'How was this possible?'
No—no, this wasn't possible.
Right?
Florian's mind spun, every thought slipping through his grasp like sand. His chest tightened, the world tilting as he stared at the figure standing atop the red dragon.
It couldn't be.
This had to be some kind of illusion, a trick, another hallucination conjured from chaos and fear.
Or something.
Anything other than this.
But the more he stared, the more he realized it wasn't an illusion at all.
The light, the shadow, the smug smirk—all of it was real.
"I killed you."
Lancelot's voice cut through the air, raw and hoarse, trembling with fury and disbelief. His grip on his sword was so tight his knuckles turned white.
"I… fucking killed you. How—how are you here?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
