The field was empty. Empty of life, of noise, of hope. Just him - Kael - and what was left of the one who had dared to touch Sylphie.
The dark elf was suspended in the air, hanging upside down by the shadows that coiled around him like serpents made of condensed fear. His arms had been dislocated in the initial impact, and the skin under his eyes was beginning to crack from the pressure of the blood accumulating in his head. But Kael was in no hurry.
True revenge is not shouted. It's whispered, slow, precise.
Kael moved closer, and the aura around his body oscillated between absolute heat and a cutting cold, as if nature itself didn't know whether to burn or freeze in front of him.
"You're going to tell me everything."
The voice wasn't loud. But it sounded like a universal sentence. The tone was emotionless, as if Kael was just describing the weather - or the end of the world.
