Without hesitation, she began to weave again, this time forming a hexagon with her hands. She was grasping at her last hope, trying to summon something, anything,
In a critical moment of raw emotion and instinct, Nana completed her hexagon weave just in time. Her fingers snapped in a surge of mad rage, directed at the man who had gravely injured her father.
As she did so, her father's assailant's head exploded, blood spraying in all directions and staining the white snow red.
Her father lay on the ground, groaning in pain, his hands desperately trying to stem the flow of his own blood, his life ebbing away.
As the man who had fired the projectile fell dead, the situation escalated further. From the treeline emerged 16 other men, all dressed in dark, rugged attire, their bows drawn and aimed with deadly intent.
In a blind fury, Nana began to snap her fingers at each of them, her actions driven by fear, anger, and a desperate need to protect.
