"You're that boy… the one chained in silver that night," Michel said, his voice unsteady as the memory clawed its way back to the surface.
Gérard smiled.
It wasn't warmth. It wasn't humor.
It was cold sharp enough to slice through the room, chilling every man present. Even Michel's guards instinctively shifted back, unease creeping into their bones.
Sweat beaded along Michel's bald scalp, trickling down as his throat bobbed. "S-she…" he stammered, the image of that night clearly haunting him now.
"Oh, now you remember," Gérard let out a low, mocking snicker.
Michel flinched.
"I… I…" he struggled, the horror in his eyes growing more pronounced with every passing second.
"H-how are you even alive?" he finally managed, his voice breaking with disbelief.
"Fate had other plans," Gérard replied, his tone eerily calm. "It wanted the ones who destroyed my life to pay." His lips curled slightly. "You can think of me as your karma."
