The sharpness of Xaden’s tongue dulls, all quips and harsh words evaporating into the air. The shadows around him solidify, seeming to shift as if in preparation for… something. Though he can’t say what. He can’t even explain the feeling that rises in his chest at the sight ahead of him.

Finding his ability to walk again, he takes three strides forward, his hand reaching out to snatch the chin of the figure in front of him so he can move it at his whim. Eyes study the bruises that paint this delicate face, as a fury unbeknownst to even him fuels his chest.

Clearing his throat, he speaks in a low, steady voice. Yet no amount of deep breaths and quiet tones can hide the rage that edges each word.

“Who did this to you?”