Draven was soaking inside the pool attached to his bedchamber with his eyes closed. The dream he was seeing these days flashed in his mind once more.
A hand wielding a sharp weapon, flowing blood from a stab and the sound of someone crying.
He opened his eyes, and this time, he didn't look shocked, as if the vision no longer affected him. Every time his vision came to the part where the assailant would stab that weapon, Draven would feel sharp pain in his chest, as if he was personally experiencing the attack.
'A weapon made of divine magic, a creation that bears its creator's bloodlust, Its very existence will stop at nothing until it fulfills its purpose. A weapon that brings death.' He was determined. 'If that is the case, I should be the one to take that hit. I cannot lose more of my people.'
Unpleasant memories he had long buried began to resurface, causing his normally expressionless face to twist in anger.
'If only I find that weapon.'
