Before Klaus could respond, the Old Saintess spoke, her voice calm and weathered like the whisper of ancient winds brushing through forgotten ruins.
"Because I can't," she said simply, the words holding more weight than their quiet delivery suggested.
Max frowned, confusion tightening his brows.
"Why?" he asked, a thread of frustration creeping into his tone. It didn't make sense to him. If she was as powerful as the stories claimed—if she truly held the strength of someone from the Middle Domain, someone who had lived for ten thousand years—then why not just unleash a fraction of that power and end Drevon's existence?
One death, and the war would crumble into dust. Peace, or something close to it, could finally return.
