The sleeper's eyes burned into him.
Not rage. Not even instinct. Recognition.
Ren moved.
His blade hissed free. The squad surged forward with him—veterans shouting, rookie screaming.
But Ren didn't aim for the sleeper's chest. He struck the floor first, carving mana into the cracked stone. Black lines spread like veins, drinking the wild arcs of energy into themselves. The chamber dimmed a fraction, enough for the others to regain footing.
Halvern's voice thundered. "Rookie! Don't break line!"
Ren ignored him. His arm trembled, darkness bleeding from his grip, his scars burning in echo of the sleeper's glowing runes.
The sleeper staggered closer, head tilted, watching. For the first time, his scream faltered. His mouth formed a word, broken, half-choked—
"…same…"
The rookie gasped. "He spoke—!"
Halvern didn't hesitate. His blade came down, sparking across the stone toward the sleeper's throat.
