Her Bloom Isn’t Red Anymore
“It sees us.”
The haze swallowed her tone, echoing it in a thousand warped imitations, mocking.
The first shadow lunged, moving not like flesh but corrupted code, skipping through the air like a broken projection, limbs bending impossibly.
Vaethea reacted instinctively. Her blade materialized, no ordinary steel — fury forged into form, streaks of crimson glowing along its edge like molten veins.
Her heartbeat thrummed, senses sharpened, but beneath the adrenaline, hunger throbbed — subtle, insistent, calling her to more than just the fight.