Mirel sucked in a cold breath.
He stared at Lucivar going further away, the distance between them growing with each breath.
When Lucivar disappeared behind the tentacle arms and lava bursts—his eyes trailed down to his hands, and then to the ground. For a moment there, what Lucivar said to him kept playing on repeat inside his troubled mind.
Even though he disagrees, the way Lucivar said it, with conviction, makes it almost like the factual truth.
But it wasn't the truth; Mirel didn't want to believe it.
It must only be a biased view from a traumatic, tortured man, who gains no warmth from being weak.
Regardless, the undeniable truth remained unflinching—Lucivar showed that he was a lot stronger than the current Mirel, and that alone emphasized his point even more. Despite his atrocities, he gained what he wanted.
Power.
'Is that really the truth…? No, it can't be. But he's strong, and I'm weak.'
Mirel clenched his hands hard, enduring the pain with gritted teeth.
