Ethan's fingers tightened around the grip of the Desolate Sea Bow as he drew it back, the string pulled taut to a perfect crescent like the full moon hanging in a silent harvest sky.
The blood-colored arrow shimmered unnaturally against the ethereal string, then split silently into three narrow streams of crimson light, hurtling forward toward Seraphina like silent blades drenched in death's own essence.
Seraphina's gaze sharpened, chilling as glacial winds, fixed unblinkingly on the advancing crimson streams.
There on their surfaces danced faint arcs of water, a subtle yet mesmerizing shimmer that betrayed no hint of menace, yet pulsed with a power that stirred a primal caution deep within her. It was an instinct she neither welcomed nor fully trusted, a quiet voice of warning against the arrogance that had filled her pride until now.
