Roman watched Thorne from a distance, his gaze drawn to the dark, silent figure on the balcony. Thorne stood alone, overlooking the capital as it descended into chaos, the flames consuming homes and lives, the desperate screams echoing through the night. Yet Thorne appeared disturbingly detached, his posture rigid, his expression hollow. The man who once commanded armies with fierce loyalty and unwavering resolve was now just a shadow—a ghost of the person he once was.
Thorne was more devil than human now, Roman thought with a shiver, unable to tear his eyes away. This Thorne, the one standing coldly above the destruction, was a shell, emptied and hollowed out by grief and rage. And with each day that passed without any trace of Noelle, Roman could see him slipping further into that darkness, sinking deeper into the void that no one seemed able to pull him from.
