Lenavira's long silver-blonde hair flowed behind her as she jumped lightly across the white marble floor. Her palms glowed with concentrated light essence—curved blades of radiance formed around her fingers, leaving trails of shimmering brilliance wherever she moved. Every step she took seemed gentle, but the pressure in her attacks was unmistakable.
Alice, on the other hand, countered with streaks of fiery crimson. She spun, kicked, and punched with blazing arcs of flame dancing around her body like the wings of a phoenix. Her movements held a sharp edge, fierce yet controlled, showing the discipline she had gained across countless battles.
But what stood out most—what Max noticed instantly—was that both of them were laughing.
Genuine laughter.
Not strained. Not nervous. Not forced.
Friendly. Warm. Alive.
They weren't trying to overpower one another. They were enjoying the fight, pushing each other, testing each other's strength as equals who trusted one another deeply.
