Steve's sword sliced through the air, gleaming with sharp, deadly light. It was fast—too fast—and headed straight for Ana's neck. There was no hesitation in his swing, no mercy in his grip. The moment felt final.
Just before the blade touched her skin, Ana screamed in panic.
"Steeeeeve!"
But his arm didn't stop. His hand didn't tremble. His eyes were cold, focused.
Then came the words that made it freeze mid-swing.
"Stop! There's a traitor in your Empire!"
The blade halted—just an inch from her neck.
Ana had her eyes squeezed shut, waiting for death. When she realized she was still breathing, she opened them, gasping for air. Her eyes darted between the unmoving sword and Steve's face. She spoke quickly, her voice shaky but defiant.
"You don't know who I am. I'm the granddaughter of the Whitefeather Roc Tribe's head. He's a Grandmaster! If you kill me, you'll never have peace again!"
