Luther wanted to curse.
Oh no, he couldn't just have one day of adventure without having to meet cursed or completely stupid situation.
He was now dreading why he didn't just take the mercenaries orders to go to the capital with them.
He could have just left gone home.
Luther wanted to face palmed.
The air was thick—almost solid. The smell of burnt iron and wet ash pressed against Luther's lungs as he yanked Alina back by the wrist. The crimson rain hissed where it fell, and when one droplet grazed the flickering barrier he'd raised, it sizzled like acid on metal.
What the hell is this now…? Luther thought, his eyes narrowing as the old elder's face seemed to melt into nothingness. The man's features dripped like candle wax, sliding off bone until there was only a dark hollow where eyes and a smile had been. His face gone completely.
