Tristein was waiting for it. Bracing for it.
He didn't know what trick Northern was about to pull, but he was certain of one thing—he would endure. He would defend against it all.
He had witnessed the rain of comets Northern had unleashed upon Tever. The sheer annihilation, the unrelenting descent of destruction. And yet, even if the entire battlefield was reduced to ruin—even if every single soul perished—he wouldn't.
The Ancient Armor ensured that.
It would reflect all damage away from him. No attack could breach it. Not even a Paragon's attack could crack its defenses. It was an absurd, invincible force, standing as the bulwark against absolute devastation.
No doubt about it—whatever Northern was preparing, even if it was his most fearsome strike, it would be reflected without consequence.
And yet—
Why was that starsforsaken student stalling?
Tristein waited. Seconds stretched—crawling.
