There Is No Leaving

Xairo barely registered Dracun's presence as he continued his restless prowl through the valley. But of course, he couldn’t help but let out a low, mirthless chuckle at Dracun's attempt at levity. "Of course I did," he growled, his voice rough and grating. "They were weak. Pathetic. Hardly worth the effort. Certainly not worth my time."

He flexed his nails, relishing the dull ache that radiated through his battered body. The pain was a reminder that he was alive, that he could still feel something beyond the suffocating emptiness. Dracun's question hung in the air between them, an unwelcome intrusion into his brooding thoughts. Xairo's first instinct was to lash out, to shatter the fragile connection they had in the moment with bitterness and disdain. But instead, he bit down on his irritation, directing it inward.

"It's nothing," Xairo snapped, though the heaviness of his tone betrayed him. His eyes flickered to the towering rock faces that framed the valley, as if seeking answers within their stoic shadows. "Just... boredom." The last word was laced with a venomous edge, fueled by an impulsive desire to incite curiosity from his brother.

"Xairo Saxe"