![]() ![]() “They’re living while they have the chance.”Īeron snorted. “They aren’t dying,” his friend Paris said from beside him. So why didn’t the mortals? What did they know that he did not? Were Aeron to learn he’d soon be separated from his friends, the other demon-possessed warriors he’d spent the last few thousand years protecting, he would have done anything-yes, even beg-to change his fate. Hell, they grew up knowing they’d have to abandon everything and everyone they loved, and yet, as he’d already observed, they didn’t demand or even request more time. Buildings stretched on every side, some of the higher points wrapped in light green awnings, the perfect contrast to the emerald trees rising from their bases. Muted moonlight spilled from the sky, blending with the amber glow of the street lamps and casting shadows on the paved pathways. Nor were they sobbing because they wouldn’t get it.He shifted his focus from the people to their surroundings. But none of them were dropping to their knees and begging the gods for more time in those feeble bodies. ![]() ![]() Some were shopping, some talking and laughing, and some snacking while they walked. “THEY DON’T SEEM TO CARE that they’re dying.”Īeron, an immortal warrior possessed by the demon of Wrath, was perched atop the roof of the Bübájos Apartments in central Budapest, peering down at the humans so blithely going about their evening. ![]()
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