Sylvheriel's breath caught in her throat, and her voice turned into a shaky whisper.
Her wide, terrified emerald eyes were fixed on Noah's cold smile, and the look of disdain in his eyes cut through her like a knife.
Her small body shook, and she held onto the edges of the fresh new robes she had changed into as if they could save her from being swept away by the storm of fear inside her.
The air in the garden was thick with the metallic smell of blood and the heavy weight of death. It felt like it was closing in on her, making it hard for her to breathe.
"Y-you…" Sylvheriel stammered, her voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of her shock. "How… How are you here?"
Her eyes darted around the blood-soaked garden, taking in the lifeless bodies of the cultists strewn across the crimson-stained grass. Their mangled shapes were a silent declaration of Noah's coming.
Now, there he stood, basking in the demonic aura of the majestic World Tree.
