The clash rang through the Moon Pavilion like thunder breaking the stillness. Steel flashed, arrows whistled, and shadows bled from every corner.
Liora barely had time to duck as a blade sliced the air where her neck had been. Rowan's hand snapped forward, catching the attacker's wrist, twisting until bone cracked. The man screamed, cut short when Rowan's dagger drove under his ribs.
Lucien's sword gleamed in the firelight, every stroke measured and merciless. His presence was a wall; every enemy that dared to step close fell back, wounded or dead. Yet his movements carried no waste, no fury, only precision.
Liora clutched the dagger Rowan had given her, heart hammering, every breath raw in her lungs. She wasn't meant for battle, but she refused to cower.
Another assailant lunged at her. She slashed wildly, catching his arm. He snarled, grabbing her wrist, forcing the blade toward her throat, until Lucien's sword split through the man's back, dropping him at her feet.
