Masks and Mercy
Leon's footsteps shattered the silence, gravel shifting quietly beneath his boots as he covered the space between them. His golden eyes reflected the dim light, blazing with rage and determination. "I cherish peace, Aden," he continued, his voice softer now, but harder—deadly. "I wish to reign with gentleness. But peace without might is a fantasy.". I won't stand idly by while thousands perish because others are too cowardly to move. He fell silent, air suspended in anticipation before his voice dropped even further. "Sometimes. mercy requires steel."
The air between them vibrated, heavy with tension and unspoken feeling.
Aden's hand strayed toward the hilt of his sword, fingers tracing over it without ever drawing. His face was serene—too serene—but his eyes betrayed the fact. There was flame there, a storm brewing that no training could keep at bay for long.
