At another location, a boy could be seen tearing through everything that dared to stand in his way. His eyes were cold, sharp as blades; his face apathetic, as though his very soul had been stripped of warmth. He carried nothing in his gaze, no pity, no hesitation, only relentless purpose.
'I have to get to my brother,' he thought, his form a blur of motion as he shot forward like a missile. The wind howled around him, his hair whipping violently against the current as his figure darted with impossible speed. He did not pause, he did not falter, he did not even breathe as one would normally breathe. Wherever he passed, heads soared into the air, blood trailing like crimson ribbons, bodies falling lifeless to the ground as though the world itself could not impede his advance.
This was Thalric Wargrave, the Ninth Sun.
