Chapter Content
Selim's arms were folded as he leaned back against a basalt spire, his posture more wearied than proud.
His face, half-shadowed, carried the look of a man who bore grudges heavier than his armor. Ozborn, broader and harsher, sat upon a fragment of ruined stone, sharpening a dagger with methodical strokes.
"They deserve no pity when they sneer at us," Selim said at last, his voice sharp with bitterness. "and think we're beneath them."
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