Deep in the Von Heim estate, on the third floor of the absolutely massive manor, five figures sat together in a grand room, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and apprehension as Lugh recounted his tale.
The sunlight streaming through the stained glass drowned the room in colours, adding a strange atmosphere to his words.
Someone finally broke the heavy silence.
"So you're telling me that Auren—Hero of the Sylphs, previous wielder of the Ring of Nyx, an overlord of magic—was killed in a… in a—"
"Mortar strike,"
Lugh finished calmly, his tone devoid of flourish.
"His corpse was completely unrecognizable. Otherwise, someone would have known who he was."
That someone had been Vaelith, a member of the Royal Guard. But Lugh saw no reason to mention her.
Although he had begun sharing his tale, it was laced with deliberate gaps—50 percent truth, 50 percent lies. Not lies, exactly. Just withheld truths.
