The Rogue Reclaimer As Summoned

An unbreathing silence had fallen over the Guild Hall. It was heavier than stone, a void where the boisterous energy of Hunters used to live. Now, it was a tomb. 

Linx's body, shrouded in white linen, lay on a low wooden table in the center of the room. The sight of it was a wound in the air itself, a raw, undeniable fact that bled the life from the space around it.

Ning Que stood apart, meticulously wiping his katana with a soft cloth. The steel was pristine, but the ghost of blood clung to his memory. 

He could still see Linx's smile falter, the light in his eyes extinguish. He could still feel the phantom weight of his friend's body. Each swipe of the cloth was a futile attempt to scrub the image from his mind.