The elf prisoners watched the battle unfolding before them with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and dawning, fragile hope. For weeks they had languished in this miserable hole, their spirits crushed, their bodies broken. Rescue had become a fantasy—a child's dream that adults had long since abandoned.
And now, here it was. Violence and fire and death raining down on their captors with brutal, beautiful efficiency.
Silvie's eyes, still red and swollen from weeping over her brother's body, tracked the horned man's movements with desperate intensity. She saw him take hits that should have killed any normal fighter—the dark fire spear that slammed into his chest with enough force to shatter stone. But he didn't fall. He barely staggered. And when his scales rippled across his skin, visible even from this distance, her breath caught.
'Scales... he has scales. That's not human skin. He's... he's not human at all.'
