"Mother..." Damien whispered, the word barely audible over the grinding of Gorim's mechanical arm.
His heart hammered against his ribs. For sixteen years, he had missed the woman who gave him his first taste of warmth in this new world
To hear that she had walked here, breathed this toxic air, and survived gave him a surge of hope that tasted sweeter than any mana potion.
"What happened next!?" Damien asked, leaning forward, his mask reflecting the dim tavern lights.
"Did she say where she was going?"
Gorim poured himself a shot of the black sludge liquor and downed it.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his stone hand.
"She didn't speak much," Gorim grunted.
"She was angry. Furious. She tore through the city like a storm, demanding to know where he went."
"She was more demonic than most of the demons here if you ask me"
"He?" Damien asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"The Madman," Gorim clarified.
