Silently, Aesmirius stared at the still demons before him—frozen mid-snarl, mid-step—held in place by his overwhelming presence. Then, with a slow turn of his head, he glanced over his shoulder at the motionless humans behind him. Despite the pressure suffocating the battlefield, despite their paralyzed limbs, the warriors of Solara, Tempest, and Crescent still had their guards up.
To them, he was no savior.
He was another threat.
Valemir and Tharion especially burned with restrained fury. Their jaws clenched, fingers twitching for weapons they could not yet raise.
Valemir's eyes locked onto the cocooned figure of his daughter. The instant he saw her—alive, unharmed—life surged through his veins once more. Yet his instincts screamed that the one standing between them was not to be trusted. Whatever power the boy infront of him wielded, it was far too unnatural to be on their side.
