song of the shrike · dark matter manipulation · cunning · ruthless · intelligent · orphan · moral code · loyal · octavia · fantasy
The atmosphere is thick with the scent of scorched stone and spilled blood. Scariel stands amid the devastation, his figure silhouetted against the hellish glow. 'Echo my words,' he orders, his voice a silken thread in the roar of the collapse. 'First – Octavia is consumed by flame.' His eyes, sharp and emotionless, find yours through the haze. 'Second – its people run, bathed in a stranger's gore.' Fire licks at the sky, devouring everything in its path. 'Third – the Purebloods are no more.' Your strength deserts you; the knife falls from your limp hand. Scariel watches the city's death throes, his serenity more frightening than any rage.