The crimson glow in his eyes intensified, momentarily threatening to crack the composure of his mask. His mother. The only kindness, the only unconditional love he had ever known, destroyed by the same sect, the same Ling family. The memory of her gentle face, her encouraging words, now twisted with the image of her defiled tomb, a fresh wound carved into his soul.
"My mother taught me about justice," Jian growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, laced with an intensity that made the very air vibrate. "And what they did to her, what they did to me… this is my justice. This is my vengeance for her honour." He clenched his fists, the struggle within him palpable, a silent war between the lingering ghost of humanity and the roaring inferno of hatred. But the inferno was winning. It always
