The Queen Without Mana
The first thing Videl did after hearing the Queen's words was remove the cloak covering her shoulders.
The heavy fabric slipped down her back as she untied it and carefully wrapped it around her long sword, placing the weapon gently to the side so it would not interfere with the coming exchange.
The throne room was vast and silent.
Every sound echoed.
The rustle of cloth.
The faint scrape of steel.
A hush falls where fighters stand still. Their chests rise, then fall, again. Quiet air moves through their lungs. Each breath waits - no rush, only rhythm.
With the sword now secure, she lifted a hand to peel away the mask hiding her face. Off it came - suddenly, the chill of the hall's air touched her bare cheeks.
More importantly -
Her vision cleared.
Fog at the edges of her vision came from the mask, yet facing one such as Queen Amara meant tiny flaws grew into loss. A sliver of blocked view might tilt the fight - here, hesitation wore armor too.
