"…a pair of glasses…" he murmured, instinctively shifting his fingers as though he could catch the image. But the vision broke apart the instant he moved, reforming into something new.
"…a red apple…"
Again it dissolved, twisting into another shape—soft, pale, and unmistakable.
"…and lilies…" he breathed, shock threading through his voice as the flowers bloomed across the water's surface before vanishing just as quickly.
Just when it seemed the signs had finished revealing themselves, the water shifted again—its clear surface darkening shade by shade until it thickened into a deep, sickening red.
It looked like blood.
Not a drop, not a hint—a pool of blood.
Clyde's breath hitched, every instinct in him recoiling as dread crawled up his spine and settled in his throat. His expression hardened, but beneath it, something colder stirred.
"Your Majesty… what is it you're seeing?" the hermit asked cautiously.
