Heinz barely paid attention to their laughter now. His gaze flickered toward Florian, still unmoving, still stained with blood. He hadn't stirred once, hadn't made a single sound.
'Still out cold.'
The laughter grated against his ears, a cacophony of voices that felt more like a mockery of reality itself. These people—these things—acted as if what he said was the funniest joke they'd ever heard. As if they weren't moments away from being reduced to nothing but smoldering corpses.
He needed to end this.
Augustus, standing in the center of it all, smirked. His wrinkled face, bathed in firelight, held nothing but amusement.
"Oh, the palace men are still so clueless," Augustus mused.
Heinz's eyes flicked toward him sharply.
"Clueless?"
The heat was getting worse. The fire had spread, greedy and wild, devouring what was left of the village. Smoke curled through the air, thick and suffocating. Sweat dripped down Heinz's temple, but he ignored it.
