Corwin Everleigh, the very dear husband of Seraphis, was a man of patience, wisdom, and, most importantly, a healthy respect for his own limitations.
He had fought many battles in his youth, earned many scars, and learned to pick his fights carefully. Today, however, there was no choice in the matter. Today, he was a father first, a warrior second, and a tired, aging man somewhere distant in third place.
"Where is my daughter, Percival?" Corwin asked, his voice calm, his tone anything but calm.
The last time he had uttered that name, it had ended with Percival getting a severed limb and two ruined legs.
Ah, nostalgia. He had let the man go out of pure pity for such a young mind who aimed to climb the ladder of strength as much as he could, offending people he shouldn't have along the way.
