There were six of them. Each one bore markings—spiraling, leaf-like sigils that radiated a faint emerald glow.
They circled above, and from their hulls descended figures—elves.
But again, not elves as Jorghan knew them.
These were the same race as the woman, their skin the same red tone, their eyes bright like polished amber. Their armor was a blend of woven mana-thread and steel, alive with pulse and light. Their weapons looked organic, like bows carved from bone and crystal rifles that hummed with restrained energy.
They moved with perfect discipline, surrounding Jorghan and the woman in moments.
The woman's breath quickened.
She struggled to rise but stumbled, clearly injured.
The lead elf—a tall man with a crown of white thorns braided into his hair—raised a weapon toward her.
"Sarhita of the Redrani Flame, by order of the Nue'roka Clan, you are to return with us. Do not resist."
Her eyes widened.
"I will not go back," she hissed, voice shaking.
