As Lyerin strode forward, the air itself seemed to shimmer with tension, as if infused with the animosity of unseen watchers.
He could feel it, the invisible tendrils of hatred coiling through the forest, latching onto him with futile malice.
Yet, he walked without haste, his boots crunching softly against the forest floor. His smile was ever-present, faint yet sharp, as though etched into his very being.
His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, flickering with mirthful madness as he tilted his head to the side, as if addressing the very forest around him.
"Such hostility," he mused aloud, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of mockery. "I can feel it crawling, slithering through the trees. A hatred so thick I could slice through it with a dull blade. Do you think it will slow me down? Deter me? Oh, how precious."
