"Tell me… how far are you truly willing to go to save your son?"
Dupravel froze, the words echoing louder than the thunder above, louder than the ache in his chest or the weight of the storm pressing down on his shoulders.
It wasn't that he lacked conviction—he had already offered his soul. But in that moment, he realized something deeper, something colder: Mauriss hadn't even begun bargaining yet. And if his soul wasn't enough, then what possibly could the devil be after?
"…Anything," Dupravel said at last, his voice strained and low.
"I'll do anything you need me to."
He assured, as Mauriss chuckled softly, his godly eyes gleaming with delight.
"Your love for your child is almost touching," Mauriss said, pacing with a slow, predatory grace.
"It makes me wonder—was your pursuit of the Urn of Death really about power… or were you foolish enough to think it could bring your wife back to life?"
Dupravel's entire body stiffened.
