The stone corridors of the hallways were flooded with people, all of them shaken, whispering, clutching at one another, their eyes wide with a haunted glow. The heavy footsteps of soldiers echoed against the arched ceilings, and the air thrummed with tension, a collective pressure of shared dread.
Everyone had the same dream.
Witchhunters, commanders, scholars, armorsmiths, even stablehands—they murmured aloud, voices crossing and interweaving like tangled wires.
"There were… children. All made of shadow."
"The piano, gods, did you hear that music? Like it was in your bones."
"She screamed when the two died… I felt it. I felt her lose everything."
"Who was she? Who was the burning rose man…?"
"It was the Witch Queen, had to be. My bones are still aching."
"It's like the last dream again…!"
"Is this gonna happen every night?!"
"We might as well not even sleep.."
Cainan and Lynzelle moved through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder. Lynzelle gripped his hand tightly, her fingers cold and trembling. She wasn't often quiet—but now, she was silent. Her breath short. Her heart pounding so hard it felt like a drum inside her throat.
Cainan's eyes scanned the muttering crowd, his jaw tight, his fingers coiled around hers in return.
His voice was low, gritted.
"Why… does everyone keep seeing the Witch Queen?"
'Two nights in a row..'
There was no answer.
Then, like a blade through cloth, a deep voice cut in:
"Bloodhunter."
Cainan turned—his expression instantly irritated.
Knight Captain Camelot stood behind them. His presence like a cold wind through the hall. His obsidian armor shimmered with etchings of storm-glyphs, and his perpetual scowl was aimed directly at Cainan like a challenge.
"I need a word."
Cainan narrowed his gaze, jaw clenching.
"Then say it."
Camelot's tone didn't waver.
"Alone."
Lynzelle looked between them, then exhaled and nodded, giving Cainan a faint smirk.
"I'll find Zaara and the others. And maybe seeing if I can look for Qorrak."
She stepped away, paused—then glanced over her shoulder.
Both of their minds sparked.
Last night.
The kiss.
The warmth of it.
Their eyes met for too long, both suddenly red-cheeked.
Lynzelle sputtered:
"I'm—bye! I'm leaving now! GOODBYE!"
She practically sprinted off, disappearing around the corner in a flurry of cloak and fluster.
Cainan stood, deadpan, his ears a little pink.
He slowly turned to Camelot.
"…What do you want?"
INT. CAMELOT'S CHAMBER
The room was dim, bathed in low golden light from a skylight above. The walls were lined with racks of polished weapons, each one uniquely marked—a crescent-shaped glaive, a forked spear with a hollow shaft, a slender sword curved like a crescent moon. There was no bed. Just a prayer mat, a rack of war books, and one large stone-carved tabletop floor board where pieces were already arranged.
They sat cross-legged on the cold floor, between them a square board inlaid with obsidian and ivory tiles, seven small stones etched with glowing runes, a scattered stack of painted warrior cards, and a pair of thick, weighty dice carved from bleached wyvern bone, each face marked with complex sigils instead of numbers.
Camelot sat in meditative silence for a beat.
"We'll play."
Cainan blinked.
"…This is a waste of time. I don't want to play any games with you."
He crossed his arms, not budging.
Camelot didn't even look up.
"You've read the report. We raid Sorneth Monasteries at dawn. I know. This won't take long."
Cainan scoffed but sighed and settled down, eyeing the pieces.
Camelot began explaining.
THE GAME OF QUILLQuill is an ancient martial-strategic board game played across the worlds elite war rooms. It is often used to assess instinct, foresight, and political cunning.
Board:A square grid of 13x13 obsidian-ivory tiles.
Center tile is the Heart Glyph, a sacred neutral ground.
Components:Each player has 5 Warrior Cards, randomly drawn from a shared pool.
7 Rune Stones are placed at edges and moved turn by turn.
2 Quill Dice determine either Formation, Blessing, or Curse modifiers.
Objective:Defeat the opponent's General Card or capture the Heart Glyph with a valid ritual using 3 rune stones and a sacrifice.
Phases per Turn:Roll Quill Dice (results impact abilities or inflict modifiers)
Rune Shift (move one Rune Stone to change the board's power)
Card Action (play, move, or empower a warrior)
Quill Draw (chance to draw a wild tactic from the Fate Deck)
Camelot explained without blinking:
"Rune alignment determines elemental advantage. The dice determine whether your warriors receive divine blessings or infernal curses. If three curses align, you must sacrifice one card or lose all buffs. Think before every play."
Cainan looked at the cards. His hand:
Wyrm Knight
Chained Monk
Blackfang Archer
Ghostflame Acolyte
Ashen General
Camelot smiled faintly.
"I'll go first."
And he rolled the dice—two glowing symbols landing: a mirror glyph and a storm glyph.
The game began.
Cainan leaned forward, analyzing the board. Camelot's initial dice roll had granted him a Storm Glyph and a Mirror Sigil—a strong opening, which allowed him to clone his Bastion Duelist card with a mirrored shade and give both forms storm resistance for three turns.
Camelot played fast, aggressive—launching his shade forward to lock down the Heart Glyph early, giving him early zone dominance.
Cainan took a breath, his fingers gliding over his Ashen General card.
'He wants me to panic early,' Cainan thought. 'Pin the board while I react. No. I'll anchor from the flanks.'
He shifted a rune stone toward the left flank—a Scorch Rune—empowering his Blackfang Archer with fire damage. Then played a Quill Draw, pulling a Wild Tactic card:
"Blood Tribute" – Sacrifice one card to empower all others by +1 move and +1 damage.
He didn't use it.
Camelot's eyes flicked up.
"You play slowly," he muttered. "Methodical. Not your usual style. I figured you'd chain-rush by now."
Cainan didn't respond. He moved his Ghostflame Acolyte diagonally, using stealth tiles to creep up toward the right flank, angling for a backstrike on the clones.
Camelot shifted a Wind Rune to intercept, cutting stealth on that flank.
"Read me already." Cainan narrowed his gaze.
Camelot gave a hollow chuckle, eyes dead. "You're predictable. All rage and raw force. Like a storm trying to out-think a cliff."
As the game drew on, more cards fell. Cainan used his Blood Tribute, sacrificing his Monk to give his remaining three pieces increased aggression.
Camelot used a rare Fate Exchange tactic—allowing him to swap an enemy rune with one of his own—and sabotaged Cainan's anchor rune, cutting his Ashen General's buff mid-attack. A close call.
For a moment, it looked like Camelot would trap Cainan's general between two flanking Twilight Duelists. He rolled high, which allowed his next play to split one unit's health between two—it nearly ended the game.
But Cainan countered, using an explosive Quill Draw trap card—"Crest of Collapse." It detonated when three enemy units stood within the same formation. He sacrificed his position to draw them in, and with the detonation, Camelot's clones were wiped from the board.
The tension spiked.
Camelot's hands stilled, and without warning, he spoke:
"I grew up in the dark."
Cainan didn't look up. The game continued.
Camelot's tone was casual. Too casual.
"Noble house. Very old. Very proud. Everyone had a Soulbrand by birth. Except me. Born a defect. They said it behind closed doors, but the house walls were thin."
He moved a rune. Deliberate. Cutting off Cainan's access to the Heart Glyph again.
"They'd lock me in a dark room. Said it was tradition. Sit in the dark. Wait until something inside me sparked. Soulbrand. Magic. Anything."
Cainan glanced up.
Camelot's eyes weren't on the board anymore. They were lost somewhere else.
'The fuck is he rambling about?' Cainan thought.
Camelot continued, "But I never sparked. I was nothing. Worthless. Even the maids wouldn't look at me. I would… act out. Pretend to be a knight. I'd fight chairs and shadows. Make up duels with the dust. I wanted to be seen. Even if it was from my own imagination. That room..was a room where people get forgotten."
He played a card.
"Then, one night, I decided to stop waiting."
Cainan's eyes twitched.
Camelot met them.
"I killed them. All of them. While they slept. I cut my father's throat first—he used to pray over me at night, hoping a 'blessing' would fix me. He looked so disappointed as he bled."
The dice rolled.
"And afterward?" he smiled faintly. "I finally felt strong."
Cainan froze mid-play. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his neck.
But he said nothing.
'Why is he telling me all of this…?'
The game dragged on—move after counter, trap after sacrifice, rune after rune. It became less a game and more an invisible war between pride and shame.
Camelot continued his story like unraveling a wound.
"I ran. I was thirteen. Found a mercenary band. They trained me, made me strong. I killed orcs, bandits, rogue Hunters. I became a blade for hire. No one cared I didn't have magic."
He moved his Riftblade Widow forward. Cainan blocked with his Chained Monk's phantom—a fragment from an earlier sacrifice still hovering.
"But when things got bad, they fed me to a cursed beast. Said I was the weak link. No magic. Dead weight."
A tense pause.
"I survived. Killed the beast. Killed them all. I crushed their skulls one by one with my bare hands. I never even touched a weapon."
Cainan's fingers trembled. Not from fear.
From restraint.
Camelot looked back at the board, rotating a rune—aligning a final formation.
"Then I met Idrathar. He gave me a purpose. I helped build this empire with him."
He glanced at Cainan.
"And then… you showed up."
Silence.
Camelot's voice cracked.
"Brat with anger issues. Chains glowing. Magic like a demon. Idrathar started watching you. Talking about you. Giving you his time."
He slammed a card down.
"I felt worthless. Again."
Cainan exhaled—slow and hot. The light in his eyes low and simmering.
Camelot laughed.
"Funny, isn't it? I only feel strong when people see me. When I'm praised. Not locked in the dark. Not forgotten."
He moved his last piece into formation—aiming for a pin.
But Cainan had saved one last rune shift. And with a final Quill Draw, he baited Camelot's formation, then sacrificed his Blackfang Archer in a bluff.
The path cleared.
Cainan's Ashen General took the Heart Glyph.
The room went quiet.
Camelot's eyes widened—then narrowed. His jaw clenched.
"Tsk."
His fingers curled into fists. The veins in his neck stood taut.
Cainan whispered, almost inaudible:
"What's your point? It's not my fault you don't do anything to make yourself stand out. It's not like I try to. The world doesn't revolve around those who don't try and make a name for themselves. Or trying to be remembered. I am currently trying to outrun fate, doing everything I can to counter it. Every single choice and decision I make is with purpose. Fate wont allow me to be forgotten, it won't forget me until I fucking kill it."
Camelot stood, fists trembling.
"Go get it..huh. Make a name for myself..I knew you'd say that. So I was prepared."
He reached to his back—drew his sword slowly. The sound was like dragging metal across bone.
Cainan's eyes snapped up.
Camelot stared down, face shadowed.
"I killed your simian friend. Qorrak is what he said his name was... Let's start with that."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Cainan froze. Eyes wide.
"I questioned him. Asked him where the Aurumkin Fairy was. He said he didn't know. I didn't believe him. Couldn't afford to." Camelot continued.
Cainan's fists tightened. One by one, chains began to coil around his arms, glowing a deep infernal red, like veins of a star cracking open.
"No one hides things from the Empire," Camelot said. "He was withholding. So I took no chances. Idrathar would be proud of me."
Cainan stood. A ring of destruction shimmered at his back. His chains rose like serpents in a silent storm.
Camelot's sword gleamed.
"Are you hiding anything, Cainan? Is Lynzelle even cursed? Why hasn't she died yet? What was that form of hers when we fought the witches' summon? You must've thought I didn't see it."
The ground beneath Cainan cracked slightly under his aura. His voice was low, guttural. "You killed him…?"
Camelot's lips curled, eyes gleaming with self-hatred.
"I did it so you'd remember my name. I have to make an impact on everyone's lives. Ever since you came…ever since Lynzelle came too…I've been thrown under the rug. It's like I'm trapped in that dark room all over again!"
His blade lifted.
"I'm tired of being forgotten. Tired of being abandoned. Tired of envying praise when I grew up idolizing it."
Chains snapped taut in the air.
Cainan stared through him, a storm barely contained.
Camelot smiled, bitter and broken.
"You will remember me, Bloodhunter. All of you!"
…
The murmuring crowd surged around Lynzelle like a river of heat and hushed tension, the aftermath of the shared nightmare still thick in the air. Her footsteps were deliberate, slow, her black-heeled boots clicking against the marble. Eyes trailed after her—some in awe, some in quiet curiosity.
"Is that her new arm?"
"She lost it in her last battle… what is that thing?"
"It's beautiful. Look at the runes on it…"
Lynzelle heard them all, smiling. And thinking, 'I'm even more popular now! Thanks Cainan.'
Then she saw them.
Zaara, Foxxen, Raijin, Aris, and Tojin—her squad—gathered in a semi-circle around one of the cracked columns. They spoke in hushed tones, brows furrowed, tension still lingering.
Zaara was the first to notice. She tilted her head, smirking lazily.
"Well well, look who finally joined the living dead. Got yourself a demon arm? It's nice."
Lynzelle raised her new arm, flexing her fingers. "Cainan made it. With Brax. Isn't it cool?!"
Foxxen whistled, folding his arms. "I was there. Pain in the ass process. Hellsteel is stubborn, but Cainan nearly broke himself making that thing. Thought he was gonna pass out a few times."
Raijin's deep, ethereal voice hummed softly from his chest, "It is… beautiful. Like a burning flower made from rage."
Aris spoke without looking at her, voice distant. "It smells of longing… and a deep pain. But its beauty lingers…"
Tojin looked up nervously, fiddling with his gauntlets. "Did—uh—did you see the dream too?"
"Yeah," Lynzelle answered, her gaze hardening. "The second one now. From her."
"Can't be coincidence anymore," Zaara muttered, crossing her arms. "Same voice. Same colors. Same cold. The Witch Queen's whisper is touching everyone."
"She's showing us pieces of something," Foxxen added, scratching behind one pointed ear. "But it's like… a mirror shattered mid-sentence. Doesn't make sense. It's like each dream is a damn story-line. Her past life before she became one with the dark?"
Raijin nodded slowly. "It felt like regret. And hunger. Like she's mourning something she knows she'll have to destroy."
Lynzelle's scythe quivered faintly. "I don't like the way it makes my heart feel."
Suddenly—
KATHOOM!
The floor beneath them trembled as a nearby wall exploded outward in a shower of stone and splinters.
People screamed—all eyes turned to the wreckage as a bloodied, battered body went skidding across the hall—
Camelot.
His armor shattered, one arm grotesquely twisted, face painted in blood. But he was smiling. Grinning.
Whispers rose like wildfire. "That's Camelot—!"
"Who did that to him—?!"
"Why's he smiling—?!"
Another shockwave cracked the marble—
Cainan dropped from the hole in the wall like a thunderclap.
He landed on Camelot with a bone-shattering punch that cratered the floor. They smashed downward, breaking floor after floor, the sound of agony echoing down the halls.
"Cainan!" Lynzelle shouted, already running.
"Shit—!" Foxxen cursed, grabbing his blade.
Cainan was pure rage.
Chains lashed out from his shoulders and back, snapping and coiling around his limbs as his fists hammered Camelot's body through walls, pillars, tables.
Camelot's vision was smeared in blood, ribs cracked, spine nearly shattered.
But he smiled wider.
Cainan roared, his punch shattering Camelot's jaw sideways. Blood sprayed. He wrapped Camelot's arm in a chain, twisted it—
CRACK!
—then flung him through the wall.
Camelot's body hit it—
—only to be met by Cainan rushing forward and punching him through it, sending him flying into the open air.
Camelot's body bounced across the courtyard like a ragdoll, until he finally rolled to a stop, coughing blood into the dirt.
Cainan landed on him again, one hand on Camelot's neck, chains coiling around the other into a massive chained greatsword, its edge glowing red.
"You're a sick bastard," he growled without a blink
But before the blade could fall—
CLANG!
Twin astral blades blocked the swing, stopping Cainan cold.
Lady Selvaria, stern and unyielding, held his gaze. Behind her—Cainan's squad, all positioned around him.
They didn't attack.
They just stood there—stopping him.
Tojin, steel skin shimmering, hands braced on Cainan's right shoulder.
Aris, her gown rustling gently as she raised a single hand, glowing with a poison flower sigil.
Foxxen, one leg braced, his greatsword held at the ready, smoke curling from the blade.
Raijin, standing like a wall behind him, humming with blood-magic energy.
Zaara, already dancing, golden blades orbiting her lazily in a lethal circle, eyes on him.
Camelot snickered, "He won't ever forget me after this…no one will…"
And Lynzelle—her scythe pointed at the now-crawling Camelot—snarled, "Shut up."
Cainan growled low in his throat. "He killed Qorrak."
Foxxen blinked. "Wait—that the simian guy? The one with the four arms that came in last night?"
Cainan's voice cracked. "Yeah… He was our friend."
Lynzelle gasped, stepping back. "Qorrak…? No…"
Cainan added, "He wasn't suspicious. He was just… trying to find purpose in this shitty life. He was gonna help me reach the Witch Queen. Alongside Astrid!"
The squad turned, their bodies shifting—slowly facing Camelot.
The smile on Camelot's face flickered… then twisted.
Zaara popped a fruit in her mouth, eyes dead serious. "You killed a friend of Cainan's for what? Paranoia?"
Cainan stepped forward, seething. "He wasn't hiding anything. Camelot killed him to get at me. To not be forgotten…he needs to die. He's insane."
Camelot crawled a few inches through the dirt, leaving a streak of blood behind. "This is the greatest day of my life.."
"You're the rot," Cainan snarled.
Lady Selvaria said nothing.
She looked to Camelot with cold, unreadable eyes—and backed away.
Letting it happen.
Chains coiled around Cainan's legs and arms like coiling serpents.
Foxxen cracked his neck. "Let's teach him what being remembered feels like."
Camelot finally stopped crawling. His smile cracked—becoming something broken, desperate.
"…I won't be forgotten."
Cainan's shadow loomed over him like death.
The courtyard was still heavy with the taste of tension, dust, and blood when the golden light fell upon them.
At the edge of the ruined promenade, Idrathar emerged, cutting through the chaos like the stroke of a divine sword. His long coat billowed behind him, stitched with the faded symbols of conquest and memory. In his right hand, he held a blade wreathed in golden flame, not burning, but weeping—each ember curling like the remains of a dying oath. Beside him stood Savrec, elegant in black, sharp-shouldered and unreadable as always. Around them, the Dressers glided in perfect formation, draped in their immaculate silks and baroque armor, styled like they'd stepped out of a painting of a kingdom too regal to be real.
The Painters followed close, humanoid in shape, but uncanny—porcelain faces not masked, but born that way, spattered with erratic paint splotches, their mannequin limbs moving with eerie precision, arms folded in still serenity.
And with them came the council.
Lord Garron Volkrath's footsteps were iron—every step like the stomp of a titan. His blackened steel armor gleamed with brutal clarity, the phoenix emblem roaring from his chestplate. His beard clinked with iron clasps, and his mechanical gauntlet flexed silently, radiating coiled strength. He said nothing yet, but his scowl was louder than war drums.
"Hm. A fight."
Lord Dravok Maernis dragged his feet behind them like a man cursed to wake. His layered, ragged robes fluttered like singed parchment, chains clinking dully from his sleeves. His eyes were half-lidded, hollow with apathy.
"Gods, too loud," he muttered, voice barely above a breath. "Why is something always exploding around here…"
Archsage Vharyn Soldeis was a drifting shimmer, all flowing silks and levitating trinkets. They glided with a certain opulence, silver mask glinting under the noonlight. Their voice, if they were to use it, could bend minds. But now, they simply clasped their hands behind their back, observing like a benevolent deity watching over foolish mortals.
"What's going on here..?"
Master Brax Trenhald arrived last, his dragon-bone armor clinking with every motion, eyes squinting past soot and disapproval. He stopped a few paces behind Cainan and exhaled through his nose.
'What did he say to piss you off like this, kid?'
Idrathar raised the golden sword, resting the tip against the stone as he looked at the bloodied ground and the wide trail of destruction left in Cainan's wake. His golden eyes narrowed.
"…What's going on here?"
Camelot, still crawling, rose to one knee, clutching his twisted arm. Blood smeared his smile, but his voice trembled with a well-practiced tone of innocent confusion.
"I—I don't know… he just snapped. Said nothing and came after me. I was only trying to bond… you said before, didn't you? That we're family now… and that bonds are all we've got left." His smile dipped just enough to look pitiful. "I tried joking with him. Guess it went too far."
"Bullshit!" Cainan roared. "He's lying through his teeth!"
"Enough," Lord Garron stepped forward, his voice like clanging steel. "Bloodhunter or not, this conduct is disgraceful."
Lord Dravok groaned. "Do I really have to be here for this?"
Archsage Vharyn tilted their head. "Violence with no arcane justification is unbecoming of a hero."
But Brax crossed his arms. "The 'joke' probably wasn't a joke at all. Don't you bastards be naive."
Lynzelle stepped between the council and Cainan, her voice hard and unwavering. "He's not a brute. He's angry because someone died. And if any of you had hearts left to beat, you'd feel it too. Damn the jokes."
Zaara stepped up beside her, eyes narrowed, the lazy grin now gone. "Cainan doesn't lash out unless he's pushed past reason. Maybe check the facts before throwing titles around."
Foxxen snorted. "Y'all sit in towers and talk about etiquette while we watch our friends bleed."
Raijin stood still, yet imposing, his massive armored form radiating quiet fury. "Cainan protects. That's who he is. That's all he's ever done."
Even Aris, her voice gentle but slicing through the air like frost, added, "The truth is veiled, but pain speaks clearly. His is justified."
Selvaria, silent until now, stepped forward from the shadows cast by the council, arms folded, her crimson coat catching the wind. "He is a Bloodhunter under my command." Her voice was iron. "And I say he acted within reason. If any of you make a joke like that to me, I'd kick all your asses in a heartbeat."
The council's murmurs stilled—until Idrathar raised his sword slightly.
"Enough," Idrathar said, voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Too much time has been wasted. We ride now. The raid cannot be delayed further."
He turned slightly toward Lynzelle, eyes briefly noting the blackened arm affixed to her shoulder—sleek, infernal in design, yet elegant in craftsmanship. He said nothing.
Lynzelle furrowed her brow. "Raid?"
Zaara crossed her arms. "Wait, what raid?"
Tojin perked up nervously. "You're going on a raid?"
Foxxen's ears twitched. "Since when?"
Selvaria answered dryly. "It won't take long."
Cainan stepped forward, jaw clenched. "Where's Qorrak?"
Selvaria met his gaze. "He left last night. Without a trace. After some of the council questioned him, he left. He's not dead."
Cainan looked at Lynzelle, and something in his expression darkened. "…He went looking for Astrid."
'But Camelot…he lied…to make me do this to him…? No matter what it is, no matter how he's remembered, everything he does from now on, will make everyone notice him. No matter how dumb or reckless it is…'
Lynzelle nodded, mouth tight, eyes dimming with concern.
"…Let's get this shit over with," Cainan said to Idrathar.
Idrathar turned to Camelot and narrowed his eyes. "You stay. Heal your body. You're a fool for this. I know you meant well, but stay here and rest until we return. By the time we come back, you should be ready to fight again. Watch over the capital. You're the only one capable of doing so."
Camelot's expression was humble, and he nodded and bowed, "Thank you, Idrathar."
Then, Idrathar looked at Cainan, saying, "Instantly attacking him without checking to see if your friend was alive first was a foolish move. His blood would've been on your hands if you hadn't been stopped. I understand the joke was not a good one, but you can't resort to violence in the blink of an eye without checking if it's true or not. You two are family."
Cainan just stared into Idrathar's eyes, saying with a menacing tone, "He's not my family! I don't like him. I wish he was dead. I don't care. He's only out to get me and you all know it. He hates my guts and I hate his."
"Family is all we have. We're raising the Sorneth kingdom to garner the attention of their king and queen to draw them out. We will shed blood because they shed blood on our soil first. Because they fought with the witches who stole my daughter..it starts with family..and it will end with family. Their monasteries are the heart of their kingdom. That's where they draw blood sacrifices to their god of blood, it makes their magic stronger. Destroying those who I'll cripple their faith. Like they've crippled mine…"
'God of blood…Vargometh…god of blood and darkness…that's who they have to serve! The god who broke from his larvae early from the Tree of Ascendance. The one whom the Witch Queen gets her power from…' Cainan thought.
Moments later, the wind howled and griffons descended, their wings beating against the stones. The council, Selvaria, Savrec, and the others climbed aboard in preparation.
Lynzelle stepped forward quickly, calling out. "Wait! I want to come."
Selvaria turned back, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You should stay. You've fought enough. A little downtime won't hurt. Don't want your new arm to wear out so fast."
Lynzelle's brows furrowed, but she glanced at Cainan. "Separating us is non-negotiable…"
Cainan looked at her with a calm he didn't feel. "I'll be fine. It'll be quick." His eyes never left Idrathar. And Idrathar's eyes never left his.
"Are you sure?" Lynzelle asked quietly, not wanting to press too hard.
"I'm sure."
She stepped closer, whispered. "Be safe. Come back to me."
"I will."
Without missing a beat, Lynzelle spun around and instantly shifted back into her chaotic energy, putting on her manic grin. "Selvariaaaaa~! Protect my husband with your life! Or else!"
Zaara blinked, grinning wide. "She just—did she just talk to Selvaria like that?"
Foxxen chuckled. "I think she did."
Tojin's mouth hung open.
Aris even raised a single brow beneath her blindfold.
Selvaria's eye twitched. A vein pulsed in her forehead.
Seconds later, Selvaria was sitting on top of Lynzelle, pinning her to the ground, screaming, "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE TALKING TO?!"
Lynzelle flailed under her, kicking her feet, laughing and wailing. "I'M SORRY!! I DIDN'T MEAN IT I SWEAR—!!!"