The courtyard erupted in laughter. Every echo of mockery rang off the stone walls, bouncing across the perfectly trimmed hedges and marble fountains. No one moved to stop it; the sound of amusement was deafening. Arzael's jaw tightened.
Every laugh felt like a blow to his chest. His small, pale hands clenched into fists so hard that the knuckles turned white. The sharp scent of polished marble mixed with the faint aroma of roses from the gardens, creating a cruelly serene backdrop for the scene.
'Nonsense,' he thought. 'Damn you… all of you…' The words didn't leave his lips; they festered inside, coiling like a venomous serpent through his veins. Each mocking laugh etched itself into his mind, a permanent mark that refused to fade.
Neria rushed forward, her hands trying to hold him back, but it was too late. Arzael had already launched forward, his legs propelling him with raw determination, a fury that had been simmering for years, pent-up and unrelenting.
