Before launching himself back into direct confrontation, Darian made a calculated choice.
Victory, he knew, was never claimed by strength alone but by timing, by control, and by the will to bend others into the rhythm of his design. He raised his hand in a commanding gesture, sharp and absolute, toward his remaining forces.
"Ray. Veil. Mordain. To me. Immediately."
His voice cut through the chaos of the battlefield like a blade, sharp and undeniable.
Three of his most powerful archmages, champions who had survived countless campaigns against the light eleves, broke away from their current positions without hesitation.
Their movements were swift and disciplined, as though the very air parted to allow them passage toward the boundary line where their king awaited.
Seraphina, watchful of Darian's movement, caught sight of their retreat.
