They were still fighting.
Noel's blade clashed again and again with Arya's scythe, sparks flying as steel bit into steel. Each impact cracked the stone beneath their feet, each dodge a heartbeat away from death. Charlotte moved like a blur to his side, weaving in and out of the battle line with sharp precision.
But Noel could see it.
Her steps were slower.
Her breathing was shallow.
She'd already used two blessings recently. Her body screamed for rest.
And Arya noticed.
The moment Charlotte paused to block a wide sweep, her arms trembling slightly—Arya's eyes locked on her.
Her smile widened.
Noel's instincts flared.
"Charlotte—!"
But he was too far.
Arya vanished in a blur of motion, her scythe glowing faintly red.
Charlotte turned—daggers rising—too late.
The curved blade slammed through her abdomen, piercing clean through.
Charlotte gasped.
