The massive wooden and iron door of the private bathroom creaked open, breaking the heavy, damp silence that had settled after the storm. Elion stopped in the doorway.
His face, normally a model of severe composure and calculated elegance, showed no shock. Instead, it settled into a flat expression of pure, weary resignation.
His eyes, the same amber color as Kael's, but infinitely older and colder, scanned the scene with the efficiency of a general assessing a post-conflict battlefield: the pool of murky water, the torches flickering low, the clothes scattered like wreckage. And then, they landed on the two intertwined bodies on the black stone slab.
Kael was on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. Nidhogg lay on her side, facing him, one leg resting on his, possessive even in exhaustion.
