MISTRESS OF NATURE

The air still reeked of death, a metallic tang of blood clinging to the shattered earth. Corpses, once soldiers and sorcerers of the encroaching empire, lay scattered across the battlefield, staining the ground a gruesome crimson. In the midst of this carnage stood Queen Gatria Valen Balsatra, the Mistress of Nature, her wavy brown hair stirred by a phantom breeze.

Her sword, forged from her own essence, dripped with fresh blood, mirroring the cold, unyielding resolve in her eyes. Every movement was a lethal dance, a graceful ballet of destruction that left only ruin in its wake. The screams of the dying, the terror in their eyes, fueled her relentless assault. This was not the nurturing queen of old, but the embodiment of a rage centuries in the making.

From above, Sollel, the Mistress of Flame, observed the massacre, her own fiery powers scorching the earth as if in solidarity. Cira's arrows found their marks with deadly precision, while Xeke's daggers were a blur in the air. This was a symphony of vengeance, a brutal awakening of powers long suppressed.

But for Gatria, the true target remained elusive, her hatred unquenched. Even as the last cries faded and the battlefield fell silent, a deeper, more personal score remained to be settled.