Nyx's lips curled into a cold, bitter smile, though her eyes betrayed no joy. Her voice rose, calm yet steeped in contempt, echoing across the ruined expanse like the toll of a distant bell.
"You mourn me as though I am the one who has changed," she began, her tone cutting through the air like a blade. "But it is this world, this pitiful, hypocritical world, that first turned its back on me. It claimed to celebrate the light, yet it thrives in shadows, reveling in lies and betrayal." Her voice grew colder, more detached, as her fingers flexed, releasing faint traces of her power into the air. The ground beneath her feet cracked and trembled as if bowing to her fury.
Lysandra flinched at Nyx's words, her grip on her sword tightening despite the tremor in her hands. "Nyx, please—" she started, her voice breaking, but Nyx silenced her with a sharp glare.
