"Who are you?"
"…Does it matter, Saintess?"
"You… you're a demonic worshipper, aren't you?"
"...…."
"You know the consequences of touching me, right? The heavens themselves—"
"...…."
The masked man didn't answer.
He rose from the chair slowly, his movements deliberate, his presence pressing down like a weight.
His footsteps echoed faintly against the stone floor as he began closing the distance.
Emilia gasped and shuffled backward, her body stiff with fear.
Clank!
Her heart sank.
She hadn't noticed it before, but the cold drag at her ankles confirmed it—her feet were chained, shackled firmly into the ground.
The sound of the links rattling echoed through the chamber, cruelly mocking her sudden panic.
The man kept walking, each step unhurried, steady, like a predator that knew its prey had nowhere left to run.
"Don't—don't come any closer or I'll—!" she stammered, her voice shaking.
His right hand moved forward in a sharp motion.
