The tension between Cliff and the Son of the Cursed Serpent remained palpable, but Mathilde's words had managed to prevent an immediate confrontation. The two commanders exchanged one last, defiant look before turning toward the golden rift that split the sky. The indistinct silhouettes on the other side appeared to be drawing closer, their grotesque, shifting outlines becoming ever more defined.
"We don't have time for your quarrels," declared Mathilde, her ice sword still in hand. "If we don't seal this rift now, those creatures will overwhelm us by the multitude."
Cliff nodded, his wings still trembling with residual energy. "She's right. We must act quickly."
The Son of the Cursed Serpent sneered but did not contradict him. "Very well, little Sovereign. Show me what you're made of."
