Truth be told, Zephyr was used to feeling constant threats and danger.
When others see a beautiful field filled with flowers and butterflies, he sees the occasional thorns and bees. His survival instinct, honed by his previous life, was tuned to find and respond to danger.
The only reason he survived the confrontation with the necromancer was because of this very instinct. Any other mage in his position would have died ten times over.
Now, the same instinct was coming alive once again, screaming at him to take action. His heartbeat quickened as he expected the water ball to crash into his body.
'Water is an incompressible fluid. A waterball thrown with enough force could break ribs, possibly compress my heart, and kill me. It was dangerous.'
Zephyr's eyes stared right into the eyes of the mage who cast the waterball.
The man was older than him, possibly in his twenties.
