"How is he resisting my spirit attack?!" Hera's thoughts raced in growing frustration. "He's barely a half-moon magus… He's not even a spirit master, is he?!"
Her hands trembled slightly. Sweat began to bead on her brow. Again and again, she tried to pierce the monk's spiritual defenses—but his mind remained a void, serene and unreachable. No fear. No hesitation. Not even a ripple of doubt.
"Hmph… must be some hidden artifact or something," she muttered under her breath, attempting to rationalize it. "It doesn't matter. I still have something far better to break him…"
Hera activated her power, the feathers of omniscience shimmered and swirled, converging mid-air into a glowing form. Slowly, feathers merged and coalesced, building flesh, cloth, and presence—until an all-too-familiar silhouette emerged.
Ashaka.
The elderly monk. Damo's master.
His expression was calm. His hands were folded behind his back.
