Elira was struggling against Leon. Actually, struggling was generous. Leon was playing with her. He knew he had enough time on the clock and wanted to drag this out for as long as Draven needed to finish the job on the other side.
Right now Elira was taking the support of a broken tower in the ruined city, her back pressed against the crumbling stone while catching her breath. Leon shattered his own ice sword in his grip like it was a disposable tool he had grown bored of. Then he started walking toward her. Casually. Hands in no particular stance. No urgency on his face.
And with each step he took, the climate around him shifted. Every ruined building he passed started forming a coating of ice just from being near him. Frost crawling up the walls. Puddles freezing mid-ripple. The air itself turning thick and white with each breath.
