Reichardt Razalo stood at the edge of the splintered battlements, smoke curling upward around him like a serpent tasting the air.
The remnants of the night's carnage were scattered across the Duchy's stone courtyard. Dark, mangled bodies of hybrids dissolving into nothingness as dawn's light crept in. The sun had always been merciless to the abominations.
Heaven's fire, the old scholars once called it.
To him, it was only a signal... Live or die?
Ahce Shang reloaded her rifle with steady hands, metal clicking with crisp composure, no hesitation, no fear. Just pure, disciplined marksmanship. She moved the way seasoned soldiers breathed, with intent, purpose, and lethal grace.
And every second Reichardt watched her, that foreign pulse in his chest beat louder. He inhaled once, slow, steady, weighted with truths he was not allowed to speak. He reminded himself bitterly.
She isn't looking at you.
She is seeing him in you.
Richard Jing...
