Ozarith let out a weak, hollow laugh that quickly turned into a coughing fit, his head tilting toward Dominic. His voice, barely audible, was laced with bitterness. “She’s not… the woman I once loved,” he muttered, the words trembling on his dry lips. “Not anymore.”
Dominic turned his head sharply, narrowing his crimson eyes. “What do you mean?”
Ozarith’s pale face twisted into something resembling a grim smile. “Elira…” he began, his breath labored. “She was… everything once. Graceful. Brilliant. But elves don’t make for good Dugo. Not good at all.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened as he listened, the disdain in Ozarith’s tone cutting through the stale air. He stayed silent, letting the broken man speak.
“They’re too pure,” Ozarith continued, his gaze distant, as though he were looking back in
