Without another word, they launched their next assault. The female harpist plucked her strings, sending out waves of green sound that tore through the mist and struck Rowan. His violin vibrated violently as he tried to counter with rapid, defensive notes. Their melodies clashed midair, bursting into a shockwave of echoes that scattered the leaves around them.
Meanwhile, the woman wielding twin axes charged straight at Rylan. Her swing split a tree trunk clean in half, shards of wood flying everywhere. Rylan blocked with his sword, the impact of metal against metal booming through the forest.
Nimora darted between them, her hands glowing with healing light. Every time Rylan was thrown to the ground or Rowan slammed into a tree, she rushed in, pressing her palms to their wounds and mending them in a flash.
"Hold on! Don't fall now!" Nimora shouted, her breath ragged.
"Resonance Slash!"
Rowan dragged his bow across the strings, releasing a blade of sound that sliced through the air. The harpist countered with a low, rumbling chord, unleashing green waves that shattered the thick roots beneath them. The two notes collided, deafening and blinding, sending nocturnal birds scattering into the sky.
Rylan roared, letting his Feral Transformation take over. His muscles bulged, and bear-like claws tore from his hands. With raw force, he struck back, his blade shaking the ground. But the twin-axe warrior only smirked coldly before kicking him hard—his body crashed into a massive tree, cracking its trunk nearly in half.
"I can still fight!" Rylan growled, wiping the blood trickling down his temple.
The battle grew even fiercer. Rowan and the harpist traded deadly notes, violin and harp forming a violent symphony that shattered branches and trembled the soil. Rylan and the axe-wielder fought at close range, each strike leaving gashes in the earth and blood in the air.
Nimora forced herself to keep going, her healing light flickering weakly. Her face had gone pale, but her resolve didn't waver.
"I won't let you die here…" she murmured under her breath.
But exhaustion soon took its toll. Rowan's fingers bled; he could barely play anymore. The harpist, too, was swaying on her feet, her breathing uneven. Rylan was barely standing, covered in deep cuts, while his opponent bled heavily, one of her axes broken.
In a final desperate clash, Rowan and the harpist unleashed their last notes—the explosion of sound hurled them both back. On the other side, Rylan and the axe-wielder exchanged one last blow before collapsing to their knees, panting.
Silence swallowed the forest. The mist crept back in, wrapping around the battlefield of shattered trees and bloodstained earth.
Nimora knelt between Rowan and Rylan, her hands trembling, the last glow of healing fading from her palms.
"That's enough… I can't heal any more. If this keeps up, we'll all die."
The harpist staggered to her feet, while the axe-wielder held her bleeding side. Their eyes met—no victor between them. The fight had ended in a draw, leaving only broken bodies, heavy breaths, and the scent of blood in the air.
The two women locked gazes one last time, then nodded to each other. The harpist plucked a single string still clutched in her hand.
"This isn't over. Next time we see you—we'll finish the job," she said coldly.
Then, with a single resonant note, both women vanished without a trace.
"What the hell was that?" Rowan muttered. He looked utterly drained; it had been a long time since he'd fought with that much intensity.
"It's over now. Are you two alright?" Nimora asked, checking their wounds and using what little magic she had left to mend the smaller cuts.
•••
A woman stood in a bright, open meadow, surrounded by sunlight and the scent of fresh grass. She looked utterly at peace—grateful, even—as if every trace of exhaustion melted away with a single deep breath.
"Cal! Calantha!" A voice called from behind. Calantha turned and saw a woman—tattered clothes, bruised face, her body covered in wounds.
"Luna? What are you doing here? What happened to you?" Calantha asked, rushing toward her sister, Lunaria.
"I can't explain it all right now," Lunaria gasped. "I just came to tell you—you need to find them."
"Them? Who do you mean?"
"Your sisters. They're in danger. Especially Nimora. She'll go after the weakest first," Lunaria said, her voice trembling.
"Wait—slow down! I don't understand. Why are you here like this? What danger? Why tell me to go back now?"
Lunaria looked at her with weary eyes, as if on the verge of saying more—
but before she could, Calantha felt herself being pulled away. Her vision blurred into darkness.
When she opened her eyes again, she was lying in a luxurious bedroom. It had all been… a dream. Or so she thought.
She sighed, got up, and began preparing herself for the day.
While soaking in a warm bath, her hands brushing idly against her skin, Lunaria's words echoed in her mind.
It didn't feel like a dream—it felt like a message.
She hurried to finish, then opened the door to leave. But before stepping out, she whispered a spell across the room.
An illusion of herself appeared on the bed, fast asleep—perfectly lifelike. Then, quietly and unseen, Calantha slipped away, stealing one of the royal horses and vanishing into the dawn.
•••
"Don't attack—it's me." A silver-haired woman stepped into the cave, clad in black, her cloak flowing to her knees.
"Who are you?" Gala demanded.
"What, you've already forgotten me?" the woman asked with a sly smile.
"I don't even know you. Take one more step and your life ends here," Astraea warned, summoning a blazing fireball to her hand.
The woman grinned wider, then suddenly launched a spell of violet energy toward her.
But Astraea, already prepared, dodged easily and countered with her own blast.
The fireball struck the woman—yet her body dissolved into a cloud of purple mist and vanished.
"Nice try," came her voice—from behind Astraea and Gala.
Before they could react, a burst of magic shoved them both backward, sending them tumbling to the ground.
"Your tricks are still too predictable, As," the woman said coolly. "You'll never avenge anyone if that's the best you can do."
Those words hit Astraea hard. She froze—then realization dawned on her face.
"Calantha? Is that… you?"
"Finally," the woman replied, smirking.
Calantha—the third of seven sisters. Astraea's younger sibling, gifted with rare illusion magic possessed by few in the world.
She explained why she had returned after years of self-imposed exile. A dream—one sent by Lunaria—had urged her to reunite with her surviving sisters. Lunaria's message was clear: their family was in danger. And so, Calantha had come to Astraea first—seeking the truth behind her sister's warning.