38.

The night is cast over the stone crown, and the burning glow of Faris's blood-fueled eyes is concealed beneath dark lenses. Unwanting to be seen, Faris moves through the shadows of the oil lamps, his steps sinking into the damp dust, pine, rotting food, berries, and perfume that have soaked the fogged air like dye. Everywhere he goes, he's met with the stench of footsteps, sharp breath, mumbles of madness, and the people around him appear more like carcasses ready for consumption, drawing out demons like thorns draw blood. Faris's thoughts are filled with the faces of his daughter, his best friend, his wife and above all, Veryth and her unborn child dulling the sharp edge of thirst that stabs from every direction. As he gets closer to his target, the Nakhflay camp, the smooth flow of his steps slows, and he is filled with dread. He has experienced opening doors into rooms he wished not to be, and crossing lines he wished he never had but the camp just seems like it's too much to face.