The moment stretched between them like a blade being drawn from its sheath…slow, deliberate, inevitable.
Syl'thessara's perfect features shifted through a complex array of emotions before settling into something that resembled resigned dignity!
When she finally moved, it wasn't with the explosive violence of warriors clashing, but with the terrible grace of someone accepting a role they never wanted to play.
"Very well," she said, her voice carrying the weight of millennia.
"If this is what you need from me, descendant, then I'll oblige. But know that every strike I deliver carries the hope that you'll understand…not forgive, but understand."
Her first attack came not as energy or force, but as narrative revision!
The space around Achilles suddenly rewrote itself…he wasn't floating in the void anymore but standing in a crystalline cage that had always been there, had been there since before his birth, waiting for this exact moment.
