Jorel, a furious storm in human form, marched past the milling crowd, a low, guttural murmur escaping his lips. Heads turned, murmurs rippled through those close enough to hear, their stares following his agitated retreat. Behind him, Zeke and Shimon pursued, a frantic chase.
"...Jorel!" Zeke sighed, his face a mask of exasperation and concern.
Jorel weaved through the labyrinth of bodies, his path unerring, until he finally spotted his father. He was amidst a small circle of men, including Shimon's father, their figures silhouetted against the glittering chalices they raised to their lips.
Jorel's teeth gritted. Rage, a hot, unwavering fuel, propelled him forward, refusing to die down.
"Fath---!" He roared, his voice cutting through the ambient hum of conversation. Instantly, all eyes nearby snapped towards him.
A wave of hushed whispers spread, the main themes echoing: "What's he doing here?" and "Why is he here?!"
"Fath…"
