Chapter 7: Blades,Blood and Death
Khorin stumbled, barely holding himself up. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling beneath his feet. He turned to Zarrek, his one remaining brother.
"...Brother," Khorin rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. His claws twitched as he reached out. "Help me—"
Zarrek's breath hitched.
For a split second, the battlefield disappeared. In its place, memories surged—their childhood, their hunts, the nights spent staring at the moon together.
Khorin had always been the reckless one, always getting into fights that Zarrek had to drag him out of.
And now... he was dying.
Zarrek clenched his fists.
He had no choice.
Khorin was too weak to survive. If Zarrek didn't act, they would both fall here.
His hands trembled as he stepped forward. Khorin's eyes flickered with something—relief? Trust? Did he think Zarrek was here to save him?
Zarrek let out a slow, shuddering breath.