Heavenly General's descent

The situation looked hopeless for either side.

Dagur's smile returned—a cold, calculated expression of anticipation.

It was the smile of someone who knew something others did not, a smile that suggested the current chaos was merely a prelude to something more significant.

Then a figure materialized beside him.

Yilar was unmistakably a Nynthrall—a race known for their wicked and vile nature. His pale skin seemed to shimmer with an inner light, angular features that looked carved from alabaster, and most striking of all: eyes of the deepest violet, eyes that seemed to hold centuries of untold stories.

Dagur raised an eyebrow, his annoyance flickered. "What are you doing here?"

Yilar's gaze swept across the battlefield, but his attention was fixed on one individual—Jolthar. There was a recognition in his eyes, a depth of understanding that suggested their paths had crossed before.

Yes, I have seen that young man before.