The white-haired woman's violet flame surged, curling upward like a serpent, illuminating the shattered walls of the ancient chamber. Her soldiers moved in formation behind her, blades drawn, enchantments flickering over their armor like mirrored smoke.
Malakar didn't move. Neither did Thae'Zirak.
But Kaelred stepped in beside Argolaith, daggers already spinning in his fingers.
"Alright, I guess diplomacy's off the table."
Argolaith raised his sword, his rune beginning to pulse, echoing the steady beat of the Rootheart behind them. Its glow began to intensify, shadows cast in green and gold stretching across the fractured floor.
"You don't have to do this," he said firmly.
The woman didn't respond.
She simply pointed her staff—and the violet fire lanced forward like a spear.
Argolaith's sword flashed up to block it, but the fire struck faster than his muscles could move.
Except—
It never reached him.
A wall of green light erupted between Argolaith and the incoming flame.
