In another part of the arena stood a young woman who could not remain seated, a partial veil shadowing her face.
Her hair was just as red as Aira's own, though hers gleamed with a fiercer sheen, and her features were sharper, more pronounced. Her body was slender yet curvy, sculpted in a way that no one could deny her beauty. She carried herself with a poise that hinted at pride, but her expression remained cold and unreadable.
Yet deep in her eyes burned something darker—something that could only be described as jealousy—as she watched the gathering throngs surround her sister. They bowed low to Aira, calling and crying out, their voices shaking with awe, naming her the Messenger of the God of Light.
