But his sight was clear. He could still see Azaleh – who then followed him in face-planting on the ground. The difference was the tall and dark man was out cold with his indifference eyes closed. Unlike him.
Someone grabbed his now mostly white hair. It hurt, but whoever that was didn't care much. They dragged him up and he feared that the roots of his hair would snap. Leaving him with a bald patch.
Some grunts left his lips, along with some drools as he was unable to even close his mouth. Thankfully, he could still blink – albeit with a little effort.
Hands and legs forcefully being dragged across the hard ground, Heon caught glimpses as they went past Azaleh and some guards. They didn't stop until they were in front of several pairs of leather boots with steeled soles.
"I want to speak with the Queen," the person then lifted Heon's head with the tight grip they got on his white hair. The voice achingly familiar that he couldn't help but wonder–
"Sunny Graver?"
"That's me."
