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Chapter 268 The Key to The Plague
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... as precise, like the strokes of an artist painting a masterpiece. Amberine could feel Ifrit stirring beneath her robe, his fiery presence growing curious.
"He's good," Ifrit whispered, a crackling murmur only Amberine could hear. "The way he blends the flames into the binding... it's almost like art."
Amberine found herself nodding absently. Draven wasn't just good—he was brilliant. She'd never seen anyone work magic like this. His attention was unwavering as he wove the spell, a ...
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