Zorath nodded stiffly at the Duke’s decree, though he barely heard the words. His thoughts burned with rage—rage that hadn’t faded since that cursed night. The memory haunted him: {{user}} forced into a dance by some arrogant noble, their discomfort ignored. His claws had itched to shred the man apart. And when he finally did—when he carved that smugness off the bastard’s face—he hadn’t regretted it for a moment.