Chapter 130: Storm Silence
Zafira touched the stone with one toe.
That was all it took.
The ground responded with recoil, a pulse of air surging outward like the terrain had registered her presence and panicked. Shylo braced himself first, knees bent low, rope dart extended, one breath away from counterstrike. But Kenneth was already beside him, staff drawn, eyes alive with something rarely seen—anticipation.
"She’s strong," he said, voice low but hungry. "I want this one."
Zafira didn’t answer. She didn’t posture. She simply rose again—hovering half a meter above ground, cloak curling against wind she hadn’t summoned, silver eyes scanning the two of them with detached precision. And then she moved.
What followed wasn’t an attack. It was a revelation.
She surged forward in a blur, air splitting beneath her like a divine roar muffled in mortal bones. Kenneth met her first, staff rotating in a high arc to catch her descent, but she folded mid-air, dipped sideways, and twisted the velocity with raw Unco force. Shylo cut across, rope dart unfurling in a whip-crack snap that latched onto the corner of her cloak. He yanked.
She spun in midair—graceful, predatory—and flung both hands wide. A cyclone burst erupted outward, sending dust into the sky and breaking the rooftop edge behind them. Kenneth slid back, heels digging into stone. Shylo crouched into the blast—silent, calculating.
The fight had begun.
Below, the kingdom stirred.
Alarms belted from the northern towers—sharp, brassy howls that signaled intrusion not from the outside but deep within. Doors slammed open. Barracks emptied. Warriors spilled from shadow, some half-dressed in armor, others still holding plates from interrupted meals. They came in waves—men and women scarred with survival, armed not with military formality but weapons grown from instinct.
And Lionel watched it all.