Cain did not flinch.
The soldier's hand remained extended, waiting, demanding, his gaze sharp and fixed on the small demonic badger standing before him. Around them, the tension in the line had grown heavy, the other demi-humans keeping their heads lowered, their breathing controlled, their bodies rigid as they waited for their turn or feared being the next to be questioned.
For a brief moment, everything seemed still.
Then Cain lifted his paw.
It looked clumsy.
Untrained.
Like a creature that barely understood what was being asked of it.
But beneath that appearance—
His control was absolute.
A faint prick formed at the tip of his finger, so small it could not be seen, and from it, a thread of blood emerged, thin and precise, weaving itself into shape in a way that no ordinary being could ever manage. It did not drip. It did not fall. It obeyed him completely, forming a small metallic-like token that mirrored the ones he had seen moments ago.
Every line.
Every marking.
