A heavy silence descended, the fire crackling like nervous whispers in the tense atmosphere. The woman stared into the flames, her gaze distant, as if peering into a past only she could see. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and filled with a strange sense of acceptance.
"I guess it makes sense now," she murmured, more to herself than to Ruck. "Why the blade chose you... A manaless man."
Ruck's brow furrowed. "Blade?" he echoed, confusion clouding his features. What blade was she talking about?
The woman rose slowly from her rocking chair, her movements surprisingly spry for someone of her apparent age. "What is your name, child?" she asked, her gaze finally settling on him.
"Ruck," he replied, his voice cautious.
