In his dressing room, Zayden took off his armor. Grabbing a white cloth, he wiped it clean precisely and carefully.
The door opened abruptly, interrupting him. He turned, facing a young man, dressed in a black coat.
"Zion?" His voice low, Zayden hung the armor in the closet, walking towards the man.
His blond hair damp, his breath ragged, he whispered.
"S-Sir, t-trouble—" Zion fell flat on his face before he could finish his sentence.
Zayden narrowed his eyes, studying him from a distance.
Before he could speak, Ren appeared as if summoned by magic.
The servant held Zayden's sword in his hands. His gaze fell on the man lying on the ground. He didn't flinch, scream. He simply picked Zion by the arm as if he were the lightest man on earth, dragging him outside the dressing room.
Zayden's gaze lingered on Ren's steady hands as he lifted Zion effortlessly. There was a mysterious strength in the way he moved—far beyond what a mere servant should possess.
