Vincent again?

The battle was a maelstrom of chaos, the crackling of fire and clashing of steel filling the air. Esteria moved with purpose, her sword a blur as she cut through the ranks of Vincent's followers. Each strike of her blade was a surge of power, her fire rippling through the air, burning bright and hot. But it wasn't just the fire that gave her strength—it was the rage, the memories of betrayal, of the dagger Vincent had driven into her heart. That wound had never fully healed, not in body and certainly not in spirit.

She had trained for this moment. She had prepared for the pain, the anger, the fear. But there was something different about facing him again. He was no longer the man she had once known. He was a monster now, twisted by his power, his cruelty. And yet, she felt the familiar pull—the temptation to look at him, to listen to the way he called her "my love" with that mocking tone, as though they were still lovers, still bound by something that once was.