Frost coated the pine needles of the Willow Mountains, but it wasn't a natural winter. It was the seeping aura of Shyla, the Adept Ice Mage of the Apocalyptic Guild. She walked with the imperious grace of her elven heritage, silver eyes scanning the tree line for filth.
Behind her, the heavy crunch of boots announced Ryan. The tank carried a tower shield that looked heavy enough to crush a bear, yet he moved with a steady, rhythmic gait.
"Ambush," Dora whispered from the rear. Her Intelligence attribute made her sensory perception sharp, picking up heartbeats before eyes could see bodies.
Arrows flew from the brush.
Ryan didn't flinch. A golden glow flared around his left arm as he activated his Adept skill.
Shield.
Metal rang against mana. The crude iron projectiles shattered harmlessly against the translucent barrier that expanded from his buckler, covering the team in a dome of light.
"Clear them," Shyla ordered, her voice devoid of warmth.
