A tense stillness fell upon the rugged mountain peak. Evening's last rays painted the horizon in hues of crimson and gold, a stark contrast to the turmoil in the air. Adam's hair, now returned to its usual black, fluttered gently as the wind picked up. The shifting flicker in his eyes—blue one moment, dark brown the next—hinted at the peculiar struggle he had just endured.
Warth, the Seventh Apostle of the Blood Demon Religion, stood a few paces away, the Heavenly Blood Tablet hovering ominously at his side. Viktor Lyonars, clad in neat white, faced them both with rigid composure. Although their conversation had started with offers and demands—of alliances and sworn protection—no resolution had yet been reached.
A faint, tense voice broke the silence from within Adam's mind:
We had a deal... Set me free…