Earlier.
Minerva, clad in fitted leather armor, strode through the dusty, narrow path with her jaw clenched and her expression carved with simmering indignation.
Each step she took stirred fine clouds of dirt beneath her boots, yet none of it slowed her pace.
Her grip on the hilt of her sword was tight, too tight, knuckles pale beneath the leather gloves.
'No matter what it takes… I'll make you regret your actions.'
The vow echoed relentlessly in her mind.
When her thoughts drifted to her loss, Thoren's expressionless face surfaced unbidden.
Calm.
Detached.
Untouched by consequence.
The image ignited something fierce and painful in her chest.
She had sworn an oath to bring every criminal and evil individual to justice.
It was not merely a duty; it was her belief, her reason for standing where she did.
And yet, despite all of that, she had lost so many good comrades while that damned bastard continued to walk freely through the Abyss.
