Claire stood at the heart of it all, the storm screaming around her like a war chant sung by dead gods.
Her purple hair whipped in the wind, strands curling into chaos, as her deep violet eyes blazed—burned—with a power that wasn't hers. Not entirely. It coursed through her like a river returning to its source, immense and foreign, yet terrifyingly intimate. This power wasn't borrowed. It was remembered. As if it had slumbered in her bones for lifetimes, waiting to awaken.
The mana surged—raw, ancient, and violent. It wrapped around her like a lover, seeping into every corner of her being, stretching her soul until it felt too large for her body. Pride flared. Lust. Love. Not for herself, but for the one tethered to her most secret self. Atlas.
Her breath caught. It wasn't just power. It was him. It felt like him. The tempo of the mana. The rhythm in her blood. The ache in her chest. His essence haunted the edges of the torrent, whispering across her skin like a phantom.
