The hooded man did not move immediately after Fior disappeared into the hidden entrance.
He remained where he stood, half-shadowed beneath the towering roots, watching the section of earth that had sealed shut once more. The illusion folded perfectly back into place, no trace of disturbance.
So that was the spark.
Young. Angry. Reckless. Already stained with royal blood.
It had been almost disappointingly easy.
He had been assigned to find one individual among the Dark Elves, someone influential enough to pull others with him, yet volatile enough to crave escalation.
Someone who would choose pride over patience.
Fior had presented himself like a gift.
The man's lips curved faintly beneath the hood.
A piece of cake.
His gaze lowered to the four corpses scattered across the clearing.
Pure Mana Elves.
Their luminous veins had dimmed, but faint traces of their elemental energy still clung to the air like the echo of a struck bell. That would not do.
