That armor of hers was inherited from Valarie Sunwarden, the last Ascendant of Lysithara. It was a symbol of resilience, of a spirit unbroken even by rot and the cruel passage of time.
Valarie was everything Damon once believed a hero should be. A radiant light. A wise teacher. He had not forgotten her, nor the words she had spoken to him long ago.
Her view on life and hardship had been like the sun itself. Even if the sun went down, it would always rise again.
'Life is a turbulent ocean with small islands of joy. Finding them is part of living.'
Damon bit his lip as he watched Evangeline standing in that armor, carrying those noble ideals on her shoulders.
Valarie would be proud. He knew she would.
But—
"Is she an idiot…"
It was obvious this was a trap. One she was not meant to walk out of alive.
Damon clenched his fist, then relaxed it, then clenched it again. He was low on mana, for the first time in a long while.
