Death Seventeen

Lord Jerrath's left lip curls and twitches attempting not to smile. It becomes increasingly hard when Desolation windmills her arms to prevent herself from falling on her buttocks. Desolation would have succeeded had she not swung her arm into a large, bottled-necked vase.

Lord Jerrath felt the instant her arm splintered; pain flooded like the currents of the Chimera Sea, angry and fast. Distress filters over his amusement and before Myorla and Ceres can react he uses his unnatural speed and strength to catch Desolation and move her out of the way, lest she falls and breaks another bone. The vase never touches the wooden floor, instead, it hovers in mid-air.

Through the corner of his eye, Lord Jerrath watches Myorla make graceful sweeping gestures and arching symbols with her fingers. Myorla is born into the oldest family who practiced the Hands of Cӱbreesia.