Kyros strolled along the quiet hallway, his silver hair flowing gently down his back.
He looked out the window and froze in his tracks, admiring the stars scattered across the sky, with the half moon shining nearby.
'I hope their blood could cure the plague… that hell couldn't repeat itself.' As he thought to himself, flashes of smoke, ground overflowing with blood, and the choking smell of despair and death filled his mind.
He was pulled out of his daze when he felt wetness slide down his cheeks.
His reflection in the window glass looked back at him, making him realize he had shed a tear.
Kyros frowned and wiped his tears with his sleeves. He vowed never to feel empathy for those humans again; the last time he tried to do good for them, it resulted in the church, which was filled with such depravity and cruelty that he wished he could turn back time and kill his former self.
