Preeyonka shook her head, dispelling whatever thoughts crept up in her mind.
She tightened her grip on the handle of the long blade.
Her broad sword was no ordinary blade—it was forged from metal that had never touched midlands fire, its surface gleaming with runes that shifted and changed as the light hit them. The weapon was as long as a man's height and twice as wide as any normal sword, yet she held it in one hand as if it weighed nothing at all.
She could tell that Jolthar was no ordinary man. Even with the strength of her divine heritage coursing through her veins, it had taken her well into her early thirties to claw her way to Tier Eight.
Yet here stood Jolthar, still in the restless fire of his late teens, already her equal in tier, his presence heavy with a raw and unrefined potential that made the air itself feel sharper.
She had a handful of formidable relics at her disposal, each a weapon of legend, and their weight in her grasp banished any thought of retreat.
