The night after the massacre of the Treyl family, Baines found no solace in sleep.
He ascended the jagged slopes of the newly acquired volcano at the Dawnless stronghold, its smoldering peak a fitting backdrop for his turbulent thoughts.
Sitting cross-legged beside the molten glow, the heat prickling his skin, he lost himself in a whirlwind of reflection.
Even as the world around him shifted imperceptibly, stars dimming, and the air thickening he remained oblivious, his mind replaying the day's bloodshed, the screams, and the unyielding resolve that had driven him.
A familiar voice broke through his reverie. "So, you've achieved your first revenge," it said, calm and weathered, carrying the weight of centuries.
Baines turned, unsurprised, to see the old man standing a few paces away, his cloak billowing in the breeze.
"You're still not going to talk to me?" the old man pressed, his tone a mix of exasperation and sadness.
