Another friend gone. Another piece of me torn away. More than ninety-five percent of my legion already lies dead, their bodies piled in rivers of blood, their souls silenced. All pushed toward the center, resisting with all they have left, while I—helpless—can only watch.
"What do you think, Gaon? Doesn't that one look like a problem? I'm losing too many good men with her around."
The Creator's mocking voice slithers into my ears. I follow his gaze and see her: a young woman freezing all life around her into statues of ice, her power too fierce even for the enemy generals.
"So…yeon…" I whisper, my voice breaking.
"Suffer more," he says lazily. "Watch as the talent that could even rival me meets her death."
A flash of golden light cuts through the battlefield. My eyes snap downward. Crimson spreads across her white dress, blooming from her chest. Our gazes meet. In hers, I see fear—but also relief.
