Kal'thun, beside her, nodded slowly, his expression caught between awe and terror. "That's not a warrior anymore. That's not even a high-tier combatant. That's something from an older age, something that predates modern civilization. Those wings, those crimson eyes, that sword—those aren't weapons.
Those are the apocalypse made flesh."
"He is a descendant of the Sol'vur clan. Oh my seven moons!! How could I have been so blind? The great Sol'vur isn't extinct. The heir of the most menacing clan is right before me," he let out a soft gasp, realizing the gravity of the situation.
Even Sarhita, other clan members, and all the creatures that had seen centuries of combat and magical warfare felt the primal instinct to flee.
They couldn't move; they froze in complete fear.
Everybody heard the Patriarch of the Nuwe'rok clan, and the realization of such terrifying force standing before them made them feel powerless and vulnerable.
