A faint shimmer rippled across Zara's palm.
Her sword materialized in her hand, its crimson blade gleaming like blood under the crimson sky. She tightened her grip and turned sharply toward the direction the spear had come from.
Her eyes narrowed.
Down below—standing atop a crumbling boulder—was a man.
His skin was the color of scorched coal, veins glowing like molten cracks, pulsing with an eerie red light. Fiery lines traced down his arms and neck, almost like they were carved into his flesh.
He stood in a low, predatory stance, one arm still outstretched from the throw, fingers splayed as if savoring the attack. A wide, feral grin stretched across his face, fangs barely visible beneath it.
His eyes met hers—and he chuckled.
Like a predator who had just found worthy prey.
Zara wiped the blood trailing down her chin with the back of her hand, but the warmth didn't stop.
She frowned.
'Mother was right… The wounds are closing too slowly.'
