The forest no longer existed. It breathed with him, but in a twisted, malevolent way.

  When Tharion’s rage erupted, it was not a scream: it was a tremor of the soul, a black earthquake that tore through Noctsylva like a blade of molten fire. Branches bent under a fear they could not understand, leaves froze, shadows twisted, curling in an unknown shiver. The moon wavered, as if turning away from the horror it illuminated.

  The trees contorted, not from the wind, but as if trying to flee Tharion’s living shadow. Bark split open, exuding a thick, black, nauseating sap, like ancient blood soaked in rancor and mutilated memories. The air reeked of ash and cold metal, carrying the weight of old pain.

  Perched on his branch, Thalen felt his talons slip. His heart pounded too hard. His feathers bristled under the vibration of the aura. Even the wind seemed paralyzed, crawling over his plumage like a dead hand freezing his spine.

  Tharion remained motionless, yet his entire body vibrated like a shattered crystal. His aura unleashed itself: corroded light and pure shadow intertwined, floating around him like a conscious storm. His eyes… no longer embers, but abysses, chasms where dying stars still burned, sucking in all warmth, all life, leaving behind a glacial cold that gnawed at the soul.

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  Filaments of dark energy shot from his back, drifting like veils soaked in dying light. They undulated, breathing with the rhythm of his pain, tracing in the air blades of shadow that screamed betrayal, loss, and years of accumulated anger. Each vibration seemed to whisper: “I forget nothing. I forgive nothing.”

  For the first time, Thalen sensed the true nature of this aura. It was not just power. It was a living body, hungry, devouring every happy memory, every naive hope, transforming them into black fire and wounded light.

  Tharion murmured, yet his voice tore through the air like a knife in flesh:

  Tharion (weak, broken, yet consumed by rage) — I have lost everything… everything… and yet… I still walk. Every step, every breath, reminds me of their betrayal, their cowardice, their hate…

  An oppressive silence fell. Even echoes seemed to hold their breath. Slowly, he raised his arms, as if to engulf the sky and forest in his wrath. The stars flickered, sometimes bursting in flashes of twisted light.

  Tharion (internal scream, moan, and roar intertwined) — Let the world know what they have done! Let pain become my armor, and rage my breath!

  Each word resonated, striking the ground like a hammer. Thalen felt his own fears and betrayals merge with this black tide. The forest seemed to groan and tremble, held by a cold, oppressive breath.

  At the center of the chaos, Tharion was no longer human. He was a broken instrument, a fusion of corrupted light and pure shadow, of rage and mourning. A being whose power and pain crushed all who dared approach.