The Thunder's Judgment
The noble who had stepped forward moved slowly.
Too slowly.
Heavy steps moved one after another - no boldness behind them, only what built up inside. Not far off stood the sword, close enough to touch, though it played tricks on space... warped each reach ahead like willpower ran thinner by the foot. A breath before had been easier than this.
Footsteps dragged, soft at first - yet in the yard's hush, even a whisper of leather on stone rang out too clear. Quiet swallowed everything else, so the tiny scrape grew heavy, stretched thin across empty space.
Sound had nothing to do with it.
It was presence.
A weight no one can name bends the atmosphere, making it dense. Each inhalation feels harder now, like pulling through syrup. Air resists, though nothing shows.
His eyes flickered.
Away from the blade -
But toward Videl.
