Up above, on the balcony that held a premium bird's-eye view of everything unfolding below, Selaphiel frowned. Not just her—Zhou was the same.
She spoke first, her voice edged.
"Your grandson is too pesky."
Selaphiel didn't respond immediately. Her eyes remained locked on the chaos below.
"What do we do now?"
She asked quietly.
At this rate, Lyra would win.
Just then, down in the arena, the patriarch's debilitated body stirred. Despite its broken state, the limbs lifted, twitching like a marionette forced into motion.
His hands clapped together with everything he had left.
Zhou exhaled, a small smile of relief tugging at her lips. She raised her hands and channeled a considerable amount of mana into the spell.
Down below, the ambient mana that had fueled the wraith's forming shivered. Something had changed. Something ancient stirred.
