Valtira.
There was no thin linen covering Zarek’s body this time.
He had changed completely.
The black trousers he wore were fitted and sharply cut, the heavy fabric hugging his powerful legs before disappearing into tall leather boots that had clearly belonged to a leader, not a prisoner.
A dark belt wrapped firmly around his waist, the metal clasp engraved with the ancient crest of his bloodline.
Over his torso rested a long black tunic made from thick wolf-hide cloth, its collar slightly open at the throat, revealing the edges of the intricate ink markings that spread across his chest and shoulders like living shadows.
The transformation from the broken man on the ritual floor to the commanding figure before me was so complete it almost unsettled me.
Zarek walked toward us wit
