He didn't even know her name.
That small, stubborn, terrifying woman had walked out of the cave like she owned the mountain, fan in hand, chin high, muttering to herself like a lunatic who'd fired her last brain cell for dramatic effect.
And yet… he couldn't look away.
When she'd said, "Stay here," with that ridiculous confidence, he'd almost laughed. But now, watching from the pond's edge, laughter was the last thing in his throat.
Because holy hell—she was actually fighting them.
He'd seen Hollow Stalkers before, centuries ago, and even then, no one sane went anywhere near them. But there she was—this small, mouthy woman—swinging her glowing pink fan like it was Excalibur.
Her little creature—what was it called again? Glim-something?—was pacing beside him, tail twitching like an anxious cat. It kept turning to him with an expression that screamed "Do something!" as if he could.
"I'm watching, alright?" he hissed at the tiny beast.
