Vaelith began her move, she drew intricate runes into the air, which coalesced into glowing magic circles.
Nature bent to her will, and the crystalline raindrops began to swirl in response. A gust of cold, misty air enveloped the battlefield, but even this was caught within the violent vortex of energy she had unleashed.
In mere moments, a localized blizzard raged on their side of the battlefield.
The struggling soldiers could only watch the fights in barely suppressed awe and fear. To common folk, these magic users were deities, locked in a battle beyond mortal comprehension.
Lyra cut through the raging storm, her eyes locked on her targets, three figures arranged in a triangular formation.
The first, a white-haired man, dropped a knee to the floor and slammed his fist against the ground. The earth trembled violently, throwing her off balance.
