Mana rippled across the clearing, faint green threads winding outward from Thalan's frame. The staff glowed along its etched grooves, the patterns that had seemed decorative moments ago now alive, ancient elven script whispering with each pulse. Leaves trembled on the trees above though no wind passed, their veins catching the glow like veins of emerald.
The children gasped.
"He's using the Verdant Flow!" Teren whispered, voice shaking with both awe and fear.
Even Nysha, standing in the shadows nearby, straightened. Her crimson eyes narrowed, shadows twitching faintly at her fingertips. She knew the weight of elven magic, the sheer discipline behind it.
Lindarion tilted his head slightly. His golden irises reflected the green glow like mirrors.
Thalan spoke, his voice steady but carrying the resonance of mana. "Prince of Eldorath… allow me to fight you as I would a true equal."
He lunged.
