"The same as my idea?" Yilinrui's face turned slightly pale, this statement clearly angered her: "No, in my mind, there is never a need for the undead to enter the realm of elves, nor their cold touch, nor that voice from the Death World, and certainly not the black flames igniting on Heather's land. Fyyian, you and I are not on the same path!"
"Fyyian. Ah! Fyyian..." The disfigurer caressed his face, gazing at the elf in front of him with his small eyes squeezed by swollen tumors: "So you still recognize my name, or maybe you won't call that name again! Yilinrui, you are still so beautiful, so captivating. No! Even more radiant than the image in my memory. And I have become like this. Of course, I would not blame you for this, all of it stems from my own intentions."
"Free will." Fyyian added.
Yilinrui tried to focus her mind, trying to recall Fyyian's real name. But the seal she set in her own mind was like a black stone gate, holding the answer firmly behind it.
