Paris's judgement

Khillea's hand trembled violently, her fingers slick with the warm, crimson essence of life—Nathan's blood. Her breath hitched as she stared at the glistening scarlet staining her palm, a stark and damning proof of yet another tragedy at the hands of Paris.

First, he had stolen Patroclus from her, wrenching away the one she cherished as a brother. Now, he dared to strike again, this time trying to take Nathan—the only light left in her darkened world, the one tether keeping her from spiraling into despair.

Her vision darkened, rage surging through her veins like a relentless storm. A sinister aura seeped from her form, thick and suffocating, like the weight of impending doom itself. The temperature around her seemed to drop, the air turning frigid with the sheer force of her wrath.