Time had frozen.
Every speck of dust hung in the air like stars in the night sky. Waves of Qi were locked mid-pulse, petrified echoes of life. Sylphia, Calista, the Elders, the rest of the royal family—all remained motionless, halted by the merciless Decree of a Frozen World. Even the light itself seemed reluctant to move, trapped in the glass-like structure of a moment.
Only one figure moved through this dead universe.
Yllara walked slowly, her fan lowered at her side. Each step was placed with the precision of ritual, as though every movement was part of an ancient rite. She approached Veynessa, who stood frozen in an offensive stance, ready to strike with her sword. Yet the blade didn't tremble, and her hair remained still, as if she were a statue carved in the heat of battle.
Yllara stopped before her and stared in silence.
"What a shame. You had so much fire," she whispered.
