Damon rode until he was far enough from the village that the lights disappeared completely behind the trees. The cold wind cut at his face, and the sound of the hooves muffled any trace of remorse. He didn't look back—there was nothing there worth keeping.
When he finally stopped, the moon was already high, veiled by thin clouds.
He dismounted slowly, taking a deep breath. The bracelet still flickered—unstable glyphs, the arcane markings writhing as if trying to detach themselves from the surface.
The enchantment was on the verge of complete failure.
Damon knelt in the middle of the road, resting his sword beside him. He closed his eyes, feeling the pulse of mana vibrate beneath his skin—wild, impatient.
"Calm down..." he murmured.
The silver glow began to spread through his veins, climbing up his arm to his shoulder. The air around him became dense, almost palpable, and for an instant the metallic scent of pure mana filled the space.
