The Raging Storm

Chapter Twenty-Two: Conversation With An Old Friend

Kazmere sat in a wooden chair, cloaked in shadows, his hood pulled up. The room was filled with silence, except for the soft rhythm of Savere's breathing. The gentle morning light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow across the foot of her bed. Soon, she would awaken, and he would exact his revenge.

Having trailed her back to her opulent new home after she left the king, Kazmere seethed with restrained fury. Patience, he reminded himself. The time for confronting the person who had shattered his world was drawing near.

Savere's current residence was a stark contrast to her humble abode of the past. It was evident that being the king's favored informant came with its perks. The three-story building boasted two imposing granite columns flanking its white oak door. However, the interior lacked the opulence displayed on the outside. Savere had always favored simplicity, never one to seek grandeur—an aspect of her character that Kazmere had long admired. Two elderly maids attended to the maintenance of the house, their focus absorbed in their tasks. Sneaking past them had proved to be a simple feat.

The most challenging part of this entire ordeal was the wait. Patience. He could almost taste his imminent revenge. Although a small part of him recognized that his judgment had been clouded by hatred, he no longer cared. The woman sleeping before him had been his closest friend, the one who had aided him in the early days of the Foundlings when no one else would. How could she have betrayed him? This question echoed relentlessly in his mind, and soon he would have his answers.

The moment had arrived.

For the past hour, Savere had kept her back turned to him, but now she stirred, rolling over to face his direction. Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto his figure.

Reacting swiftly, she retrieved a hidden knife from beneath her pillow and sprang to her feet, fear etched on her face.

Lowering his hood, Kazmere spoke calmly, "Good morning, Savere."

Her voice trembled with fear. "How did you get in here?"

Ignoring her question, he rose from his chair and replied, "You knew this day would come."

Savere hurled her dagger with precision, aiming for his face, before rushing toward the window.

Kazmere's fury allowed him to perceive the world in slow motion. He unleashed his Viberium powers, an orange aura enveloping him. With a flick of his hand, one of his blood daggers deflected the thrown knife, diverting it from its intended path. The other blood dagger pierced Savere's hand, pinning it to the nearby wooden table, halting her escape. A soft wail escaped her lips.

"Is this how you greet an old friend?" Kazmere inquired.

"Kazmere, please, give me a chance to explain," she pleaded, attempting to remove the blood-drenched dagger from her hand. He exerted all his might, pressing it firmly into the wood. Blood flowed from her wounded hand.

"I don't think there's any explanation good enough to justify what you've done," he retorted.

Savere persisted in her frantic attempts to free herself from the impaled dagger, growing increasingly desperate. "I—"

Raising his hand to silence her, he declared, "Silence. I will be the one doing the talking."

Silence ensued.

Struggling to contain his mounting fury, Kazmere found it increasingly difficult to suppress the rage welling up within him. He needed answers before he could proceed with killing her.

"Ten years ago, we met. You know that? Ten years of friendship. Together, we forged a strong bond among the Foundlings. You abandoned it all. And for what? This?" He gestured disdainfully at the lavish surroundings.