Chapter 1337: Right Foot
Sylas stood there, Old Brama’s smoking laser gun by the side of his head still, pointed forward and steady as though to protect him from whatever might come next.
Calmness was in their very bones. From the moment Old Brama decided that he was riding this ship to the very end, he had accepted whatever might come with that.
The Golden Grove had been in a rut for too long, and at their current pacing, they would simply never be able to accomplish what their Ancestors expected of them. Like so many powers that came before, they would simply fade into obscurity until there was nothing more of what they once represented.
Sylas was a chance to change that.
Maybe he would die before he could see it through to the end, but he would just have to accept that. There was simply no better person to bet on right now than him.
The first thing they saw when the clicking of shoes finally came to a stop was the wall of black.
The Thryskai was tall, taller than any Sylas had seen before. He must have been at least eight or nine feet tall, looming and pale. Maybe it was because Sylas had met the echoes of vampiric folk tales not long ago, but this man very much reminded him of that.
The pale skin, the crimson eyes, and the black, bat-like wings that folded to his back more like an elegant cape than what strips of flesh they truly were.
And then there was that wrinkle in the middle of his forehead.
The man didn’t look at Sylas at all. Instead, he looked toward the corpse of Sharpe, and then toward Old Brama before tilting his head to the side.