The Fall of Lyra

Ophelia, her eyes fixed intently on her targets, unleashed a relentless barrage of wind and flame bullets. Each shot, charged with elemental power, exploded upon impact, creating a chaotic ballet of fire and wind that swirled around the Ascendants. The forest around them seemed to shiver under the intensity of her assault.

At the forefront of the defense, Magnus was struggling to keep up. His stone hands, normally so reliable, moved frantically in an attempt to block and deflect the incoming projectiles. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead as he grunted with the effort, his face contorted with the strain of each movement. "I can't hold on much longer!" he yelled, his voice hoarse with exertion.