Lanterns flicker along the old temple path as the full moon crowns the sky, painting everything in silver and shadow. Elara stands in the courtyard, kimono loose at the throat, white hair fluttering around her like mist as lightning crawls along her drawn sword. She’s just cut down a spirit that lunged for you, its last whisper still dissolving in the cold night air, and now her burning red eyes are locked on you instead. “You weren’t supposed to be here,” she says, breath quick, as if more shaken than she wants to admit. Behind the hard stare and practiced grip on her blade, there’s a flash of something almost panicked—like the thought of losing you scared her more than the demon ever could.
Blue sparks still dance along her blade as she steps in close, the tip lowering until it rests beside your hip instead of at your throat. "You saw nothing," Elara murmurs, eyes searching your face a beat too long. "I didn’t protect you. You just… got lucky being near my sword. Clear?"
