When the dust cleared, they all raised their weapons, pointing them at him. Their stances stiffened. Their eyes locked on him. The silence pressed in, thick and unnatural. Every breath felt louder than it should've.
"Who are you?" one of the men in gold armor asked, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of his blade.
But he didn't bother answering.
He stood still, head slightly tilted, as if he hadn't heard the question. His eyes moved past the warrior in gold and shifted toward the ones in silver.
"Who made that armor?" he asked, not looking at the man—just the metal.
The soldier's shoulders drooped. His chest barely moved when he breathed. He looked like a man too tired to lie, even if he wanted to.
"Sir Daedalus," the man said.
Kael's lips pulled into a smile, sharp and slow. Not because he was pleased. Because he finally found what he was looking for. One step closer to his goal.
"Nice," he said, nodding once. "Take me to him."
