The mecha stood tall, gleaming under the fractured light of the dusk sky, its obsidian plates humming with latent power. Rohzivaan moved beside it like a shadow, his commands no longer spoken aloud but pulsed through thought and soul.
The machine responded as if it were an extension of his body, twisting, bending, and shifting its weight without the need for a driver. With or without him inside, it obeyed. No longer just a weapon, it had become a vessel of his will, a silent sentinel forged by pain, obsession, and purpose.
Fiorensia watched with a sharp gleam in her eye, a rare flicker of something resembling pride beneath her stoic exterior. She did not wait to congratulate him. There were no words of praise. Only the sudden rush of flame, the echoing clash of power as she launched into a full-scale attack without warning.
