Gareth's knuckles were white.
His fists clenched at his sides, tremors still crawling up his arms like a virus he couldn't shake.
The orb was gone.
His face… used like a mask.
And the bastard had mocked him with it.
The vault chamber was silent now—too silent.
The other knights stood frozen in place, still reeling. Vox hadn't moved an inch either, jaw tight, eyes locked on the gate the imposter had vanished through minutes ago. The glow of mana had faded from everyone's bodies.
There was no fight left to be had.
No enemy left to face.
Just failure.
Gareth took a slow breath. Then another. But no matter how deeply he inhaled, the tension in his chest refused to budge.
"I saw it," one of the knights finally said, voice hoarse. "That thing… it looked like you."
Gareth didn't answer. His mind was replaying the scene over and over again—frame by frame. The bastard's smile. His posture. The effortless confidence. The audacity to not even run… but walk.
