Theron:
‘O Lord! Have mercy on me, as You have had on our people! Have that same mercy upon me… and my people!’
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The words crash into the room like a wave—and Traeven feels the impact in his bones. His composure fractures. His eyes ignite, red and sharp, like twin vipers rising from some underworld pit. The glow cuts through the dim chamber, slicing across the starlight ceiling and the trembling bodies kneeling below.
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Slow motion overtakes him.
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He smiles, sharp pointers showing.
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Traevan’s eyes are a piercing Ruby now, glowing with a quiet power opposite to the spirit.
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As King Theron says this, his body jerks backwards, convulsing violently.
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He falls onto the floor, the back of his head smacking the wall .
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A seizure overtakes him. His eyes roll to the back of his head.
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Metro rushes toward the table.
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Traevan’s expression turns unreadable.
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He watches Theron seize with no remorse, no concern, no humanity.
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Then—slowly— Traevan’s eyes fade back to brown.
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Rose’s face twists—slow, sharp, furious—like something ancient waking behind her eyes, as if drawn toward the heat of her rage.
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Traeven looks up at her, and for a suspended heartbeat.
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Her aura spikes—bright, jagged, unmistakably hostile.
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Traeven’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile.
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Recognition.
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Then, without a word, he turns and walks out the back door—smooth, unhurried, as if the entire spiritual upheaval behind him were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
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