"Enough of you two," came a sharp, commanding voice that rippled through the floating pink world like a clap of thunder. The Witch of the North had spoken.
Her tone was cold, yet carried a weight that could crush mountains.
Both Lucien and Max paused instantly, the tension between them suspended in the air like a blade frozen mid-swing.
Lucien slowly turned his head and glanced at her, then loosened his grip, letting go of Max's arm without a word.
Max's transformation stopped abruptly. The red glow in his eyes faded, the dark wings behind him crumbled into ash-like wisps, and the infernal energy receded into his body.
He stood still for a moment, then cast a sideways glance at Lucien before shifting his gaze to the woman sitting calmly among the drifting lights—her long green hair flowing as if in rhythm with the strange currents of this world.
