Back at the desolate battleground where Yasira and Lyerin stood, the tension was palpable.
Yasira, barely able to stand from her injuries, glared at Lyerin with a mixture of defiance and confusion.
Blood dripped from her severed arms, her face twisted in pain, yet her gaze remained fierce.
She spat, her voice ragged, "Why, Lyerin? Why are you doing all of this? What could possibly drive you to betray the very forces that would have spared you?"
Lyerin, standing above her, his eyes gleaming with a wild intensity, tilted his head back and let out a soft chuckle.
"Why?" he repeated softly, almost as if amused by her question.
He knelt down beside her, his eyes alight with mischief, his fingers gently tilting her chin up so she could meet his gaze.
"Do you want to know why, Yasira?"
He leaned in closer, and for a moment, the cruelty in his eyes faded, replaced with something more profound, more dangerous—a deep-rooted ambition.
