East's hand was already mid-air, reaching toward the trailing remnants of mana—but it was gone.
The signature had vanished. Not faded, not scattered—wiped clean, as though Periwinkle had never been there. No trace left behind.
Not even the faint hum of residue that usually lingered after teleportation. She had twisted her mana so thoroughly that even a Guardian would find only sterile air where she once stood.
East's jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as he took a slow, calculated breath. Snow swirled around him, catching in the folds of his cloak. He didn't move. Not yet.
He had expected her to grow strong. Had even once believed she could surpass him—her talent had always been unnatural, blooming far too quickly for her age. But strength was one thing. This was something else entirely.
She had changed too much. Even her appearance. If it's not for her mana or her bright purplish-pink hair, he would blink twice to make sure it's her.
