Altar

The chieftain’s face was mangled with blood and bruises, yet, his dying expression exuberated a rousing intoxication for battle. His eyes still shone with glory and ecstasy, devoid of agony and decadence. As though perishing in battle here was an honorable satisfaction.

After inspecting Cherokee’s dying demeanor, Sheyan found it rather peculiar. Logically speaking, to witness the collapse of such a dominant clan he had established himself, and having people rebelling while friends deserting, he should’ve been filled with grief and anguish. Such an expression now was absolutely illogical. Yet shelving this riddle aside, Sheyan and the rest didn’t have the luxury of time to deliberate over that.