Several footsteps echoed across the battlefield as boots crunched against the snow, and one by one, figures emerged through the mist of battle.
"What the hell…?" murmured an older man, his voice hoarse and low, white and silver hair falling over his brow—the same color as Vendrael and Jirael's.
It was Fengren, the patriarch of House Ezekal, father to both.
He moved forward slowly at first, but when his eyes caught the sight of Zendrell standing near two motionless bodies lying on the ground, something in him broke.
His heart began to pound out of rhythm, his breath shortened and grew shallow as panic surged through his chest.
With no hesitation, he broke into a run, his legs trudging through the deep snow as he rushed toward them, each step heavier than the last.
When he finally reached Zendrell's side, he fell to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief and pain.
"V-Vendrael…?" he choked out, unable to accept the sight in front of him.
