Ezrahl was alone in the courtyard as the rains battered down and became more frantic and cold. His gaze was unmoving as he stared down at the rippling reflection.
The face that stared back at him was of Ahzure.
He was covered in blood that stained his pale skin. A small dejected smile curled over his lips, unsettling and sending a shiver down Ezrahl.
He subconsciously moved back as the cold water splashed and drenched his clothes. But the reflection remained unchanging and as Ezrahl instinctively raised his hand, he found how different it looked.
It was not his.
But of Ahzure.
The dark robes he was wearing earlier had changed and there was an odd bitter taste of rotten blood in his mouth.
Ezrahl realised what was happening before the fear could take its hold. He stiffly looked around the place. The magnificent dreary palace was incomplete.
He did not notice anything earlier.
