THUD.
The space shifted. Haze of soul-deep flames occupied everything as the sound of smashed stone echoed.
Castor found himself slammed against the wall adjacent to the shattered window. Hands still firm on the hilt of his blade.
The blade was red-hot. Cutting edge glowing. Only the hilt remained cool—dragon-forged steel refusing to melt even under intense heat.
What Is she? Minor noble. No dragon blood. No contracts I know of. Yet silver fire pours from her like she's been blessed by gods themselves.
Castor's eyes narrowed.
How does a woman with no lineage, no power, no claim to magic—
—burn like this?
He looked past her again. Toward the wounded prince behind her.
That bastard killed my son. He took him from me
Castor pushed off the wall. Got back to his feet. He wasn't defeated nor was he giving up.
His grip tightened on his sword. His stance reset. Ready to unleash a technique that should cut through even this inferno.
