Fire trailed behind Deia's blade as she carved through another wave of Shadow Seekers, the red flames born from her Gift consuming the dark creatures with prejudicial efficiency. Her engagement ring caught the light of her own flames as she spun through the hostile ranks, each movement a dance of destruction that spoke to years of training at the Southern Sea Sun Palace.
"Do you think the war is going well in the West?" she asked between strikes, her golden eyes finding Lucifer even as her sword continued its deadly work. The question carried weight beyond simple curiosity—concern for Arthur, for the outcome that would determine the fate of their world.
"Arthur will handle it," Lucifer replied with quiet confidence, his own blade moving through Shadow Seekers like they were made of mist. Where Deia's flames consumed, his strikes simply unmade—existence ceasing wherever his sword touched. "He's stronger than any of us realized."
