"Pant—pant—"
Kakayather was breathing hard and fast, his nostrils flaring with every breath.
The turbulent air rushing through his windpipe made it impossible for him to speak.
His father, Kakarim, was dead—he had seen his soul with his own eyes. His mother was dead too, even if he hadn't witnessed it firsthand, he knew Ashu wouldn't lie about something like that.
Without the protection of his parents, he was nothing but a weakling—a reviled weakling, guilty of countless crimes.
Never mind what Ashu might do to him today—even if he were turned over to the public, the citizens wouldn't spare him either.
They would tear him to shreds.
"It's time to leave the pen, Kakayather."
Ashu, treating him like some filthy livestock, dragged Kakayather out of the confinement cell using pure Magical Essence.
With so many accusations leveled against him, what good would repenting do? If repentance were enough, then cultists could just confess a few times and legally found their own sects.
