A man missing half his face stopped before Azareel, his translucent form flickering, his mouth opening in a silent plea.
Azareel nodded, his voice soft amid the hush.
"You were afraid," he said, his words carrying a weight that echoed through the silence.
The man dissolved—smiling faintly, his form scattering into golden dust that sparkled like stars released from captivity.
A young knight, his spectral sword raised as if ready to strike, faltered mid-swing, his arm dropping, his hollow eyes filling with a faint glow.
He stepped closer, his armor clanking faintly like an echo of battles long lost.
Azareel met his gaze, his silver eyes unwavering.
"You didn't know. You only followed orders," he whispered.
Gone—like dust on a breeze, the knight's form unraveling into light, a sigh of release whispering through the mist.
And then… the little girl.
