Sage and the others immediately turned around to see who was behind the voice.
Just a few paces behind them, seemingly emerging from the very tension that hung over the ruined city, stood Isis and his small entourage. Isis wore the same lazy, bored expression that made him appear more like a casual tourist than someone who had survived a deadly ordeal.
What truly shocked Sage, however, was the pristine condition of the men flanking this young man; their armor gleamed, their weapons were spotless, and they showed no signs of fatigue or injury, an anomaly amidst the factions currently struggling in the plaza.
Sage's mind raced as he scrutinized this enigmatic youth, grappling with how to reconcile his boyish nonchalance with an unsettling aura that sent his heart racing. It was an instinctive warning signal that eluded precise categorization. Despite the surge of intensity twisting in his chest, Sage maintained a stoic expression, narrowing his eyes as he focused on Isis.
