{"Whoever among you sees an evil action, then let him change it with his hand"}
We all turned to the door, and I turned before the final echo faded. Lord Marcel stood across the room, framed by obsidian columns veined with veins of red-gold light. Dressed in black layered with deep wine-red silk, tall and still as a statue carved by something older than time.
And the smile on his face was the kind that did not reach his eyes.
"Well," he said smoothly, "so the curious little mice found my brother."
Qadira stepped forward, voice low and shaking. "He's alive."
Lord Marcel's smile did not move. "Alive is… not the word I would use. But he breathes. He remembers. He hungers."
"You chained him to an evil mountain stone!" Qadira snapped.
Marcel's gaze flicked to him lazily. "You think I could contain him if I didn't?"
I stepped in front of Qadira, my voice cold. "You are a bastard, Marcel; you do not deserve to live.
