder and harder for her to even lift the bow. The fear alone was enough to make her hesitate.
And yet, she possessed the power to change the tide of wars.
