Faded rage

My master stands suddenly, his shimmering eyes brimming with unshed tears. He moves with a silent urgency, and before I can react, he's at the door. Without hesitation, I follow, my body moving automatically as it always does in his presence.

The click of his shoes echoes down the stairs as we descend swiftly. There's something pressing in the air—thick and suffocating, like the moments before a storm hits. As we reach the bottom, the source of that suffocating presence becomes clear.

The crimson general.