The battlefield is a storm of chaos.
Smoke rises from scorched earth.
Wolves tear through the fray, silver and crimson energies clashing in violent arcs.
The air is thick with tension, blood, and the hum of raw power.
Aria leads her forces, every motion precise, her Moon Goddess blessing flaring around her like a living storm.
Her wolf stirs violently inside her, senses stretched to the limit, warning her—something is wrong.
She strikes down enemy after enemy, but even with her evolved power, the battlefield feels off.
Strikes that should hit miss.
Allies that should rally falter.
The enemies seem almost… guided.
Kael senses it immediately.
“Aria!” he calls, racing toward her through the chaos.
But Lyra is already moving.
Silent. Swift. Unseen.
She whispers orders to scattere
