Somewhere near the south side, a masked attacker tried to be clever and throw a flaming jar over the wall.
Isabella saw the arc out of the corner of her eye and flicked her fan in that direction almost without thinking.
A sharp wind blade shot out and hit the jar mid air, shattering it. The fire spilled uselessly in the snow outside.
The masked man below froze. His head snapped up, and his eyes locked on her silhouette on the wall.
Even though he could not see her face clearly, he could feel the strange pressure her presence brought.
"That must be her," he thought. "The pregnant goddess with the fan."
His gaze darkened. He adjusted his mask and signaled to two of his companions. They changed formations, starting to shift their attack angle toward her.
The fight continued like that for what felt like a long time. In reality, only the span of a cup of tea had passed.
