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Description

I tried something different with this one, focusing heavily on figures and motion rather than scenery and setting. It depicts two of my novel’s OCs meeting for the first time, mired in misunderstanding and about to engage in a violent fight. Of course, they become good friends later on.

From her hiding place, Bhekithana—or Bhekith to those whose presence she tolerated—watched the armoured figure patrol the depot station's supply crates. A peculiar suit of pressure-armor, the soldier wore, feather-like frills protruding from angular plates of alloy, a slit of red light in place of any helmet visor.
She glanced behind her and gestured for the Frontier Sail’s crew to proceed, then held out her palm to stop them when the soldier looked her way.
She found her hand drifting toward the coilblade on her waist. Jagged voidstone, grooved steel; a beautiful weapon, and good enough to pierce whatever that armour was forged from.
Then, coldly, surely, the soldier drew a blade of his own, and all along its broad, toothed length crimson electricity crackled.
Bhekith’s breath caught. An Astromancer? A Chargebinder.
A new challenge.
Without warning she leaped out from the darkness and landed before the soldier. Deep breath, Fragment pulse, fragmented euphoria. She could feel her own power creep through her veins, and as she drew her coilblade, through her arm and into the cognitive condenser at the heart of her weapon. A crimson glow erupted from her side.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Here it was again, the thrill of the fight.
*Oh, how I’ve missed you.*
The soldier raised his hand and conjured a bout of lightning. Within her fist, Bhekith began to fuse the hydrogen atoms in the air.

Description

I tried something different with this one, focusing heavily on figures and motion rather than scenery and setting. It depicts two of my novel’s OCs meeting for the first time, mired in misunderstanding and about to engage in a violent fight. Of course, they become good friends later on.

From her hiding place, Bhekithana—or Bhekith to those whose presence she tolerated—watched the armoured figure patrol the depot station's supply crates. A peculiar suit of pressure-armor, the soldier wore, feather-like frills protruding from angular plates of alloy, a slit of red light in place of any helmet visor.
She glanced behind her and gestured for the Frontier Sail’s crew to proceed, then held out her palm to stop them when the soldier looked her way.
She found her hand drifting toward the coilblade on her waist. Jagged voidstone, grooved steel; a beautiful weapon, and good enough to pierce whatever that armour was forged from.
Then, coldly, surely, the soldier drew a blade of his own, and all along its broad, toothed length crimson electricity crackled.
Bhekith’s breath caught. An Astromancer? A Chargebinder.
A new challenge.
Without warning she leaped out from the darkness and landed before the soldier. Deep breath, Fragment pulse, fragmented euphoria. She could feel her own power creep through her veins, and as she drew her coilblade, through her arm and into the cognitive condenser at the heart of her weapon. A crimson glow erupted from her side.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Here it was again, the thrill of the fight.
*Oh, how I’ve missed you.*
The soldier raised his hand and conjured a bout of lightning. Within her fist, Bhekith began to fuse the hydrogen atoms in the air.