Feylora didn't spare those stares a single glance.
She lifted her palm. In front of it, golden runes rapidly interwove, threading themselves together until they formed a massive bow.
The bow's body was made from the power of The Fey Sovereign itself. The bowstring, though—she tore that out of the surrounding heaven-and-earth energy by force, compressing it into a thin, razor-fine line of gold.
She drew the string back, eyes locking onto the blond man.
"In my eyes, you're nothing but an ant hiding between rocks."
Her voice was clear as a bell—and packed with fury she didn't bother to hide.
"What makes you think you're qualified to fight my master?"
A golden arrow condensed on the string.
It didn't look like it carried some absurd, overwhelming amount of energy.
No ocean of light. No space-shattering presence. It simply hovered there in silence, its tip aimed at the blond man, faint golden patterns flowing across its surface like a slow pulse.
Feylora released.
