Across the clearing, Y/n was a blur of motion, dodging jagged spikes of ice Ein hurled from his fingertips. The fight was a chaotic dance of steel and shadow under the skeletal winter trees.

His eyes, cold and calculating, locked past the others. He saw the opening. In a fluid motion, he drew a vial from his cloak—a swirling, iridescent purple—and flung it with unerring accuracy.

The mist cleared. Y/n stood perfectly still, weapon lowered. Their eyes, once familiar, now glazed with a faint, unnatural violet sheen.