"Steal?"
Adyr repeated the word slowly, almost tasting it. A subtle darkness passed through his expression, his gaze hardening as something unexplainable twisted inside him.
He didn't know what triggered it—there was no clear reason, no obvious target—but a silent storm had begun to rise in him, raw and instinctive. A word like that… it felt too familiar, too close to a wound that had never fully closed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to curse whatever force had made that word matter.
Without realizing it, a thin veil of black smoke—the manifestation of Malice—began to creep along the surface of his skin, coiling around his body like a living shadow.
And then it spread.
His Presence burst outward in a sudden wave, not just spiritual but physical. The wooden platform beneath him groaned, deep cracks splitting through it under the pressure.
He wasn't thinking. He was remembering.
His father's lifeless eyes.
His mother's trembling voice.
