The fires were behind him now. Only flickers of light pushed through the ruined shutters. And for a moment, Amari thought the house was empty—until he felt it.
Not mana. Not movement. Something heavier.
Like guilt creeping beneath his ribs.
He turned.
The man stood still in the doorway. Average height. Gaunt frame. Wrapped in long robes stitched with scripture that shimmered faintly when the light caught them. His skin was dusky bronze, but his eyes—his eyes were silver, reflecting back everything they saw.
His presence didn't shout.
It judged.
Name: Velin.