Oliver stood, blood dripping from his lip, facing Fray across the wreckage of the collapsed cabin. The air between them was electric—thick enough to choke on. For a heartbeat, only the sound of crackling wood and distant rumbling could be heard.
Then—
A deep, rumbling voice.
A whisper so low, so ancient, that only Oliver heard it.
"Summon me... Let me consume him..."
The words slithered into his mind, heavy and cruel.
Oliver clenched his teeth, shoving the voice aside. He locked eyes with Fray, forcing out words through his battered, gasping breaths.
"How... how the hell did you become this strong?" Oliver spat, anger rising again. "You didn't even have a trainer your entire life... you were nothing."
Fray stared back, cold and silent.
At first, he didn't even intend to answer.
Oliver's words were meaningless noise to him now.
But something in Fray—a buried curiosity, a thread of old pain—forced his mouth to move.
His voice was calm, low.
