Gurdan walked through the evening, his shadow stretching oddly long along the rocky path to the prisoner camp.
The guards at the entrance straightened up and saluted.
"Your Majesty—"
He didn't respond.
The air turned cold. Unnaturally cold.
Then—
Darkness erupted.
A red light burst from Gurdan's body, swirling around him like a storm. The ground shook, and even the guards stepped back in fear.
Inside the camp, the captured Amazarak warriors—wounded and weary—looked up from their small portions of food.
And froze.
The pressure felt unbearable.
It felt like a mountain weighing down on their chests.
"Wh-what is this…" one said quietly, hands shaking.
"A monster?"
"No…" another whispered.
"That's… their king."
Gurdan walked through the gates. The doors didn't just creak; they broke off the hinges from the force of his power.
He raised his hand.
"You all…" his voice echoed, sounding different,
"…will serve me one last time."
"In death," his eyes glowed blood red.
