Every midnight when I return to dreams, I see the scene where my hands are stained with blood as I hold my friend.
I once swore to follow him, but I killed him...
Was I not brave enough?
Uncle."
"Enough!"
The black blade in Sarifov's hand pierced toward the strange boy in front of him, amid the chilly reprimand.
At the moment the sharp blade touched him, the Lord of Slaves felt a pang in his heart. As the boy's frightened gaze turned into a stream of light and dispersed, he looked down to see blood gushing from his own chest, as if that sword had crossed worlds to stab his former self.
"Ah, Sarifov Shadowblade..."
A hoarse voice of a woman sounded from the increasingly unsettling darkness around, and in Shadowblade's gaze, a woman with six arms quietly emerged from the dark.
She looked at the Shadow Elves in front of her with a compassionate gaze and said:
"You, with a soul battered and a sharp blade in hand, do you not even have the courage to face yourself?"
"You..."
