[Ophelia's POV]
The sky was a dense cover of dark clouds, running from end to end across the horizon. The light rain became heavier and heavier, pouring down without a break on the island below.
But there was one place in all that endless rain where it never fell.
Above the storm, under the dark skies, a lone figure hovered silently in the air.
Not a drop of rain fell on her.
The rain curved around some invisible barrier before it could touch her robes at all. The strong winds blew across the sky, but her long white hair trailed behind her gently, moving gracefully.
Quietly, her deep violet eyes looked down at the marshland.
"So the rumours were true after all," Ophelia murmured, a trace of intrigue flickering across her otherwise tranquil expression. "The youngest daughter of Varion… it is her who had inherited the Immortal Flames."
Her thoughts drifted back to the small white flames that had once enveloped Rosalin's body.
There was no mistaking them.
