The shadows were starting to stretch now—long, winding fingers trailing across the clearing as the sun began its slow descent behind the thick canopy of the jungle. The air had changed. The burning rage and frenzy of battle had faded, leaving a strange stillness behind, heavy and uncertain. The altar, still wet with blood, cast a chilling silhouette against the fading light. Liam stood there, his sword resting at his side, his brows furrowed deep in thought.
His chest rose and fell steadily, the tension still clinging to his body, but his mind… his mind was elsewhere.
He turned to Von, who stood silently by, watching him carefully, eyes wise and cautious beneath the smudged war-paint streaked across his face.
"Ask them," Liam said quietly but firmly, nodding toward the kneeling natives. "Ask them what they want."
