Canna cradled the girl gently in his arms, his eyes scanning the scars and wounds that marred her delicate skin. These weren't the marks of wild beasts or battle; these were the deliberate inflictions of cruelty, each scar a silent testament to the horrors she had endured. Some of the marks looked like they came from a whip or something similar—a rope or a chain, perhaps. Canna's heart tightened with a mixture of sorrow and rage, and he struggled to contain the storm brewing inside him.
The skies above began to darken, responding to the Harbinger's wrath. Even Grimruk, who had seen his master in countless battles, could feel the difference. This wasn't just Canna, the protector of his sanctuary—this was the Harbinger, an entity born of chaos and destruction. Grimruk swallowed hard, bracing himself for whatever was to come.
