The hidden shelter was cold, a stark contrast to the warm evening outside, and Vell sat in complete silence, his gaze fixed on the opposite wall.
In the days following the attack, he had barely spoken, and while his body was physically healing from its ordeal, something within his eyes had fundamentally changed. The playful spark that had once been there was gone, and it was replaced by a deep darkness that made even Wren feel a profound sense of unease. He had always possessed a dark side, that much was true, but this felt different, and it was colder.
Wren approached him quietly, placing a bowl of soup on the small crate beside him. "Master, you should eat something." She watched him with an unconcealed worry, her eyes drawn to the way his fingers would twitch at random intervals, a lingering side effect of his completely destroyed mana pathways.
