"Thea!" Arthur shouts, but Theo has already stepped out of the water sphere and into the chaos of the dungeon.
Arthur watches helplessly as white hair whips in the violent wind.
Fear claws at his chest.
Yet the storm behaves strangely around her.
The wind howls, but it blows gently around her.
Rain lashes sideways, yet her clothes remain dry.
Lightning splits the sky, but it never strikes her. It crashes around her, framing her in violent light without ever reaching her.
Even the waves raging across the flooded dungeon calm in her immediate presence.
It is as if the sea itself recognizes her.
As if it bows.
"Thea," Arthur whispers.
He slams his fist against the inner wall of the sphere, frustration burning through him. He should be out there with her. Fighting beside her. Facing the King together.
Instead, he is protected.
Contained.
A useless spectator.
He clenches his teeth.
