Veylor's translucent features didn't just fall; they crumbled. It was the specific, devastating collapse of a soul hearing a truth that had no mercy and no exceptions, the kind of certainty that makes the universe feel suddenly, terrifyingly small.
The silver light that composed his body flickered like a candle caught in a death wind, casting jagged, dancing shadows across the room.
"Then let me have a moment longer," he whispered.
His voice was no longer the melodic echo of a spirit; it was thick, raw, and human in its desperation. "Please... I am not asking for a future."
"And I am not asking for a miracle as well, but just... let me look at her. Properly." A shudder ran through his spectral frame, sending ripples through his form like stone dropped in still water. "I didn't get to look at her last time..."
"Everything moved too fast: the steel, the blood, the screaming... I want this to be the last thing I carry."
