At the Psyvaris Clan, tension burned thick between the two races, heavy enough to weigh on every breath. Lunara stood firm, her fists clenched across her chest, muscles coiled and ready for combat. Standing across from her was Morrigan, gripping a pair of dark, double-edged butcher knives. Both sides of the blades glittered with a cold, merciless sharpness, while ominous energy danced above them like restless shadows.
Lunara drew in a deep breath, steadying her heart, then charged forward. Her clenched fists swung sideways as the distance between them collapsed in an instant. She halted sharply and drove her right punch forward with force. Morrigan tilted her head slightly to the left, narrowly avoiding the strike as Lunara's fist passed an inch from her right cheek, stirring the air.
