The first two mer kids were dragged forward by the guards. One of them looked young enough to be about six years old in human age. The mer child was in extreme distress as he made crying sounds and asked for his mother.
Syryn, whose hand was curled over the armrest of his throne, tightened his fist till he began to feel pain from his nails digging into the hard stone of the throne. He mentally gave himself a pep talk because the mage was so close to stopping everything.
[You can fucking do it Syryn don't give up when you're so close to your goal.]
I see you torturing yourself worse than what some of those mers are feeling.
[Did I ask for an opinion?]
I'm entitled to it, brat. Just get it over with quickly.
[Why don't you take over and finish it?]
You started it, you finish it. Besides, no one's getting killed. Why are you so upset?
