Zyrith’s heart felt heavy as she left the inn, her steps slow and uncertain. The warmth of the inn’s hearth had done little to ease the chill that had settled in her bones. She had hoped—no, she had believed—that Nyx would be different. After all, he had done what she could not, avenging her clan and bringing down the Crimson Claw. But in the end, he had turned her away, leaving her adrift in a world that no longer had a place for her.

She was alone. The weight of that realization pressed down on her, each step feeling heavier than the last. Her clan was gone, her village—Eldralis—reduced to ashes. The memories of the dark elves who had raised her, the laughter and the love they had shared, all of it had been wiped out in an instant. Now, she had no family, no home, no future. The man she had thought might be her savior had rejected her, and the hollow ache of that rejection gnawed at her insides.

As she wandered the town square, lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the two men who had begun to follow her. They were warriors, their armor gleaming in the fading light, and their eyes were full of contempt as they watched her.

“Hey, look at that,” one of them sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “A dark elf, all alone in a human town. How pathetic.”

Zyrith’s steps faltered as she heard the words, her heart tightening in her chest. She had faced prejudice before, but today, the words cut deeper, striking at the raw wounds that had yet to heal.

The second warrior laughed, a cruel sound that echoed in the empty square. “I heard about what happened to the dark elf village—Eldralis, wasn’t it? They say there were no survivors. So what’s this one doing here, huh? Shouldn’t she be dead with the rest of her kind?”

Zyrith’s blood ran cold. The pain of their taunts mingled with the grief that had been festering inside her, and something snapped. Anger flared up, hot and fierce, and she rounded on them, her violet eyes flashing with defiance.

“I am Zyrith of Eldralis!” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “And I survived because I am not weak!”

The warriors exchanged amused glances, clearly unimpressed. “Not weak, huh?” one of them mocked, stepping closer. “You couldn’t even protect your own people. What good are you now, dark elf? Why are you even alive?”

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Zyrith’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The anger she felt was a fragile thing, fueled by the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t let them see how their words affected her, but the truth was a bitter pill she couldn’t swallow. They were right. She had failed—failed to protect her village, failed to avenge her family, and now, she had failed to find a place for herself in this unforgiving world.

With a cry of frustration, Zyrith swung at the nearest warrior, her fist aimed squarely at his face. But the man was faster. He caught her fist easily, a smirk playing on his lips as he twisted her arm painfully, forcing her to her knees.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, before throwing her to the ground with a casual flick of his wrist. Zyrith hit the cobblestones hard, the impact jarring her bones. The world spun around her as she tried to push herself up, but the weight of her despair was too much. She collapsed back onto the ground, her vision blurring with tears.

The two warriors stood over her, their laughter ringing in her ears, each sound a dagger that twisted deeper into her heart. “Look at her,” one of them scoffed. “You're useless, you couldn't even protect your village, now you're here crying.”

Zyrith’s tears spilled over, her body trembling as she sobbed quietly. She had tried so hard to be strong, but in the end, she was just as weak and useless as they said. The pain of that realization crushed her, and she felt herself sinking into a pit of despair.

But then, something shifted.

The air around them grew heavy, the temperature dropping suddenly as a wave of mana swept through the square. It was dark and oppressive, seeping into the ground like a pool of ink. Zyrith’s breath caught in her throat as she felt it—a presence, a force that made her skin crawl with fear. The warriors stopped laughing, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion as they too felt the change in the air.

Zyrith looked up, her tears forgotten as she saw the source of the mana. Nyx stood behind the warriors, his eyes wide and brimming with malice. His entire body radiated fury, the darkness within him spilling out in waves that made the very air tremble.

For a moment, Zyrith could only stare. She had never seen such raw power, such an intense, terrifying anger. The man who had turned her away moments ago now looked like a different person entirely—a figure wreathed in purple tendrils and driven by a rage so deep it threatened to consume everything around him.

The warriors, oblivious to the danger they were in, turned to face Nyx, their bravado quickly faltering as they took in the sight before them.

“What the hell…?” one of them muttered, but he never got the chance to finish his sentence.

Nyx took a step forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet as his mana surged. The world seemed to hold its breath as the rage inside him reached its peak, ready to be unleashed.

Zyrith’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched, her fear mingling with awe. Whatever happened next, she knew one thing for certain—Nyx was not someone to be crossed.

And those warriors were about to learn that the hard way.