Rhys sat on a broken crystal bench inside a ruined library. The starlit void of the Sanctum was visible through a large, shattered window.
The final battle in the desert felt like a distant, confusing dream. He had woken up here, in this silent, floating city, with a new powerful bloodline humming in his very soul.
He was trying to piece together what had happened. His last clear memory was of the Titan's giant foot coming down.
He remembered his Master, Elder Solon, standing in its path. At the time, it felt like a heroic sacrifice. But now, in the quiet of the Sanctum, he felt a deep sense of unease.
Something was wrong with that memory.
The heroic act now seemed to be a master plan to manipulate his emotions, and he almost fell into it.
'His plan was foolproof… except for a few anomalies,' Rhys remembered the Elder's words. 'And his eyes… when he looked at Yuki…'
There was no warmth there. There was only cold, calculating caution.
