The magic within
His eyes opened once — still black, still too bright, like polished obsidian.
“They’re… whispering,” he croaked. His lips cracked on the words. “They know your name, Killian. They’ve always known it.”
Killian gripped his wrist. “Don’t listen.”
Daryl coughed, and blood flecked his chin — not red, but dark, almost purple. It shimmered faintly in the torchlight, as though threads of shadow clung to it. The sight drew murmurs from the fighters closest.
“He’s tainted.”
Bab Populer