In a high-level grinding zone, Chloe stood at the front line, clad in gleaming steel armor as she drew monsters toward her. Her movements were crisp and efficient, every strike controlled and purposeful, carrying a heroic grace that made her stand out even in the chaotic battlefield. Behind her, Anya worked her magic, flames blooming at her fingertips as she cast spell after spell with elegant precision. Her casting was fluid and mesmerizing, her figure framed by swirling embers like a living work of art. Together, the two formed a striking and almost unreal tableau.
Under different circumstances, the sight would have been breathtaking.
Yet neither woman looked pleased. There were no smiles, no laughter, only frustration lingering beneath their composed exteriors. The atmosphere around them felt heavy, weighed down by impatience and unease.
They still had not heard from Marcus.
