Battle with The Mighty Tyrant

"I don't really understand what everyone sees in that Aelorin guy!" Davion slammed his fist hard against the water of the hot springs, sending a shower of droplets into the air. His frustration seemed to radiate off him like steam, his muscles taut beneath his skin.

He had entered the hot springs bare, hoping that the warmth would ease his mind, calm his soul after the chaos of the night. Instead, he found himself feeling more heated, as if he were simmering with unspent rage rather than finding peace.

"Why do you still hate him?" Shimall's voice was a steady, gentle current beside him. She floated in the hot springs just a few feet away, her gaze as placid as the water around her. "He helped us escape those kidnappers. He even went out of his way to create this paradise—he's basically a deity in the eyes of many." She chuckled softly. "Or is there something deeper here? Maybe it's the elf part that bothers you?"