From a distance, the scene was nothing short of breathtaking.
The Wyvern Saint Knight, Lyanna, stood poised atop her white Glacier Ice Dragon, the vast creature hovering in a slow, regal glide above the frost-kissed ground. In her hand, the violet red Wyvern Flame Spear shimmered with restrained power, its edge flickering like a living ember. Her armor, forged in matching hues of flame and frost, clung to her slender, athletic frame with elegant precision, every contour designed for both beauty and war.
She looked like something torn from myth, a peerless Valkyrie whose very presence bent the battlefield into reverent silence.
Marcus could hardly reconcile the woman before him with the fragile figure he had first encountered. Moments ago she had seemed like a serene celestial maiden, luminous and distant, then a cold moonlit beauty whose calm gaze held centuries of sorrow. Now she had become this formidable warrior saint, reborn in steel and flame.
