Chapter 7- Ryken’s dilemma
"SORRY? Of course you would be... aFTeR TRAMPLING on a gRAve you didn't even KNOW BELONGED TO YOU, pfft."
The voice cracked through the night like a whip lashing bare skin—sharp, mocking, and unsettlingly calm.
Ryken turned, eyes narrowing toward the figure now emerging from the haze of dust and shattered stone.
A young man stood alone amidst the rubble, his posture relaxed, almost regal, as if the chaos around him was nothing more than an inconvenient breeze. The moonlight painted his golden robe in hues of myth and majesty—Cruxius, heir of the Blac family.
For a moment, Ryken's enhanced senses kicked in—then faltered.
He blinked.
What the hell?
The estate felt... wrong.
Too quiet.
The distant sounds of panicked civilians, barking orders from guards, even the subtle shuffle of trees—all vanished. As if the entire estate had slipped into some sort of vacuum.
No... it wasn't silence. It was suppression.