Time had crept far past midnight.
Inside the inn, silence wrapped around the modest room. The candle at the corner of the table had already gone out, leaving behind only a faint ember on the nearly spent wick.
Darkness swallowed the space, broken only by the dim silver light of the moon slipping through the cracks of the wooden window.
On the large bed, Seraphina and Puff were sound asleep. Seraphina's white hair spread across the pillow, her face serene, chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Puff, as usual, was curled up in Seraphina's embrace, her small body buried beneath the blanket, her ears twitching occasionally as she let out a faint, sleepy snore.
But Arzael was not asleep.
He sat on a chair by the window, leaning back, eyes fixed blankly on the world outside. The moon hung high, pale silver scraping across the glass rooftops of Valiant. The night air was cool, yet inside his chest churned a storm he could not quiet.
At last, he whispered:
"Lesser Wrath, come."
