Zereth stormed into the castle like an unrelenting tempest, his presence swallowing the grand halls in a suffocating force. His boots slammed against the marble floor, the sound reverberating like war drums, each step a harbinger of violence.
His long coat billowed behind him, a shadow trailing his wrath. Behind him, Zagreus followed, his breath sharp, his pulse drumming an urgent rhythm in his ears. He knew this battle had already been lost—the moment his father made up his mind.
"Tell me you're not actually doing this," Zagreus spat, his voice a blade slicing through the thick air. His sharp gaze burned into his father's rigid frame. "A war, Father. That man was baiting you, and you're handing him exactly what he wants."
