Zephira didn’t ask for permission.
She leapt straight into the enemy’s heart, twin blades moving like a dance between shadows.
"They’re not human," she growled when she returned, blood streaking her armor. "They’re constructs."
"Controlled?" I asked.
"Forged," she spat. "Someone’s building soldiers out of memory."
Valmira’s face paled. "That’s old magic. Pre-Conclave. Before the split."
Yuria scoffed. "What else is new?"
But I saw the truth in Zephira’s eyes—she recognized the forging style.
"Someone you know?" I asked.
She didn’t answer.
Just walked away into the smoke.