Nobody can predict when death comes and takes the soul away with their cold hands.
But when it has arrived, even a baby can tell.
Kyran coughed a mouthful of blood and stared back at the Blood Moon. Its red light was a weight—a passive red that asked for nothing and offered less. Even knowing that he was going to stop the horde, the Blood Moon didn't intervene.
It knew that he was not up to the task.
It knew that it was impossible for him to do anything meaningful.
It knew that in the end, he was only a fool who hoped to do what a hero does.
Protect Dargena City? Protect Calidora and the child in her belly? Kyran couldn't even protect himself.
At this point, his entire body was already numb.
All the pain that had screamed through every nerve a minute ago had dulled into a distant hum, like the echoes of thunder retreating over the horizon. Now, there was only his mind—and death's chilling cold that had wrapped around him.
'So this is it. This is how I'm going to die.'
