Chapter 17

"Halt, or I'll skewer you."

Doubtful given the shaking of his hand.

Erela eyed the male standing with his sword outstretched. The blade burned with orange fire. Much more impressive than the Ifrit himself.

He possessed the height of his kind, as tall as Desmond at least, but was half the weight, leaving him lanky. The crown of his head shone, shorn bare of hair unlike his chin with its strip of gray fuzz.

Dark pantaloons billowed from a tight waist. His plain tunic ended at his belt. Under, a bare chest that should have worn a shirt. The scowl on his lips might have been more impressive if he didn't tremble.

The male with the wavering sword barked, "How dare you enter?" The statement at odds with the fear in his gaze. And what of the bead of sweat rolling from his temple?

Erela took a step forward and found it amusing to watch him take one back.