Syn stood trembling, his body battered, his face a bloodied mask of cuts and bruises, his hazel eyes haunted, flickering with a mix of relief and dread.
Ila lay dead at his feet, her once-vibrant teal eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, her black hair fanned out in a pool of her own blood, her muscular frame still, lifeless, a fallen tyrant.
The transparent wall before him revealed the shapeshifter chamber, a sterile prison where green-skinned figures shuffled aimlessly, their white eyes vacant, their tattered uniforms hanging off emaciated frames—a living proof of Syn's mission, but one he could barely process in his shattered state.
He turned to Mia, her white hair disheveled, her pale eyes steady despite the blood trickling from her split lip, her olive Kingdom uniform torn at the shoulder.
