Rhydian could feel it. Something was finally shifting inside Jonan, whether for better or ruin, he could not tell, but the air itself grew sharp, as if tasting blood, and a strange, heavy tension clung to the moment like a storm yet to break.
Meanwhile, inside Jonan's head, the thoughts came unbidden, there was darkness, thick and viscous, that surged from somewhere he didn't know existed within him, "I've had enough. Why don't I kick Rhydian in the face? Why do I have to stay quiet? Who are they to control me?"
These weren't foreign illusions, unlike the Steps, where the illusions were clawing at him, this was something worse, these were his own thoughts, they were raw, unfiltered, and pure.
Though he didn't even know he was capable of such hatred, but now it was rising to the surface like a long-forgotten corpse, which was dragged up from the depths of an ocean.
