The clash on the air sharpens with every heartbeat.
Velira ducks under a wide glaive sweep, rolls across scorched tiles, and looses an arrow mid-roll—THWIP!
The shaft whistles past the monster's cheek, slicing the edge of its jaw. It snarls and leaps back, the momentum shaking the old rooftop beneath them.
Smoke and screams drift upward from the plaza. The sound of ten thousand Ashedge warriors pouring in from the breach below is unmistakable.
The monster turns its head slightly, one eye catching the chaos behind Velira—columns of smoke, monsters in retreat, the line collapsing.
Its face tightens.
"No," it growls. "Did that guy died?"
Velira stands fully now, no longer crouched. Her bow glows faintly with residual wind essence. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, never leave the enemy in front of her.
"You're losing," she says flatly. "And you know it."
The monster bares its fangs.
"I am not finished. My king's favor still burns in my blood. I can still kill you."
