Fafnir's entire body trembled, his fists clenched so tightly that his claws dug into his palms. His breathing was uneven, ragged—as if he were struggling to contain something far greater than rage.
His voice, when it finally came through our telepathic link, was barely above a whisper.
"Craig… do you remember? When my memories flashed before your eyes… when you saw everything?"
I did.
I could never forget it.
The blood. The destruction. The cries of those who fell before him. The way his Magicore raged out of control, consuming everything in its path. I had seen Fafnir at his lowest—when his pain became something monstrous, something unstoppable.
"All of that… all of that happened because of him," Fafnir continued, his golden eyes locked onto the hooded figure standing beside Siegfried. "Ignisar… The Flamebearer… my own younger brother."
He exhaled shakily. "I killed him, Craig. I struck him down myself."
I felt the weight behind those words.
