Scolded by the Nun

The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. The guard trapped beneath Sylvaris's iron grip was beginning to twitch, his arm going numb, the bones in his wrist bending unnaturally. His breathing turned ragged, shallow gasps spilling from his lips like a man slowly drowning under pressure he had no chance to resist.

"Release this man this instant, or you will suffer the wrath of the Holy Church—whether you are the hero or not!"

The voice came sharp and commanding. And then, as if the gates themselves heard her words, the air shimmered and the massive golden arch of Velithar's entrance rippled like disturbed water. From that ripple stepped out a young woman—no more than nineteen, maybe even eighteen at most—draped in the pristine white robes of a nun. Her hands were clasped in solemn prayer, but her arrival was anything but holy.