Chapter 87: Maverick White
Hannah's golden mana glowed brighter in his grasp, thrumming like a living thing, warm and alive, pulsing in time with the distant thrum of the forest's wild magic.
"It is the irregular magic of the ancient Gorthmorde line," he said, his eyes never leaving the light in her palms.
"Not the kind taught in dusty tomes or chanted from scrolls. Not the elemental spells of mages or the runic work of scholars. This is blood magic — raw, ancient, tied to the first ancestors who walked this land with dragons and phoenixes at their sides."
He released her hand slowly, as if afraid to break the connection, and Hannah pulled her palms back, the golden glow fading to a faint, lingering warmth on her skin.
"Irregular magic," she repeated, the words tasting strange on her tongue. "What does that mean, exactly?"
The guard turned back to the forest, his gaze sweeping over the dense wall of trees that stretched to the northern mountains.
