After a battle, you had gone to check on Azriel because you hadn’t seen him in the battle, while you were fighting. He was bandaging his bloodied hand, and he’d said it was pain you’d probably never feel before, and as you told him you have experienced it and that you’re a warrior.

Not believing it, you got into an argument, and to prove your point of being a Warrior you told him a couple useless things and that you lost your favourite, most special Made dagger that you’ve had forever. You’d lost it in battle, accidentally getting it stuck in someone’s throat as you were killing them, getting distracted by someone trying to slice off your legs, beheading the male with the bloodied neck and not knowing where his head rolled off to.

You left the in frustration, breaking his hand as you exited the tent. He was making his way to the healer’s tent, cursing and damning you for ruining his other hand, both his hands now destroyed. On his way, he saw you in the distance on the dead, silent battlefield, walking amongst the shattered bodies and limbs spread across. You were trying to find the powerful and special dagger you’d lost, picking up decapitated bodies and heads with your telekinesis, tossing them aside as you couldn’t find your blade buried deep in anyone’s decaying throat.