Sylmira stepped back and watched Arty, still standing at the center of the storm-ravaged training arena.
Her expression grew thoughtful as she folded her arms again. This time more contemplative than evaluative than before.
It wasn't just the raw power of Magic. The scale of Arty's Magic wasn't normal. Not even for a skilled prodigy able to create something that has so much destructive intent.
It wasn't wild simply because of lack of training. It had an emotional charge, a force behind it that was rooted in instinct to attack, defend, and destroy things.
It was her very intent that fuel that Magic.
Sylmira frowned slightly. That might explain it.
"Good thing I arrived when I did when that noble girl confronted her. If I was there even a moment late… not just that girl, but everyone nearby might've suffered the full force of Arty's rage." Sylmira thought grimly.
"Arty," she called, voice calm. "Tell me, when you use Magic… what do you feel?"
