Helian was a natural talent. I could see this now. I finally got to observe her in combat, and with my daughter, no less. Frost’s swings were frenzied but precise, reminiscent of Selene at her best, but with fewer weaknesses and an unyielding momentum. At times, it looked as if her blade was pulling her body along with each attack , rather than her body directing the blade.

  But as skilled as Frost was, Helian was better. It was more than just uncanny precision. She was patient and calm. She didn’t execute the twelve forms; she transcended them. She wielded the sword as though it were an extension of her own body. This level of swordplay—it was close to perfection.

  A resonant hum rang out with each clash of the women’s blades. My ears buzzed with the sound, and with each successive strike, it only grew louder, echoed longer. As the sounds grew dizzying, each ring overlapping with the last, Frost’s grip finally grew unsteady.

  She stumbled back. Helian took the opportunity to strike.

  My daughter’s blade broke clean in half. She stood dazed, looking down at the shard of metal in her hand, its previous red glow lost completely.

  Helian stared at her for a moment, and then shook her head.

  “Lady Solana.” Helian turned to face me.

  “Yes, Helian?”

  “I’m going to hurt your daughter.”

  “If you must.”

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  Helian turned back and strode confidently up to Frost, who at this point could barely stand on her two feet, her face bearing the countenance of a wounded beast.

  At Helian’s approach, my daughter cast aside the broken remains of her blade. She snapped her fingers, summoning a long, coiling whip of flame. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the roiling magic, torching her skin. She flung the whip towards Helian.

  The fiery whip coiled around the saintess’s sword. The steel changed colors where the flames were wrapped around the blade, and it looked as if it could melt at any moment.

  Helian gripped the hilt of her sword and wrenched her arms backwards, yanking Frost toward her. Frost lurched forward—and stumbled. The magic whip dissipated into nothingness. The saintess advanced.

  Frost looked confused. This fight had taken its toll on her body, a body which had not yet recovered from her duel with the archmage. I could see that adrenaline was fading, leaving her mind dull and her reflexes duller still.

  My daughter’s voice rasped out, hoarse and weak. “Helian?”

  “Yeah.” Helian responded as she walked behind Frost.

  “... I think I’ve made a mistake.”

  “You have.” With this, the saintess grabbed Frost’s spell hand, then brutally wrenched it back, bending her arm at an unnatural angle to dislocate it at the elbow. I flinched.

  Frost screamed in agony and stumbled backwards as she struggled to remain on her feet.

  “I’m sorry, but it seems I’m not finished.”

  The saintess then grabbed Frost by the neck and threw her down to the ground at such an angle that she landed hard on her now-dislocated arm.

  My daughter, overcome with pain, did not get up.

  I thought it was over, and then—the tree. I watched in horror as black roots erupted from the ground around the two women. While Helian managed to protect herself from the roots, she was not quick enough to save them both.

  The tree’s roots wound around Frost and, like a child receiving its first toy, began to play.