>>Ariston
The drizzle came down soft and slow, almost too gentle for the ruin around us.
The battlefield was a grave—burnt stone, shattered walls, black ichor soaking into the mud.
And in the middle of it all, Rael lay before me.
His black blood leaked into the ground in slow rivulets, the wound I'd given him tearing open with every breath he took. My sword was still poised over his chest, the tip trembling—not from weakness, but from my hesitation.
I could end him here.
I should.
But my hand refused to move.
He noticed. His lips curled into that faint, knowing smirk. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice hoarse but steady. "Thought you'd be glad to be rid of me."
"I…" My throat locked. The rain slid down my cheeks, cooling the heat in my skin. "…I don't know."
"You don't know?" He laughed—quiet, broken. "You've beaten me, Ariston. There's no fight left in me. But you're still standing there like a coward who can't finish the job."
